*Trigger Warning: sexual assault and rape.
A few months ago I was headed to work wearing a summery wrap dress I’ve had for years. A family member pulled me aside and told me that “men have a hard time concentrating,” and if I “raised my neckline” I might have less trouble with the unwanted advances I’d been receiving from my male coworkers. He meant well, and I know that. But he was wrong.
[pictured: the dress that breaks concentration.]
Here are just a few of the things I’ve heard from men while at work:
If you just lost some weight, you could be a model.
Why are you wearing that dress? You going out later? You’re not going to turn heads. You’ll break necks.
You look so good I might just have to take you on a date.
Him: Sorry, but you can’t just walk around looking like that without inviting some kind of comment.
Me: Sorry, but this is just my face.
Him: It’s not just your face. It’s your everything.
Your last day is Friday? When am I going to get my goodbye kiss?
Him: If I won the lottery, I’d buy a strip club. You gonna come work for me? You want to dance for me?
Me: Excuse me?
Him: Come on, it’s easy money.
So, do you have a boyfriend? He’s a lucky guy. You’re beautiful.
Are those your ‘come fuck me’ shoes?
It didn’t matter if I was wearing a dress, or a big sweater and pants, which was my usual outfit. Sometimes I had makeup on, sometimes not. Sometimes, the comments would be geared towards my attire, but if they wanted to say something, it really didn’t matter what I was wearing.
photo credit: allaire bartel
The real heart breaking thing about all this is that my grandfather thinks like these men. They make their excuses, thinking they’re entitled to make remarks about my appearance, especially if they think I’ve made myself up to seem more alluring.
I remember being in school and talking to my girlfriends about the dress code. We’d watch in envy as the boys removed their shirts in gym class as we ran the mile in the summer heat. We girls couldn’t roll the sleeves on our shirts to create makeshift tank tops, or roll the waistbands on our shorts to feel the breeze on our legs, but the boys were stripping down in all their glory, and no one said a word. We were girls, children, sexualized, not by our peers, but by the grown men on the school board who decided that our thighs and bare shoulders would be a distraction in an educational environment. Through all my years in the school system, I cannot recall a male student getting a dress code violation.
I remember hearing sermons about the subject in church. The pastor-man would stand at his pulpit and preach about modesty and impure thoughts and our responsibility as ladies to look after the gentlemen, to help them guard their minds against temptation, to cover ourselves.
I’ve personally experienced everything from catcalling to sexual harassment in the workplace to sexual assault to rape, and the common denominator wasn’t what I was wearing. It was the men who felt entitled to my body. Dress codes and sermons imposing the responsibility of women to remove temptation from men, rather than men being taught to not sexualize every part of a woman’s body [or a girl’s body,] is perpetuating this culture. This is the reason that in rape cases, victims are asked what they were wearing, or if they were drunk, because their short skirt and rum and coke entitled the rapist to his behavior. They were asking for it, the defense will say.
photo credit: allaire bartel
I park under street lights; I walk with my keys between my fingers. I use the buddy system. When on a date, I have a safe word I can send a friend by text, who will rescue me if needed. I don’t look men in the eye when using public transportation. And despite my grandfather’s remarks, I dress quite modestly. But it doesn’t matter. I am still a victim- but I am not treated as such. I am questioned and blamed for my experiences.
photo credit: allaire bartel
But I know this: I do not deserve to be abused or harassed simply because I am a woman. It should not be a normal part of life for me to feel afraid on a daily basis. And if you disagree, if you insist that this is just the way it is, then you’re the problem. Not me.
Exactly on the mark.