On street harassment.

I was waiting for the subway when a young man in an army jacket looked at me and demanded: “SMILE!”

I looked him in the eye and demanded right back: “Why?”

“Why not?” he replied.

“Because I don’t want to do what you tell me.”

He began to laugh. “That’s the best answer I’ve ever heard,” he said. “You’re awesome.”

* * *

Street harassment, for me, occurs in many forms. It could be dudes in cars hollering at me while I walk down the street. It could be an old man in the North End telling me I’m beautiful when I’m getting a pastry with my boyfriend. It could be a group of teenagers in the park shouting “boobs!” as I walk by, or a man telling me I had “nice gams” when I wore turquoise tights with a miniskirt. It could be my 57-year-old mother and I getting catcalled together as we walk to the movies.

Once, and most terrifyingly, it was a guy staring at me unceasingly on the subway platform after my dance class. I waited until he boarded, then got on a different car. When I looked through the window between cars, he was still staring at me, and at the next stop he switched cars to sit across from me. He stared at me the whole ride, as I exited the train and headed up the escalator, not stopping until the train pulled out of the station. He never said a word. I thought he was going to follow me.

All of the women* I know have stories like this, regardless of age, sexuality, body type, or style of dress. Leers, whistles, catcalls, unwanted comments (sexually explicit or otherwise), obscene gestures, being followed, groping, assault: our horror stories run the gamut. We feel ashamed. We feel angry. We wish we’d said or worn something different. We resolve to buy pepper spray. Sometimes, after the fact, we can laugh about it.

I wish that I had meaningful solutions. That I could write a list of pithy responses, witty and withering things to say when you’re catcalled that make your harasser feel small. Personally, I’m rarely able to do that. Maybe the car or passerby has already left hearing distance. Maybe I’m hit with a wave of anxiety or shock that keeps me from speaking up. Maybe I just don’t have the strength that day to engage.

These are the only answers I do have: I won’t smile if someone tells me to. I refuse to change my facial expression or body language just to please a stranger. I never feel bad about the way I react. I don’t need to be strong or confident or clever, or shut the harasser up. As long as I stay safe, I’m doing fine. If I don’t feel safe, I remove myself from the situation as soon as possible. I won’t apologize. I don’t worry about provoking harassment or blame myself because of how I’m dressed or what I’m doing. My fashion choices are for me, not for anybody else. Being a woman* in public should not be a punishable offense, and it’s not my fault if someone else decides to harass me.

Unfortunately, even when I follow those simple guidelines, there’s no winning in street harassment. I didn’t smile for the guy in the army jacket, but my angry response was entertainment for him anyway. I thought that my direct rejection would be enough, but I just ended up feeling more upset that he found me amusing instead of taking me seriously. The options seem to be stay silent and feel awful, or respond and either get yelled at or laughed at.

Right now, the best way I have to deal with street harassment is to talk about it. Discussions with other women (and with men/people of all genders) give my feelings validation and usually make me feel better about the situation. Speaking out when I’m not currently being harassed can help build up strength or act as catharsis. Getting together with similarly-minded people can be very powerful. Because that’s what it’s really about, for harassers: having the power to talk about a woman’s* body, or to control a woman’s* body, even with just a small comment about her legs or her smile.

I want to take the power back.

*The same is true of people who may not identify as women, but could be interpreted as such by strangers: femme-presenting genderqueer individuals, for example.