This happens all the time. Every car horn, every whistle, every cat call and lewd exclamation, strengthens the lesson I’ve been taught over and over and over again throughout my entire life: as a lady, my body is on public display and open for judgment—from anyone.
Most men who will see this are decent, rational guys who will sympathize with my feelings. A small, vocal handful of dudes will send me private messages about how women like me can’t “take a fucking compliment.” This is not for either of you. This is for the guys who don’t know yet that attracting unwanted attention doesn’t make women feel good, no matter how nice their intentions are. I can’t speak for everyone, but I can say that I personally get embarrassed, often scared, and always—ALWAYS—ashamed, in some way, in how I look.
So… now that you know, cut it out. Tell all the girls how nice they are and how amazing they are at their jobs instead.
These guys got to me: “After 34 years, I want to marry him.” Thirty-four years is like 172 Kim Kardashians or 5,400+ Britneys, yet conservatives (when not cheating with hookers, sexting interns, or soliciting for sex in airport bathrooms) insist that sharing all human rights with all Americans will compromise the sanctity of marriage. Hyperbole is insufficient to circumscribe their hypocrisy.
LET LOVE IN.
I hadn’t even heard of this trend until I read a well-composed decrying of it. It seems that hipsters, always grabbing and appropriating things without context or understanding, are starting to explore racism. But when asked to perhaps not be so racist, they instead defend their right to be uneducated assholes. Hipster girls have taken to coöpting the headdress, the sacred, male-only cultural artifact of many Native American tribes, because they think it’s “pretty.” So, hail the conquering tribe: white girls don’t see any problem with pillaging a minority culture for the sake of shallow fashion trends and getting drunk with friends. And they wonder why they’re so unlikable…
