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"\\n For a period of months when I was in middle school, there was a man who would park his car around the corner from campus, recline his seat all the way back, and wait in this prone position, cock in hands, for us girls to walk past in our pleated uniform skirts and knee socks. Whenever one of us spotted him, we'd immediately tell our headmistress and then all of our friends, whose questions (\"What did it look like?\" \"Was he...rubbing it?\" \"Were you scared?\") stank of scandalized innocence. I saw him once. It was erect, red in my memory, and he rubbed with a fervor, sweaty and staring me up and down. I ran, my skin feeling all crawly, my skirt suddenly far too short.\n\tAdvertisement - Continue Reading Below\n\t\n\nIt occurs to me now, years later, that this was the first time I learned what it is to be a woman objectified on the street.\n\nI've lived in New York City for six years now, and so far have avoided the fabled subway flashers, naked beneath their trench coats. But it seems I can't walk down the street these days without being catcalled, and is that really so different?\"Hey there, sexy.\"\"Damn, mami.\" ((smooching kissing noises))\"Ow, girl. You lookin' good.\"There are frightening car horn honks and, of course, that all too familiar whistle, meant to indicate a guy likes what he sees\u2014your body.To be clear, no one could accuse me of being a girl who can't take a compliment. Tell me you like my haircut, my perfume, my manicure, and I'll not just thank you but tell you where you can get it for yourself. But then, I find nothing complimentary about a catcall. The difference between a compliment and a catcall, as I see it, is that they're never directly addressed to the catcallee (the cat?). They're more like inner monologues of lust spoken aloud. I want to be able to walk to the dry cleaners, pick up a few groceries, even just enjoy a sunny day, without feeling hungry eyes on my backside. I want to run an errand in light makeup and a summer dress without being appraised in public.What do these catcallers even hope to get out of the exchange? Whistling at me from across the street and commenting how nice my ass looks in a pair of polka dot shorts is not the type of behavior I find attractive in a potential mate.In an article for Harper's Bazaar, a few years ago, the author Elizabeth Wurtzel meditated on the transience of youth and beauty, writing: \"Catcalls are not a feminist issue.\" While I tend to agree with Wurtzel on many topics of feminism, I must disagree with her here. For as long as women are uncomfortable walking alone, in icky anticipation of a stranger's street harassment, catcalls will be a feminist issue. Perhaps if I'm still getting catcalled in my mid-forties, I'll be a little more appreciative, but that won't make the behavior any more acceptable.Christine Friar, a blogger for Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, wrote in an April 2013 blog post of an encounter she had with a man waiting for the light to turn at a crosswalk. \"Hello, gorgeous,\" he said to her. In a flat tone, she writes, she told him to stop. But he persisted, saying, \"I'm just trying to brighten up your day.\"\"No, you're not,\" she responded. \"You're rude. This is rude. I'm your peer!\" And it's true. My female friends, in their summer clothes\u2014or, hell, even bundled up for winter\u2014are as much my peers as the construction workers in their hard hats and hefty denim on just about every street corner in Williamsburg. We're all just people, New Yorkers, trying to get through the day.Just the other day, I left my apartment to deposit a check and drop of some dry cleaning, and in the 30 minutes that I was out, I received four catcalls. Is it relevant what I was wearing? (A colorful summer dress and strappy wedge sandals.) I don't think it should be. After all, none of us is \"asking for it.\" The first was mildly irritating. For the second, I was on the phone with my mom! And by the third, a whistle from a pickup truck driving by, it had started to get to me.Seriously? I thought to myself. If one more...\"Hey there, sexy... you're looking\u2013\u2013\"\"NO ONE LIKES THAT,\" I shouted, not a missing a beat.\"I was... just sayin'...\" The man looked chastened.I wasn't finished. \"Seriously, it's rude.\" Then, borrowing a line from Christine Friar, although with none of her calm collectedness: \"I'm you're PEER, for God's sake.\"\n\tAdvertisement - Continue Reading Below\n\t\n\nA bearded hipster stood on the corner watching this all go down, his expression blank, revealing neither support of me nor disdain for the catcaller.Later that day, wearing the same outfit, I walked with my boyfriend to a nearby restaurant for an early dinner and got not so much as an eyeball in my direction. In fact, I've never been catcalled in his or any other man's presence. His explanation is that no man would encroach on his \"territory\" in front of him, out of a fraternal respect. (Ah, respect...) But I think he's probably right.The next day, two more catcalls. By then, I'd had time to reflect. Maybe a calmer retort might get me somewhere, I thought. I was walking down the street, and in the opposite direction a group of men (again, construction workers, though of course the behavior isn't vocation specific) were walking on the same strip of sidewalk. I knew it was coming. You can tell, I think. They stop talking, eyes like full-body scanners.\n\n\"Mmm, beautiful,\" said one.I stopped, looked him levelly in the eyes. \"You know, no one likes when you do that?\"\"Huh... Really?\" he asked. I think he was genuinely stumped and surprised by my response.\"Yes,\" I explained. \"No one. It's rude; we're peers.\" (I really love using this line.)\"Well, I'm sorry about that. I wasn't meaning to be rude.\" He turned to walk away, and as he did, said, with what seemed to be genuine kindness: \"You are lovely, though. God bless you.\"For more from Molly, follow her on Twitter @mollyoswaks."^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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