Recently I was catcalled.
I don’t know whether this is something I should come to expect now that I’m older and perhaps more of an object of admiration for some people, but it made me uncomfortable and I want to talk about it.
So what does it mean to be catcalled?
Out of interest I just looked up the origin of the word and here’s what I found in the Oxford Dictionary: mid 17th century from cat + call, originally denoting a kind of whistle or squeaking instrument used to express disapproval at a theatre. So for anyone who might be temped to suggest that catcalling is a slightly forceful, awkward form of compliment, according to the good old dictionary, traditionally it was a sign of ‘disapproval’! Nothing complimentary in it at all.
I’m all down for being chatted up in the street or complimented by a stranger. It has the potential to be so flattering. However, the line is crossed when someone decides not to engage you with their opinions on your looks or whatever, but to yell them at you.
And you know why that is the issue?
Because it instantly degrades you from being a person worthy of attention, to an object, being ogled at.
I’ve talked to a few of my friends about catcalling. Whether it happens to them often and how it makes them feel. In terms of their responses, they have all admitted to feeling vulnerable after being ‘commented on’.
I was in a park after eleven o clock in my home village this summer and one of my friends was getting quite anxious that, because it was dark and there were four girls (along with three boys), and none of us were wearing much since it was a hot evening, someone could take advantage of us.
We reassured her, and everything was fine, but it got me thinking about the precautions that we as girls seem to have ingrained in our minds.
There are certain alleys that we wouldn’t dream of walking down after dark, pubs and other places notorious for harbouring drunken men that we would obviously avoid, outfits that would need covering up when returning from a party or walking about after sunset. The anxiety felt when walking past a group of boys who seem particularly rowdy and might think it okay to make a comment, gesture or movement that takes advantage of you.
All of these things most girls my age are consciously aware of.
And 90% of the time, the group of boys wouldn’t dream of reaching out to physically grab at you or call you something that makes you feel like an object, and that dark alley would’ve been totally safe to walk down.
But that isn’t the point.
The point is, it happens, has happened and will continue to happen.
And we have to be aware of it.
And I, as well as my friends, often feel exposed, regardless of outfits.
Once I was cycling home from the beach with my Mum, and as we came off the roundabout a man leaned out of a window in order to yell at her; “look at the arse on that!”.
He called her “that”.
He honestly referred to her as a thing.
And what baffles me, is what these people really expect to get out of a comment like that.
Did this man expect my mum to hop off her bike and approach his car to say, “That’s so sweet of you, thank you so much!”?
What did he want to achieve?
Does his friend in the driver’s seat give him extra kudos for going to all the effort of leaning out the window to yell?
Do these two men think it’s cool?
I don’t get it.
Why is it that as a female I should have to be cautious and aware of my outfits and that I should have to make judgements about the type of men who sit outside of pubs?
But I do, because this is how I try and stay safe.
It’s not a compliment to be catcalled.
It makes me feel uncomfortable and frankly I just don’t understand why people do it. Seriously, where have these men been taught that by screaming so called compliments across the street, they will find themselves a partner? It doesn’t get anyone anywhere romantically and unless it automatically results in some masculine badge of honour which I am unaware of, it seems to me like a lot of wasted breath.
There is no positive result from cat calling.
It's not flattering, amusing, endearing, charming or sweet. I shouldn't feel like I'm being sized up next to my friends. I'm not a prize that you get to choose in a funfair game. Walking near you doesn't make me yours to objectify, hate to break it to you.
I mean, have you ever met a couple who got together after he shouted about her tits from his car window? No?
I didn’t think so.
No matter what I wear or where I’m walking, I’m not an object.
Don’t treat me like one.
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