Catcalling in COVID
Ya. It’s still happening.
Sweatpants, Hair Tied, Chillin’ With No Makeup On
In a the midst of a global pandemic, it’s paradoxical that some of us have felt more comfortable. The standard of what is “appropriate” attire has completely plummeted. I wear less make up, haven’t touched a curling iron in months, and my heels are still, tragically, abandoned in my office. Never have I felt freer to be gross, dishevelled, and unbothered. Plus, wearing a mask out in public offers a freeing anonymity. The chances of a casual run-in are exponentially lower when half your face is covered. Add on sunglasses, and it's full incognito mode.
In adjusting to this dressed-down world, my brain made room for new anxieties: What if I get sick? Is the States about to have a civil war? What if I can never go to a bar again? Are Mark and I are stuck in this apartment for eternity? One thing I didn’t factor in, however, is the rampant sexual harassment that comes with existing as a woman in public. In fact, I actually forgot about it.
How blissful.
The streets were desolate when lockdown first started in March. Not only was it snowy and gross, but there was a post-apocalyptic vibe that kept people locked away. When you spend months at home, barely leaving the condo, you idealize the city lifestyle of before. Everything within walking distance, people-watching galore, the hustle and bustle of A-type business people. I looked forward to the summer days of strutting down Queen like I own the pavement. My city, my time. But, now that Phase 3 is fully in effect, that fantasy is shattered. The harsher reality is that no sidewalk is, or has ever been, entirely my own to walk on.
The Boys are Back in Town
Over the last few weeks I’ve been enjoying going back to the gym. For me, it’s a huge form of stress relief, but it's also just a nice excuse to be somewhere different. Alas, the two closest GoodLifes to our apartment are each a 30 minute and 40 minute walk away respectively.
One of those commutes involves a harrowing walk through the roughest part of town. Frankly, it can be scary during certain parts of the day. My 8:30am Saturday morning time slot, for example, is rife with vulgar yelling, lingering heroin highs, and overdose vomit. To avoid this, I’ve chosen to frequent the slightly farther, much quieter GoodLife in Greektown.
Only I haven’t felt much safer on that walk. Sure, I don’t pass people shooting up on the street, but the catcalling is ever present. The other day a car pulled over on the Danforth so the driver could, not-so-politely, ask if I would “spread ‘em”.
I guess the quiet March months are really gone.
As every woman knowns, it’s jarring to be screamed at on the street. Catcalling has, and always will be, distressing. So, for transparency’s sake, let’s call catcalling what it is: street harassment.
What’s interesting is that there hasn’t appeared to be any decline in the amount of street harassment I encounter with or without a mask. It turns out men love to yell at me no matter how long I go without washing my hair or how much I hide my face from view. I can't say I'm surprised, but I would love if they could mask their enthusiasm a little more... (see what I did there?)
My new COVID aesthetic
Mask On, Mask Off
Before masks we knew catcalling was a problem. In a 2008 survey of 811 women only 3 responded that they hadn't experienced street harassment. Moreover, some of the participants noted catcalling starting around the age of 12 or 13. In 2014, this video of a woman walking around New York went viral for showcasing the unrelenting harassment faced by women simply existing in public spaces.
Since then, catcalling has been discussed more and more as a form of harassment. That said, the threat is still alive and well. It would be foolish to think that masks or the collective trauma of a global pandemic would stop men from harassing women. We know better than that.
In fact, there is evidence to suggest that harassment and violence actually increases during hard times. The theory being that harassers use catcalling as a way to assert power and ownership when other elements of their life fall out of their control. A pandemic full of job loss and fear, in that case, is the perfect breeding ground for street harassers.
Some have also posited that wearing masks takes away the humanity of victims. With partially covered faces, victims become a walking body detached from any real human experience. Cyber-bullying is a great parallel for this idea. People are more vocal behind a screen than they are in person because they don't see the consequences of their words in real time. Not only do assailants benefit from their own anonymity online, but they can avoid recognizing their victims as real people. This experience is mirrored with masks. Having your face covered simultaneously hides you from blame and makes victims easier to harass.
Of course, all of these examples emphasizes the point that street harassment has never been about flirting. Catcalling is predominantly a way to show power and assert dominance in public spaces. It has been found that groups of men are more likely to engage in street harassment than individuals, indicating that these calls are done for an audience of other men. Whether to show sexual prowess, physical authority, or just obnoxiousness, it's clear that street harassment has never been about 'giving compliments.' It is extremely performative, and boosts male egos through the degradation of women.
To this end, choosing to yell at the pretty girl in the short skirt is a cop out for the behaviour. It's easier to claim catcalling as a form of flattery when it's aimed at someone who looks good; however, it's become alarmingly clear that this was never the case. Masks aren't a barrier for vulgar come-ons, so why should we believe these actions are born out of admiration?
Whispering 'Hey beautiful' at a woman is a declaration of war on the safety of the space. And, of course, women are losing the battle. To fight back is to risk not only more assault, but also to risk your life.
As with many vulnerable groups, street harassment is more dangerous for women of colour and the LGBTQ+ community. For instance, street harassment is extremely dangerous for trans women. In one horrible case, a man named James Dixon beat a woman to death after friends made fun of him for not recognizing that she was transgender. After the fact, he claimed he murdered her because his "pride is at stake." Once again, this is proof that his comments were never about her. He was using her fear as a way to make himself more powerful, and she was murdered for not being a good enough victim.
What a relic...
Stop! Don’t Touch Me There…
As much as I don't want to, I feel obligated to spend a little time on the flip-side of the street harassment argument. Here’s an article I loathe called "Why Catcalling Isn't a Bad Thing and Maybe We Need More of It". It's written by - wait for it - a white man, and he poses that catcalling is a way to engage in a conversation. Hey, relationships start somewhere right? As long as a creep-factor line isn’t crossed, you should feel empowered to approach people on the street. Who knows what kind of friends you can make.
To that I say, not in a fucking pandemic.
With COVID ever present, we live in a world where unwelcome touch is doubly scary. Not only has it always been comfortable, but now it comes with the added bonus of potentially transmitting a deadly virus. We now have guidelines on how to hug, and there is a running debate on whether or not we will ever be forced to handshake again.
If there’s a positive coming out of this pandemic, I hope it’s normalizing consent as a regular part of human interaction. Unwanted touches are not always sexual, and creating boundaries is crucial to feeling confident in our own bodies. Everyone has different comfort levels, and getting an enthusiast yes to a hug, handshake, or high five is important. Asking a simple "is this okay?" can only benefit the level of respect and communication between two people.
No, it’s not okay for you to touch my waist. No, I don’t want you to kiss your cheek. No, my lower back is not a way for you to ask me to move.
But thank you for asking.
Those boundaries should also extend beyond touch. Instead of screaming "nice ass" from across the street, what about a wave first? Again, street harassment has always been scary, but now there's the added concern of disease. You don't know where someone has been, and you don't know what health risks they're taking just by being outside. If there has ever been time to level up our respect for personal space, it should be now.
OG frenemies
Coyote Ugly
Of course, you're not the people I have to convince. I'm sure most of you deal with this kind of street harassment at least semi-regularly, or at least aren't in denial about it's existence.
In my neighbourhood I’ve grown accustomed to the usual suspects. The homeless man in the wheelchair who mimes jerking off when I walk by, the two guys that stand outside the liquor store and compliment my outfit each day, the gaggle of construction workers under the bridge that stop to let me through like I’m about to get crucified. In a way they have become harmless to me. I'm like Mr. Rogers going out for a walk in the sexually-charged neighbourhood.
"Oh hi Mr. Old Man! Yes I do look great today - thank you for making me extremely aware that you're looking at my body. Enjoy your street corner! I’ll see you tomorrow."
It’s essentially the Coyote vs. Sheepdog relationship of sexual harassment. We all punch in for another day's work of making me feel a little on edge while I do errands. Part of me is disgusted that I let it slide, but the other part understands the risk it would be to say something.
It's strange, but it often feels worse when I'm in a new neighbourhood. There's no saying that the men on my street won't one day decide to chase me home, but, historically, they will forget about me the moment I walk by. The evil you don't know is scarier.
The other day I texted this to my boyfriend on the way back from the gym:
“They were always doing it, just from their houses.”
Chilling.
I'd never considered that point of view before. Was it naive to let them be outta sight, outta mind? I look back now and think that the quiet streets of March weren't actually quiet, I just couldn't hear the harassment.
The fetishization of women as objects to be screeched at doesn't go away because we don't see it. Sexual harassment doesn't stop because the world does. These ideas of dominance are rooted in the minds of assailants, whether or not they are free to roam the streets. We can't change anything without changing the individual perception, and that is a daunting task.
When I think about it too much I get overwhelmed.
To make it easier to digest, I like to think about these men stuck at home like it's the world's worst horror movie. I'll leave you with this silly story draft from my notes app. I hope it makes you smile, but please smile only as much as you want.
We wear masks now, so no one has to tell you to 'smile more' ever again.
