My Body Is Not Public Property

April 25th, 2008 4:29pm by rusty-halo | 14 Comments »

I want to talk about something other than how objectified and sick I’m still feeling over that whole “let’s make womens’ bodies public property so we can grope them” thing. Someone go read my “Planet of the Ood” essay and engage me in polite conversation. Or think up another topic you’d like me to post about, and I will.

Meanwhile, I am still upset and hurt, so I’m trying to make myself feel better by thinking (well, writing) aloud about the issues this brings up for me.

* kita0610 wrote a poem that is amazing and wonderful. Even if you’re sick of this topic, you should read the poem, because Kita made something awesome out of it all.

* I’m thinking about wearing one of these pins at DragonCon. On one hand, I don’t want to wear anything related to this fiasco; on the other hand, Project Back Each Other Up is awesome. We’ll see.

* This post from synecdochic gave me a lot to think about regarding the difference between “sex-positive” and “getting-laid-positive.” (Not sure I agree with everything there, but she makes a lot of good points.) One of the things that really stands out to me is the inherent flaw in the idea that empowered female sexuality = letting strangers grope you. Isn’t that just reinforcing the belief that female sexuality is inherently passive? I mean, I’m sure that some women do get off on being groped by strangers, fine, but I think most of us consider “empowered sexuality” to mean something different than “letting someone grope me.” It’s such a clueless male perspective on female sexuality. And the whole idea that what women were getting out of this was getting their self-esteem validated because a stranger wanted to grope them–haven’t we been fighting for ages not to base our self-esteem solely on what other people think of our physical appearances? (And then theferrett had the gall to say in the comments that he doesn’t do “pity gropes,” so it’s really only about boosting the self-esteem of women who fit into his view of what’s attractive).

* I would hate to be a female celebrity. What they get isn’t different from what the rest of us get, but they have to deal with a far more intense version of it–the idea that any time they go out in public, no matter what they’re doing, their bodies are public property and open to comment and criticism from anyone who sees them. While reading through the “Boob Project” debates, I was linked to paparazzi photos of Emma Watson’s crotch and Billie Piper’s breasts. (I wish I hadn’t clicked, and am not linking.) And the debates were not “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE PAPARAZZI?” or “What the fuck is wrong with us that we think we have any right to see this?” but rather “Should she shave?” and “Are her breasts ’saggy’?” and “Is she pregnant?” (I realize that ohnotheydidnt and the like are cesspits of the worst examples of humanity, but they still embody an attitude that way too many people hold.)

And then I clicked a link to one of those paparazzi sites that basically consists of (95% female) celebrities doing stuff like walking their dogs, buying their kids ice cream, and taking out the trash, with big red arrows photoshopped in, and text making judgments about their breasts or asses. It’s completely sick, not just that this happens but that it’s so widespread and accepted. Can’t a woman want to do a job in front of the public (like acting, which actually requires hard work and talent to do well), without giving up all right to privacy? (As much as South Park has been annoying me lately, they had it absolutely right with that Britney Spears episode, which was really about how dehumanizing our culture is toward female celebrities, and how the society that participates is complicit.)

* One thing this debacle made me realize is that a lot of men (even apparently decent ones) assume that if a woman is “dressed to impress” (however the hell you define that) in public, she’s doing it for the admiration of random men she encounters.

I know that some women do enjoy getting the attention of strangers, and that’s perfectly fine. But. You cannot assume that every woman wants that. I was thinking about my own experiences, and literally, I have never once in my life dressed up because I wanted the attention of a stranger. (In fact, I’ve always had to weigh the fun of getting dressed up against the fact that I didn’t want strangers bothering me.)

Every time I’ve gotten dressed up, it’s been because:

* I thought the clothes were pretty.
* I thought I looked nice in the clothes, which gave me more confidence.
* It was a kind of roleplaying–I could pretend to be someone completely different from my usual self.
* I didn’t want to get ridiculed for being a loser. (This was in high school–kids mostly stopped teasing me [to my face] when I went from ugly grunge nerd to confident goth bitch.)
* I wanted to share the fun of getting dressed up with friends. dizenchanted, xssy, and I used to dress up for concerts together in the most ridiculous outfits, because we were 15, 16, 17, just learning how to wear club clothes and makeup, and it was just … for me at least … an innocent fun thing to do with my friends. It wasn’t much different from dressing up as a princess when I was five–it was about us and how we felt, not about the people observing us.
* I wanted the social benefits that come from presenting as attractive and female. (Like being served a drink quickly instead of waiting a half hour while the bartender chats up the pretty girls in the low-cut tops. I realize this is problematic and feeds into female objectification, but sometimes you just want to get the damn drink in a hurry so you don’t miss the band you came to see.)
* I wanted a specific person to notice me. Not “any random dude off the street” but someone I already knew and was interested in.

A bunch of reasons, basically. None of which in any way involve “trolling for men.” (The phrase makes me throw up a little bit in my mouth.)

And yet strange men assume that I’m doing it for them. They stare at me blatantly, with their jaws hanging open, or with an expression in their eyes like a tiger evaluating its prey. They tell me I look hot, or that they want to fuck me, or they tell their friends they’d “like a piece of that,” or they follow me for a few blocks until I hide in a store and call my mom in tears. Even the ones who apparently think they’re being polite, who just make a comment like “you look beautiful,” are hurting and objectifying me.

It takes me out of my own headspace, where I am simply in the process of going somewhere or doing something or mentally analyzing the latest TV show I saw, and tells me instead that I’m an object, that I’m on display, that I need to think about how I look, that my own business is less important than the visual I present to the world. That merely by going out in public during the process of living my life, I cease to be a person but a decoration, open to comment and complaint and proposition from the people around me.

If I could, I’d make my appearance visible only to those I chose, but unfortunately you can’t friends-filter the whole world.

And then I keep getting told that I shouldn’t go places where I’m going to attract attention, when the reality is that strangers shouldn’t assume that they have any right to comment on my appearance. I shouldn’t have to change my life when they are the problems.

I’m a single woman. I like to travel and I like rock music. I shouldn’t have to put my life on hold until/unless I have a partner, or have to beg and cajole friends to go with me, or give up my interests if I can’t get someone else to come along. If I want to take a bus to Atlantic City for a Nine Inch Nails show, I should be able to do so without fear of being raped. If I want to be in the front of a Velvet Revolver mosh pit, I shouldn’t have to leave a position I’ve been holding for hours because a strange man won’t stop groping me. If I’m walking through a strange neighborhood in Brooklyn in the middle of the night, it’s because a bunch of my friends live out there and I’m on my way to the subway after a birthday party. Not because I’m “asking for” the attention of strange men.

Just… I don’t know how else to say it. My world doesn’t revolve around strangers’ sexual desires. My body is not public property. It’s also not public display. It’s not for anyone else to touch or comment on. If you don’t know me, it’s inappropriate to ever say anything to me about how I look. It may seem harmless to you, but it’s one more item added to the list of things that tell me I’m not a whole person, but an object on display for the pleasure of the world.

Current Mood: sad