Misogyny, Objectification and Empowering My Daughter

Back in high school, the behavior of certain male teachers was a running joke amongst the female half of the class. As an adult, it amazes me how naive we were at the time, and as a parent it infuriates me that these grown men were allowed to say inappropriate things to teenage girls and do inappropriate things to teenage girls and look at teenage girls in that way and still keep their jobs.

The first time I remember a man actually making me feel threatened, I was 17 and had just gotten my first car. Being in the days before I had a credit card, I paid for my gas with cash. On this particular day when I went inside the station, a man inside looked me up, looked me down, stared at my chest a moment too long, then turned to his buddy and said, "A little too old." Fear shot down to my toes. Too old for what? And thank goodness I WAS too old because otherwise what did he have in mind? I've never felt more vulnerable in my life. I never told my mother. I don't know why.

The year after that, I graduated from high school, started college and got a job at a drugstore. After awhile, the married twice my age pharmacist started asking me out. Less than a year in, I quit and found another job. Partly because it was boring and partly because I wanted to find a job in my field of interest, but the defining reason was because a male superior told me he'd buy me lunch if I bent over.

The job change meant I worked with mostly women who kept their opinions about my body to themselves, but that didn't mean the male clients did the same. One asked, "What's a pretty girl like you doing working a job like this?" The reason I wear shirts under my scrubs to this day stems from one day when I caught a male client trying to look down my top. At another job, in the same field, a man brushed up against me in a darkened room as the doctor examined his pet's eyes. I assumed it was an accident until it happened again. And then again.

A couple of years later and yet another job change, I was standing in line at the post office when an old man behind me asked me what kind of underwear I was wearing, implying that he'd been staring at my behind the entire time we stood in line.

In all of these instances, I was so shell shocked by what had been said or done that I did nothing. I didn't know what to do or say.

For awhile the attention stopped. I think it had something to do with hauling babies around. It's harder to objectify an exhausted looking woman with a baby on one hip and a toddler hanging on the other leg, who has a saggy postpartum belly and spit up on her shoulder and a Little Einstein's sticker on her ass.

But the kids are older now and in school or activities. The baby weight is gone. In the absence of little grabby hands, I wear my hair down now, I wear skirts and heels and hoop earrings. I'm frequently out and about by myself and it wasn't long before the unwanted attention started anew. Once, I walked to the library and a strange man started to follow me. When I slowed down, he did too. I finally asked if he needed to get by and he responded that he was happy with the view from where he was. I finally crossed the street and he got the hint.

Another time, I was coming home late from work. As I stopped at a stop sign to let a pedestrian cross, suddenly I realized that the pedestrian was a man, that he wasn't wearing any pants, and that he had raised his jacket to expose himself. Having never been flashed before, it took a few seconds to realize what I was looking at and the shock set in. I managed to collect myself and drove around him and called the police when I got home. But for that short period of time, I felt my equilibrium tilt, I felt temporarily powerless.

These days I'm a little better at responding to unwanted attention, but I've got a bigger worry.

My daughter.

Earlier today, I read this post from ohjennymae, in which she talks about inappropriate behavior aimed at her 9-year-old daughters. Her post was inspired, in part, by this post at Finslippy, which talks about how women are objectified, the things that we go through simply because we are female. The Finslippy posts has nearly 200 comments, mostly from women who have had similar experiences.

These two posts stirred up a lot of emotion in me. Anger, mostly, that I never stood up for myself, that I never insisted that I be treated with respect. That I didn't tell that superior at work that if he commented on my butt again I'd kick him in the God Damn balls. That I didn't tell the walker loitering behind me to get the hell away from me or I'd call the cops. That I just didn't.

The thing of it is, few of us DO do anything. I think that says a lot that otherwise assertive, confident women feel so vulnerable, so victimized, so objectified as to be unable to speak.

And that's not what I want for my daughter, nor do I want my son to grow into the type of man who makes a woman feel afraid.

I showed my husband the Finslippy post. He was horrified. Horrified that women are treated this way, horrified that it is so widespread, horrified that most of the commenters were unable to make it stop. Being a man, he's never chosen his clothing to minimize his body, he's never chosen a longer route to get somewhere specifically to avoid being ogled, he's never walked down the street staring at his feet to keep from making eye contact. He has never had someone use such tactics as a method of exerting power, of creating shame and fear and thus establishing superiority.

I don't want my daughter to feel like she has to hide what makes her female. I don't want her to think that she needs to put up with misogynistic or threatening behavior, or that she should welcome it, or be thankful for the attention. Or that she, or any other girl, is in any way deserving of such attention or less worthy of respect simply because she is a girl. I want her to have the power to say NO. You may not talk to me like that or about me like that or imply that about me. Keep your hands and your prying eyes and your opinions to yourself.

Attention like this is not flattering. It is not welcomed. We do not seek the approval of men. I am not unhappy with or ashamed of my body. In fact, I feel better about my body, more confident, than I have in a long time. But that is not what defines me. And I will no longer let anyone use it as a way to exert power over me. If you want to compliment me, tell me I'm a good worker, or that my garden looks great, or that something I wrote inspired you.

But leave my ass out of it.