One whistle too many / About being a woman

 

Why do men stare if I’m wearing any of these: a skirt, a dress, shorts, lipstick or high heels? I think the worst was when I was fourteen and I had a black jumpsuit with high heels and men were honking at me. It felt uncomfortable and it still does to this day.

I don’t like to dress sexily. Or let’s put it this way: I would love to wear whatever I want just for myself and to not care what anyone else thinks – but it’s not that simple.

It’s not simple if you don’t like unknown people’s intrusive glances, strangers’ whistles and hints or sexual abuse which is where it leads at it’s worst. What makes a man think it’s okay to say whatever they please to another human being?

I wouldn’t wanna have to think about my ouftit too much, to be scared if I’m gonna provoke someone with my outfit. Do I show too much of my leg? Is my cleavage too much? Sometimes even the safest outfit falls into a trap and my long trousers, t-shirt and ponytail is too much for a construction worker. Or was it my red lipstick? That must have been clear signal that you can yell any obscenities at me. I don’t want to doom the opposite sex but I understand the anger that slowly arises from these experiences. Many of my female friends have experienced the same that I have.

I would never slap an unknown man on his ass or shout something stupid to them. I think this should work both ways.

It’s easy to judge someone on their looks and on their clothes. I must admit that even I do that some times. Especially revealing clothes on teens may set my alarm bells ringing – partly for sympathy towards them because I know what reactions I would get wearing the same outfit. On the other hand I remember the days when you just threw on some shorts and a top without too much thinking. I didn’t know how to be afraid but I learned the cruel truth the hard way. I still can’t understand why grown men circle around 14-15 year old girls in the city. It’s sick and scary.

Clothes tell of course, a lot of people, and maybe you can tell something of them – but really what appears on the outside is just a small part of the truth. A tight dress and high heels are not necessarily hint of sexuality – even if it is a pleasing to someone’s eye.

Some dress up very conservatively. If something is revealed from the bottom, the top is covered, and vice versa. These are the basic rules that can ensure that you’re dressing up in good taste. On the other hand – do we need this set of rules? Some like to dress sexily and revealingly and declare that they have a right to it. I may not quite understand dancing in the bar in your panties, but I appreciate the idea behind that. A woman can dress sexily for themselves. I mean: a woman and a man should be able to dress just as she or he wants. What does it matter how much skin is shown? Don’t we all have one – a skin – all over the body. Why anyone should be ashamed of it?

I’m not sure in what category I belong to. To what box should I put myself in? I like to wear clothes that are covering to avoid unwanted attention. If you wear a mini skirt, men will stare. That’s just how it is. For a long time this was a truth to me, I had understood that and accepted it fully. I connect many of my clothes to the attention they get – and if I still choose to wear them I brace myself to the unwanted glances and shouts.

But that’s not how it’s supposed to be. No way.

I feel good in my body and I have no reason to be ashamed of it or hide it. Yes I own legs, ass, boobs, everything. They are a natural part of me whether I’m wearing loose or tight clothes. I should have the freedom to wear a mini skirt if I want to. I should have the freedom to be a traditional woman or however I want to be regardless of gender.

I should have the freedom to get ready, curl my hair and wear a lipstick.
I should have the right to wear high heels and walk with them all the way to the moon if I want to.
I should have the courage to say out loud that I don’t like the attention I get that I haven’t seeked for myself.

I should scream to the next man that shouts after me, that he can smell a long big poop.

 

Do you feel me?

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