Claire+D's+2015+OpEd+Article



Ah, catcalling. What a great way to offer a friendly compliment to a passing woman. So flattering and classy. Just kidding, you may as well be parading down main street holding a sign declaring "I am cripplingly ashamed of the fact that I am a virgin."

Oh, but do excuse my sarcasm. After all, "it's just a way to meet women." Of course. How could I be so naive. After all, everyone has had this conversation with their grandmother:

"Grandma, how did you and grandpa meet?"

"Well sonny, it all began when your grandfather leaned out his car and shouted 'nice t*ts' at me from across the street."

Oh you haven't heard that heartwarming story before? Gee, who'da thunk it? Of course when I take a clear opposition to catcalling, I fail to recognize some of the nice guys that catcall. If I'm not smiling, it is totally your duty to stand way too close to me and leeringly say, "Hey why aren't you smiling? Babe, you'd be hotter if you did," and then call me a b*tch when I ignore you. So endearing. The hallmark of a classy guy.

If you want to compliment someone, smile at them. Say hello. Introduce yourself. RESPECTFULLY compliment them.

As a sidenote, I have learned that in response to being catcalled, giving your best impression of a pterodactyl giving birth (with accompanying facial expressions) will ward off even the most persistent harrasser.

If you need to whistle at a couple of 16 year old girls in an intersection to reassert your masculinity, all that means is that you are compensating for something you must be sorely lacking. Why do I take this view? Because I can't walk the mile from my house to downtown (wearing jeans and a crew neck tshirt, so don't give me the "asking for it" bs) without recieving rape threats. Because I can't have a nice afternoon out with friends without having someone making explicit comments about our bodies. Because when I try to tell someone what's happening, I'm told to "stop exaggerating."

Stop catcalling. Now.