Tiger Face Paint is Cool

Three weeks ago I was walking home from work and a man shouted out that I was sexy. He called me “baby”. I did not appreciate this. I told him – and his giggling friends – why this was the case.

A very kind father and his children stopped to make sure I was ok; something I am incredibly grateful for.

I then went home and wrote letters to the people involved – letters that I will never be able to send, sadly. I have paraphrased them for blogging purposes.

Side note: I use the F word, the C word and the L word. The L word being ladyballs. 

To the friends –

I hope you’re proud of yourselves. I hope you’re proud of the fact that when I called out your friend you all went completely silent – cowardice at its finest. I get the idea that a woman has never confronted any of you before. 

When the four of you go out and sit by Hammersmith Bridge and catcall female commuters, is your friend usually the ringleader or do you all take turns?

Do you all take turns making these women feel like they’re dressed inappropriately? Do you all take turns making these women think that their walk is maybe too provocative? Do you all take turns in making these women think that maybe they did somehow invite the comments, that you were within your rights to say these things?

Does it make you feel like you’ve accomplished something, making these women think and feel these things?

Does it reinforce your sense of “manliness”?

Does it make you happy?

To the man who stopped –

Thank you. Thank you so much.  

Out of all of the people who walked past me being sexually harassed on the street, you were the only one who stopped and asked if I was ok. You backed me up while I was spewing rage at the sexist pigs.

You went beyond that, too. You went on to explain to your daughter why the men were saying what they were saying, and why it was sexist, and why that upset me. You explained that if anyone was to say similar things to her, she had every right to question them, just as I did.

You then stood by her when she took it upon herself to question the men then and there.

You are clearly a fantastic father and an all-round lovely man, and I cannot thank you enough for stopping.

To the little girl with the tiger face paint –

First of all, your dad did a really good thing by stopping and making sure I was ok. If you ever see anyone in an uncomfortable position, I hope you do the same.

Second of all, you are AWESOME. Not just because of the tiger face paint, either. At the age of seven you had big enough ladyballs (sorry) to stand up to those horrible men and ask them why they were making unwelcome remarks.

When they couldn’t answer, you kept asking. You helped them to – hopefully – come to the realisation that what they were saying was wrong.

If ever something seems immoral or unethical to you, never ever stop questioning it. Never stop asking why. Continue to be awesome, continue to wear that tiger face paint and continue to challenge sexism.  We women thank you for your services.

To myself –

I’m proud of you. Well done for turning around. Well done for not simply walking on, ashamed, when he said those things to you and all of his friends laughed and high fived.

Well done for standing your ground. Well done for looking him straight in the eye and asking if he was talking to you. Well done for telling them you didn’t appreciate being called “sexy” and “baby”.  Well done for not running scared from the problem and wallowing for the rest of the day.

I really hope it doesn’t happen to you again. If it does, do exactly as you did. Next time, maybe more people will support you.

You won’t always have ridiculously cool seven-year-olds there to school horrible sexists. But hell, you can do it yourself. You did well.

To the main culprit –

Those things that you see with the breasts and legs and bums and eyes and hair and skirts and heels and dresses and bras and vaginas are people. They’re women. I don’t know if it’s because you’re afraid of us, or if you had a bad experience with one or several of us, or if you are trying to conceal latent homosexuality, or if you really are just that socially retarded, but it is not ok for you to make us feel like objects.

Does having a cackling crew of cunts (yeah I fucking said it, enjoy the alliteration) make you feel brilliant about yourself?  Does it make you feel like the big man, having people laugh when you humiliate women? Does it help with your own self-esteem?

I feel sorry for you. Sorry that you are unable to speak to women as if they are human beings. Sorry that it probably impedes on your success with the opposite sex. (Unless I was right about the latent homosexuality, in which case, embrace your preferences. If your friends don’t want to be your friends because of it, fuck em. Make new friends. It’s 2014; homophobia should not be acceptable (HEY, JUST LIKE SEXISM). Stop being so gay about it.)

When you called after me the other day I could only assume, by the sheer arrogance present in your voice, that you had been doing it to women for years, and that nobody had stood up to you.

Well I did, and I’m proud of that. Hopefully now you’ll understand that women don’t like being defined by what they’re wearing that day and whether or not they have a nice pair of tits.

It’s a shame that it took the logic of someone twenty years your junior to make you stop grinning that perverted grin at me, but I’m glad it did. I’m glad you were humiliated by a child. I hope that someone so young questioning your behaviour made you stop and think that perhaps you were being childish yourself.

More than anything, I hope that you think twice before you speak to another woman in that way. Life is better when we all respect one another.