Fake Conversations N° 5

There is this recurring scenario in my head that basically goes like this:

I am walking down the street minding my own business.

Some punk-ass says/does something whack to me.

I fight them.

Sometimes I win, sometimes I realize how ill equipped I am for the terrors of life.

There isn’t really an in between. This is never neutral, it is never something that comes about with a positive or affirming result. There is always some kind of violence, I am always the victim, and no matter how I direct my thoughts this notion that I will have to defend myself continues to plague my mind. Even when I triumph, it is a pyrrich victory - which is to say that the winning comes at such costs that it is still devastating, still feels like a loss.

I can notice a pattern when these things turn up - usually an extremity of emotions is apparent whether its confidence or loathing; I am often on my way somewhere; I am often needing something.

Lately I’ve noticed that this shows up in many different ways, too. It’s not just being cat-called on the street… For example, it shows up in made-up work scenarios.

—

I am, for some reason, working in an office.

I am good at my job, efficient, on time. I dress well because I like to dress well. I work just as hard or at least get just as much work done as my male counter-parts.

I’m walking through the office with confidence, delivering a report to someone.

A superior who doesn’t know who I am at all because they are so detached from the people who do their work makes some sly comment…

“Whoever has her as a secretary must be staying pretty late at the office…”

It is said loud enough that I can hear it. It is said in a way where they think I don’t have the backbone or guts or simply political position to reply.

I stop walking, turn around slowly, and one of three things happens:

• If I am feeling suave and powerful, I give them a sideways glance and say something like “I think you mean my secretary would want to stay late…” to imply that yes I am very beautiful and I know it but my position here isn’t felled by this, nor will you undermine my capabilities - but I don’t like this one because it’s implying in some way that even though it’s not okay to say it about me it is in some way okay to say it.

• If I am feeling angry, pent up, short of my patience I look them dead in the eyes and say “do you care to elaborate on what you mean by that?”

• If I’m feeling cunning, sly, and frankly sick of the bullshit I say “Maybe I’ll apply to be yours… What’s your name again?” And they tell me their name, we’ll say it’s Jim and I say with a very firm handshake “Well Jim, I’ll bring up that switch with HR when I inform them of your derogatory remarks. By the way, I’m a director of such-and-such part of the company.”

And here’s the thing, what I really want to do is say “if you think it’s appropriate to say that, is it appropriate for me to tell you to fuck off? That you’re obviously a boring and insecure man who uses his political position in the company as a ploy to get away with things you can’t in real life? If you have a partner, how would you feel if someone said this to them?” I would want to go OFF! Absolutely destroy them and in the process adequately label myself as a hysterical woman who later they would say “someone was on their period….” or if they are really old and ashamed of bodies “someones on the rag…”

I couldn’t for a while figure out why this scenario was so often running through my head. Walking down the street - sure.. I experience some fuckery within that daily. People starting or whistling or nudging a friend or a weird sideways glance. But I don’t care about the office nor have I ever wanted to work in one. It dawned on my the other day as I listened to my partner in a meeting - that while I am not engrained in that culture, I am around someone who is and I listen to how he talks about not being taken seriously if he got a tattoo, or how the business politics affect his personal decisions in being and becoming himself. How even having one ear pierced sometimes gets him weird looks. And on and on.

So I was reading something the other day that was basically like “to not dress for the male gaze is still to dress for the male gaze” because we are so deeply aware of it, and it’s such a prevalent grease smear on the lens of society, that to purposefully dress against it is still to be aware and influenced by it. That it’s actually nearly impossible to not do it. I was reading another thing that was talking about how actually everyone looks at other women or women presenting people with the male gaze because when we are walking down the street we don’t scrutinize or judge a man in an outfit the same way we do someone who we assume is a woman. And it’s just fucking everywhere!

I’ve never had a fantasy in which a woman howls something rude at me on the street and I have to beat her down. Never has a non-binary figure made an inappropriate pass at me or slipped something into my drink.

This isn’t an “all men” kind of fake conversation because so many men in my life are my saviours and angels and confidants. It’s not that I’m scared of them either. It’s just that there is this deep wound that feels irreparable in life that stems from this kind of “mens men”, need-to-prove, need-to-dominate, no-repercussions dialogue that feels soooo fucked up.

I remember once my grandfather telling me that because I was beautiful I would get more of what I wanted in life. He was quoting an article he’d read on the psychological research behind this; and while it is true and I can’t refute the fact… he never told my brother that he would get more of what he wanted in life because he was a white man, or the system was geared towards him.

So, the heart of these consistent fake conversations I have in my head is actually the fear of the ignorance around the privilege. That the Jim in the office would never feel scared to say something inappropriate but I should feel scared to say that it is inappropriate. That the people who cat-call me on the street aren’t afraid that they will get into trouble or lose a fight in the face of what they are saying - in fact they don’t have to think about it at all. The privilege of ignorance is astounding to me and I replay different versions of it in my head over and over again, always the victim, always finding a way to triumph in which I don’t also lose, finding that with the evidence I have through my own experience that it is nearly impossible to envision a realistic scenario in which I am not in more danger/trouble/discomfort for calling attention to that which is actually dangerous/troublesome/discomfiting.

Alas, it’s not unique. It’s disturbingly familiar to most people actually. It is a wondrously monstrous double/quadruple/infinite standard that never fails to disappoint me even when I have said the words that leave me feeling winning because to truly win would be to never have to think about saying them at all.