PREY

Saturday night I was meeting old friends at a bar and it started pouring. I began hopping from awning to awning when the rain let up a little. Two guys standing under the cover of a food cart yelled “Come here! Get shelter with us! Big titties! Big titties!” and when I rightfully ignored them, speeding past, they started screaming “FAT! FAT! FAT!” at me and into the ever-growing distance between us. 

This is what it means to be a woman walking the streets of NYC. This case of street harassment is not even that extreme. But even if a woman walks by and you say “hi, what’s your name?” or “wow, beautiful” or “nice nice niceeeee” it isn’t a compliment. It NEVER makes us feel beautiful. It makes us feel like prey. 

I didn’t get dressed this morning FOR YOU. I don’t wear lipstick FOR YOU. I wasn’t born with a face FOR YOU. I didn’t grow boobs FOR YOU.

I carry around a self-defense keychain. It’s in the shape of a cat and it could gouge a man’s eyes out. I carry it around everywhere. FOR YOU.