I DON'T OWE YOU SHIT

Allow me to let you in to a little secret. I don’t owe you shit. I, as a woman, a young adult, a human, I don’t owe you anything at all. Unless of course I borrowed some money, in that case, I may owe you a little. But in the grand scheme of things, I don’t owe you shit.

Reasons I do not owe you shit:

I am my own person
You haven’t done anything for me
(even if you had I still wouldn’t owe you shit)
I am a woman not a pet
Because literally I just don’t owe you anything leave me alone

So, today was going reasonably well. I had a morning lecture and afterwards went shopping. I bought a vanilla cheesecake to eat whilst watching the Great British Bake off tonight and managed to spend £95 in boots on NYX’s new Christmas gifts, of which I opened when I got home and tried on, for myself. I also bought a Yankee candle. But this isn’t my point. I’d had a good morning. However, there I was, continuing my good morning in the comfort of my own car, jamming to a bit of old school one direction and just generally having a bop. I’m stopped at some traffic lights and let me tell you now, it was sunny, so I’m squinting and probably pulling a face.

Then I am interrupted by a man in the car beside me. Now this is where my ‘I don’t owe you shit’ mantra comes in. This guy, with his bee’s nest beard leans over and pokes my arm from the window.

“Come on darlin smile. Life aint that bad.”

Come. On. Darlin. Smile.

Life. Aint. That. Bad.

Firstly, I jump because I’m in a car alone and someone has just touched me. Then I look over at him and his friend slouched in the seat beside him. They’re both looking at me and god knows I know what they’re thinking. So, I put on my biggest fucking grin and raise my eyebrows.

“Like this?” I go. They laugh and nod. “Because I reckon I’d look pretty stupid smiling like this on my own in a car.”

The friend pulls back and I turn my stare back to the road. I’m telling you these bloody filter traffic lights were driving me crazy. I just wanted to turn right and drive away from this guys bullshit. He goes quiet and I go back to bopping. Until he starts again.

“You up to anything nice today then beautiful?”

I lied and told him I was going to see my boyfriend. It seems that mentioning another man is the only way to make these gross people go away. Alas for this particular one, it didn’t work.

“What a lucky guy. Does he like sharing?” His friend laughs and I find myself gripping the steering wheel.

“Not that lucky. I’m not that smiley.” I say. “Not that i have to be smiling all the time.” Finally, the bloody filter arrow turns green and I speed the hell away from creepy Honda guy.

Let me just say this. MEN ARE GROSS. Why are we in a society that believe women should spend twenty-four hours a day smiling? Now, for those who know me, know that I am a ray of sunshine. Named by myself (See: picture of me smiling for evidence.) I love laughing and smiling and everything cute and nice. However, when I am sitting in my car alone I am not going to be grinning unless Harry Styles himself comes out of my car radio and serenades me. So, I’m not going to smile.

Catcalling is so downgrading and disgusting and yet it happens so often in hundreds of different ways. I like compliments as much as the next guy. I went to the races not so long ago and a man stopped me and told me I looked beautiful. And then he continued walking. Because he was not expecting me to grin, open my legs and throw myself at him. But it’s when they follow you. Or the touch you. It is when they think that your presence alone acts as consent. That somehow, you belong to them because they are male and you are female and therefore you’re below them. You are weaker than them.

When does a compliment turn in to catcalling? I mean, it’s an obvious fact that a woman in this day and age is unlikely to have queued for a club, walked down the road or just plain existed without a stranger having complimented them on their physical experience. Usually your smile or your breasts. Legs can be a popular choice too. I don’t understand who these men are who spend their time giving unwanted comments to strangers, in hopes of getting a date. Why do they act hurt when you tell them to leave you alone? Why do some women get attacked when they tell a man they aren’t interested? Why are we put at risk for saying no?

I’ve heard it said that all the good men out there are taken. I doubt that’s true. But I also doubt you’ll find one staring at your boobs on a road south of Brixton.

What makes these men think that I want to get caught up in a public conversation about my body with a stranger?

These men are the equivalent to dogs who go around sniffing other dog’s bums. It’s this unspoken assumption that a woman’s body is up for grabs, to be judged and commented on. Women have spent years trying to regain control of their bodies and to become equals. Look up the suffragettes fighting for the vote. Look up Rosa Parks. Look up women as a whole. We’re fighting, and have been fighting for hundreds of years. But we haven’t done this just to be downgraded to a cat call on a cold October morning.

We’re losing more and more control all the time; whether this loss of our bodies has been perpetrated by media outlets telling us we’re not attractive enough, or sexual assault, or sexism telling us we’re only worth as much as the sum of our physical attributes.

Make no mistake. Approaching women in the street, in a shop, or even in their cars and pestering them for interaction is sexual harassment. I grew up being taught how to reject a man at a bar. I grew up to learn to never accept a drink from a stranger. My mother told me the first time I went out to a club to run if a man got aggressive. It was that likely. I should be safe in my own personal space. But I am not.

So, there it is. Catcalling. The most anxiety-inducing, fear-stricken harassment that you will come across on the often. But you don’t owe them shit. You don’t owe them a smile. A flirt, a phone number. You don’t owe them your body. You literally do not owe anybody anything.

To summarise, things I do not owe you, or anyone: