I recently moved to a new neighborhood in which cat-calling is much more prevalent than it was in any of my past neighborhoods. The walk-by comments are generally ‘complimentary’ and not especially vulgar. I’m a little bit surprised by how much I hate it. First off, I should make it clear that I’m a pretty friendly person and generally enjoy talking to strangers:

• The other day, a student from my alma mater called asking for money for the alumni fund, and I ended up chatting for ten minutes about her hopes and worries for her life after graduation.
• I recently had a long conversation with the cashier at my local bagel shop in which we discussed his love and my hatred of football and he reanalyzed my formative experience with the wretched sport (his read: it was all about cooties).
• Soon after I moved in, I was walking down the block and a lady wanted to know my thoughts on a set of rotating lights in the sky. I thought it was a helicopter; she was sure it was a UFO (she had done a lot of research on YouTube).

All of these interactions brought me joy, so why does cat-calling feel so different?

1. I love having interesting conversations with people. With these men, I am being called at. I am not a subject, worthy of co-engagement, I am just an object to be commented on.
2. It reminds me a little of when I am traveling, and I end up at a religious site without planning on it, and with raised eyebrows I am given a schmatteh to throw over my shoulders because my sleeves are too short. Or I find myself in a traditional neighborhood, and I worry about being yelled at. It feels hostile, and I feel like I don’t belong there. The ultra-Orthodox seem to own the Western Wall - it is THEIR place, and I am just an awkward visitor - and the same feels true when these men stand on the corner and call out to me: the street is theirs, and being talked at is my toll for walking to the grocery store.
3. I feel ashamed. Intellectually, I know that walking down the block in a dress is nothing to be ashamed of. But when men yell out to me on the street, my automatic reaction is to hunch down a little, and assume I’m doing something wrong, something to ask for it.

To me, positive stranger engagement is all about expanding our sense of community. However ephemeral, we are forging a connection with the other, welcoming each other into little bits of our worlds. Cat-calling has the opposite effect: even when I’m being called an angel, all I want to do is fly away.

A few weeks ago, I went with some friends to a bar with a dance floor. The last time I had attended this establishment, a man quickly decided to fall in love with me, which was fun until I discovered that he had attended an anti-abortion rally earlier that day. (He realized that I was an activist, and told me about the protest hoping to impress me.) This time, I wasn’t looking for romance, but I wouldn’t have minded dancing with some fun strangers.

Once on the dance floor, my friends and I soon decided to move closer to the DJ booth, because there were some dudes standing on the sidelines in the back, staring. Once we moved up, however, we realized that there were dudes staring from the sidelines in the front, too. We were literally surrounded by sketchy staring dudes. Once in awhile, one of these dudes would approach a woman from behind and start grinding with her. I saw several instances of men trying this and women just walking away.

THANKS PATRIARCHY for teaching these men that the best way to interact with women is the jungle stalk and attack strategy!!

I talk about the male gaze in media often (oh hai California Gurls (one time some acquaintances thought I was accusing Katy Perry videos of playing to the male gays)), but this time I viscerally felt it in real life. I couldn’t dance for my own personal enjoyment (which anyone who knows me will tell you I can generally do in any setting at a moment’s notice) because I felt like an object for these men’s entertainment. Eventually I sat down in a booth alone, sipping ice water until my ride was ready to leave.

To repeat: I say this as a woman who is not necessarily averse to dancing with strangers in clubs. Here, in my view, is how that process should go:

1. Two people are dancing near each other. (Note: Two people. Both dancing. Neither standing to the side wide-eyed and gape-mouthed.)
2. They make eye contact and dance toward each other.
3. They start dancing together! (Note: In a busy dance floor context, one person asking the other to dance is optional. BUT if either person is SURPRISED or DISPLEASED to suddenly find hirself dancing with another person, something has gone wrong.)

Isn’t it amazing how this patented process (patent-pending) includes neither gawking at nor sneaking up on anyone? Feel free to print, laminate, and disseminate at your next night on the town.