beautiful

On Tuesday, I ran an errand for a friend. I took a long walk in the neighborhood (between 20 and 30 minutes) in 90 degree weather.

In NYC, warm weather can be overwhelming. There is not much relief from block to block --- no shady trees, no ocean breeze, just tall buildings that lock in heat and cars that spew exhaust into the air. Sometimes, you can find a piragua or an icie to hold you over, but beyond that, you're pretty much left to sweat and, somehow, make it through.

I wore a tank top,  although I was worried about drawing attention to myself as I walked down a busy avenue in Brooklyn. But what was I going to do? IT WAS HOT. I was not about to wear a turtleneck! Nonetheless, I felt self-conscious when I left my house. I know it is not my fault if someone chooses to treat me with disrespect, but I could not help wondering whether I should have worn something else. As one of my favorite feminist zine contends:

Analysis does not equal immunity.

I got a total of 8 catcalls during my stroll. I got the first 4 within 2 minutes of walking. I was honked at, hissed at, whistled at, and yelled at in English and Spanish.

The lines were gems like: "Hey Beautiful! Long hair! Long hair!" and "Oye bonita!"

Beautiful. Bonita. Nice enough words, one would think. Words that are sometimes difficult to associate with myself. As a young woman of color, I encounter daily messages (from peers, media, government, and so on) that diminish my sense of worth and beauty. While many catcallers would contend there is an art or a romance to catcalling (game, if you will),  I fail to see the romance in having my appearance scrutinized and appraised without my consent or invitation.

Being called "beautiful" in the context of a catcall does nothing to make me actually feel beautiful --- in fact, the effect is quite often the opposite. I feel unsafe, objectified, nameless, consumed, racialized.

A sense of worth and empowerment go hand in hand. Experiences of self-determination and of radical, beloved community are far more likely to help me know my worth and my power. All a catcall does is reproduce the culture that made me question my worth in the first place.