There used to be a dive-y bar on the outskirts of Central Square that I didn't like to walk past. It wasn't a dive bar like the ones my friends and I liked, where the diviness was sort of cultivated and semi-ironic. It was a serious dive, for serious drinkers, and every time I passed it one of the patrons would say something to me that I didn't
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Getting harassed never makes me feel pretty. It makes me feel like that one sad, sickly little wildebeest that the lions know might not taste very good but will be so easy to take down.
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I want to know what my Thing is so that I can manufacture it in mass quantities and give it away for free.
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(The comment has been removed)
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ha, this is the best use for this userpic
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(That may sound like a dumb question, but consider this: I worked with a woman for over a year without realizing she was married, even though she wears a pretty hefty wedding ring. I'm so bad at stuff like that.)
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(Though I have read some arguments suggesting that the social class of the would-be harasser is relevant - that cat-calling is a class-marked behavior, which I guess makes sense. The ur-cliche is construction workers, after all...)
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When I had a short skirt and giant shoes and makeup on, though, he saw me and said "Heeeeyyyyy, do I know you?"
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The idea of privilege (and, trailing behind it, intersectionality) has been working its way out from academia for some time now, but does seem to be common currency for liberal types at least. I first read the Peggy McIntosh essay sometime around 2001 or 2002, but it was published long before that. I think it's a useful prod to get people to strive for a more empathetic way of viewing the world.
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The whole being yelled at to smile thing, I think is something else entirely but I'm not sure what.
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