I'm very hostile towards strangers who compliment me. No, it's true! I fly into rages at even the simplest of compliments on my physical appearance. My OKC profile is so intimidating that even people who have known me for years have thought twice about dating me because of it. And yet, when my sweeties tell me that they think I'm hot, or admire me in a particular outfit, they do not get blasted into oblivian through the sheer rage in my eyes and anger in my words. I blush, and I am flattered.
So why am I so antagonistic towards physical compliments? Read the following article. It's a letter written by a young black woman whose subway card wasn't working and sought help from a black man who worked at the subway, and who hit on her instead of assisting her with her card. The sentiments of the letter to this man reflect my experiences, totally regardless of race. I suspect that a lot of women have similar experiences, based on the number of men everywhere asking "why aren't there any women online?", "why aren't there any women gamers?", "why aren't there any women atheist activists?", and "why aren't there any women in this bar?".
I'm sure there are men who feel this way too, but I can only truly write from my perspective, and in this case, the relevant factors are being a caucasian/mexican female. So please, men, read this and understand what you're up against and what you are inadvertently contributing to with your behaviour. Women, read this and be sensitive to whether or not you are doing the same thing to men and then pass it along so that others can understand.
http://www.racialicious.com/2009/09/23/oh-you-cant-speak-to-a-brotha/
Dear MTA Employee,
I am the woman who requested your help Wednesday morning at approximately 9:40am. I came to the station agent’s window and told you that I swiped my metro card and the display read “See Agent”. You told me to swipe it at the window. When I did, the display read “See Agent” once again. You looked at me and you said, “It says we should go out to dinner.” I responded “What?” and you repeated what you said. I asked you to help me because I didn’t want to miss the train. You repeated, “It says we should go out to dinner, you should give me your number…” I walked away angry, while you yelled after me, “Miss! Miss!” and pushed the button to let me in. I ignored you, used a new metro card to let myself in and went on my way. I’m writing this letter to explain my anger and in the hopes of preventing this type of interaction in the future.
You don’t know me. I am 32 years old. I am a lawyer. I have a mother and a father, two brothers, two sisters, one grandmother still living and a lot of cousins, aunts and uncles. I have a boyfriend. I have no children, although I love kids. I go to church on Sundays. I’ve lived in Brooklyn, New York for almost ten years. I like to sing although my boyfriend says I have a terrible singing voice. I enjoy spending time with my friends. I love to read. I watch too much television. I’ve traveled a lot and love going all over the world. I would hope that people who know me would describe me as nice and funny, compassionate and kind.
I walk a few blocks to the train station every morning and most mornings, on my way to the train I have to deal with three to four interactions with younger or older Black men. Sometimes it’s “Good morning Sister” or “Have a good day.” To which I most often reply “Good morning” or “Thanks”. Most of the time though our interactions are not as innocuous. There’s “Hey sweetie” and “Nice legs” and “You are really wearing that outfit” and “Damn” and “Hey baby” and sometimes it’s just loud, undecipherable grunts and noises and looks with clear and understood meanings. I don’t respond to any of this. I keep my head down and try to walk by quickly without eye contact, which often elicits no responses but can also lead to “Oh you can’t speak to a brotha?” and “Alright then whatever!” and “This is why brothers and sisters can’t get along!” and “This is what’s wrong with sistas!” Those are some of the “nicer” responses. Many use much more colorful and hateful language. This happens on the way to the train and on the way from the train. It happens early in the morning and late at night. It happens in Brooklyn and on the streets of midtown Manhattan as I head to my job. It happens everywhere in New York City and it is constant.
It affects how I approach everyday activities. I’m constantly on the lookout as I walk in my Brooklyn neighborhood. If look ahead of me and see a group of Black men gathered at some point that look like they’ll harass me, and I decide that I don’t have the strength to walk the “gauntlet” right now, I cross the street and keep my head down. It hurts me to do this because I don’t want to assume. I know the danger of assumptions. I have brothers, a father, a boyfriend – all of them Black and all of them subjected to wrongful assumptions that are made about them everyday. But I’ve also had enough bad experiences of my own to never let that hurt stop me from crossing the street. Sometimes I cross the street more than once even though it’s only a few blocks to the train, just to avoid having to choose to respond or not respond and suffer the consequences. Sometimes I put on my headphones. Sometimes I put on my “don’t even think about talking to me” face. Sometimes these strategies work and sometimes they don’t.
I tell you all this because I want to give you context. I want you to understand that although you may have just been in a flirty mood on Wednesday morning, or you may have been trying to make small talk, or you may have just wanted to have a conversation with someone, or you may have spoken to another woman right before me and she found you cute and funny, I was not in the mood. I was trying to get to work. I needed your help. I didn’t need you to turn my morning into one long defense of my humanity. I didn’t need you to add to the “gauntlet” that I already had to walk to get to the train station. I needed you to respect your uniform and respect yourself and respect me. I needed you to treat me like you would treat your sister or your mother, as a human being who needed your help. I needed you to look at me and not see a potential date, or a woman or anything but a customer who was on her way to work whose metro card wasn’t working. I needed you to do your job, help me with my metro card and send me on my way with a “Have a nice day”.
I don’t know you. I can see only that you are a young Black man. I imagine that you have a mother and a father, brothers and sisters, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. You may even have a girlfriend or a wife and maybe children; perhaps you go to church on Sundays. You may have lived in Brooklyn for many years. Maybe you like to sing even though your girl says your voice is not the best. Maybe you like to spend time with your friends. Perhaps you like to read and watch television and travel, and people who know you would describe you as nice and funny, compassionate and kind.
But none of this came through on Wednesday morning. The only thing I got from my interaction with you was to identify you as one of the men who somehow think that because I am a young Black woman they have a right to have access to me, to refer to me in an intimate way, to have completely unsolicited and unwanted conversations with me, even to touch me inappropriately in the street. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. But I hope that this letter helps you know me a little and the next time you see me or anyone else who needs your help, you’ll just do your job, help them, and send them on their way with a, “Have a nice day.”
Thank you,
A Brooklyn Resident.
I don't get hit on very often. I have been told that I have this invisible sphere around me of Don't-Fucking-Come-Near-Me-Or-I'll-Tear-Your-Dick-Off. But when I do get hit on, it's with complete insensitivity to my own feelings and position. There's always an attached expectation that I should be flattered by the compliment, and that I should reciprocate. Why should I be flattered? My physical apperance is not something I value very highly and only puts you in the same category as all those other men who resort to the cheapest and easiest thing to say, which does not make you stand out or paint you in a favorable light.
And when I don't reciprocate or act flattered, the complimenter turns on me. Sometimes it's privately, as he whispers to his buddies "she must be a lesbian". Sometime's it's very publicly, as in the kinds of things in this letter. Often, compliments about my physical apperance are connected to a belief that someone has the right to have access to me. I may be dressed attractively, flirtatiously, sexy, and I may even be sexually available. But not to you. Talking to me as a person first, not seeing my gender, not seeing me as a potential date, that will give you the clues as to whether or not I am "available" to you. Without those clues, you should assume that I'm not, regardless of what I'm wearing or how I'm behaving, until otherwise notified. I am not here for your amusement, or your appreciation. I am here for mine.
I've written about attaching expectations before, and![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tacit talks about things are "not about you". The world would be a less hostile place if these two concepts were better understood.
So why am I so antagonistic towards physical compliments? Read the following article. It's a letter written by a young black woman whose subway card wasn't working and sought help from a black man who worked at the subway, and who hit on her instead of assisting her with her card. The sentiments of the letter to this man reflect my experiences, totally regardless of race. I suspect that a lot of women have similar experiences, based on the number of men everywhere asking "why aren't there any women online?", "why aren't there any women gamers?", "why aren't there any women atheist activists?", and "why aren't there any women in this bar?".
I'm sure there are men who feel this way too, but I can only truly write from my perspective, and in this case, the relevant factors are being a caucasian/mexican female. So please, men, read this and understand what you're up against and what you are inadvertently contributing to with your behaviour. Women, read this and be sensitive to whether or not you are doing the same thing to men and then pass it along so that others can understand.
http://www.racialicious.com/2009/09/23/oh-you-cant-speak-to-a-brotha/
Dear MTA Employee,
I am the woman who requested your help Wednesday morning at approximately 9:40am. I came to the station agent’s window and told you that I swiped my metro card and the display read “See Agent”. You told me to swipe it at the window. When I did, the display read “See Agent” once again. You looked at me and you said, “It says we should go out to dinner.” I responded “What?” and you repeated what you said. I asked you to help me because I didn’t want to miss the train. You repeated, “It says we should go out to dinner, you should give me your number…” I walked away angry, while you yelled after me, “Miss! Miss!” and pushed the button to let me in. I ignored you, used a new metro card to let myself in and went on my way. I’m writing this letter to explain my anger and in the hopes of preventing this type of interaction in the future.
You don’t know me. I am 32 years old. I am a lawyer. I have a mother and a father, two brothers, two sisters, one grandmother still living and a lot of cousins, aunts and uncles. I have a boyfriend. I have no children, although I love kids. I go to church on Sundays. I’ve lived in Brooklyn, New York for almost ten years. I like to sing although my boyfriend says I have a terrible singing voice. I enjoy spending time with my friends. I love to read. I watch too much television. I’ve traveled a lot and love going all over the world. I would hope that people who know me would describe me as nice and funny, compassionate and kind.
I walk a few blocks to the train station every morning and most mornings, on my way to the train I have to deal with three to four interactions with younger or older Black men. Sometimes it’s “Good morning Sister” or “Have a good day.” To which I most often reply “Good morning” or “Thanks”. Most of the time though our interactions are not as innocuous. There’s “Hey sweetie” and “Nice legs” and “You are really wearing that outfit” and “Damn” and “Hey baby” and sometimes it’s just loud, undecipherable grunts and noises and looks with clear and understood meanings. I don’t respond to any of this. I keep my head down and try to walk by quickly without eye contact, which often elicits no responses but can also lead to “Oh you can’t speak to a brotha?” and “Alright then whatever!” and “This is why brothers and sisters can’t get along!” and “This is what’s wrong with sistas!” Those are some of the “nicer” responses. Many use much more colorful and hateful language. This happens on the way to the train and on the way from the train. It happens early in the morning and late at night. It happens in Brooklyn and on the streets of midtown Manhattan as I head to my job. It happens everywhere in New York City and it is constant.
It affects how I approach everyday activities. I’m constantly on the lookout as I walk in my Brooklyn neighborhood. If look ahead of me and see a group of Black men gathered at some point that look like they’ll harass me, and I decide that I don’t have the strength to walk the “gauntlet” right now, I cross the street and keep my head down. It hurts me to do this because I don’t want to assume. I know the danger of assumptions. I have brothers, a father, a boyfriend – all of them Black and all of them subjected to wrongful assumptions that are made about them everyday. But I’ve also had enough bad experiences of my own to never let that hurt stop me from crossing the street. Sometimes I cross the street more than once even though it’s only a few blocks to the train, just to avoid having to choose to respond or not respond and suffer the consequences. Sometimes I put on my headphones. Sometimes I put on my “don’t even think about talking to me” face. Sometimes these strategies work and sometimes they don’t.
I tell you all this because I want to give you context. I want you to understand that although you may have just been in a flirty mood on Wednesday morning, or you may have been trying to make small talk, or you may have just wanted to have a conversation with someone, or you may have spoken to another woman right before me and she found you cute and funny, I was not in the mood. I was trying to get to work. I needed your help. I didn’t need you to turn my morning into one long defense of my humanity. I didn’t need you to add to the “gauntlet” that I already had to walk to get to the train station. I needed you to respect your uniform and respect yourself and respect me. I needed you to treat me like you would treat your sister or your mother, as a human being who needed your help. I needed you to look at me and not see a potential date, or a woman or anything but a customer who was on her way to work whose metro card wasn’t working. I needed you to do your job, help me with my metro card and send me on my way with a “Have a nice day”.
I don’t know you. I can see only that you are a young Black man. I imagine that you have a mother and a father, brothers and sisters, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. You may even have a girlfriend or a wife and maybe children; perhaps you go to church on Sundays. You may have lived in Brooklyn for many years. Maybe you like to sing even though your girl says your voice is not the best. Maybe you like to spend time with your friends. Perhaps you like to read and watch television and travel, and people who know you would describe you as nice and funny, compassionate and kind.
But none of this came through on Wednesday morning. The only thing I got from my interaction with you was to identify you as one of the men who somehow think that because I am a young Black woman they have a right to have access to me, to refer to me in an intimate way, to have completely unsolicited and unwanted conversations with me, even to touch me inappropriately in the street. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. But I hope that this letter helps you know me a little and the next time you see me or anyone else who needs your help, you’ll just do your job, help them, and send them on their way with a, “Have a nice day.”
Thank you,
A Brooklyn Resident.
I don't get hit on very often. I have been told that I have this invisible sphere around me of Don't-Fucking-Come-Near-Me-Or-I'll-Tear-Your-Dick-Off. But when I do get hit on, it's with complete insensitivity to my own feelings and position. There's always an attached expectation that I should be flattered by the compliment, and that I should reciprocate. Why should I be flattered? My physical apperance is not something I value very highly and only puts you in the same category as all those other men who resort to the cheapest and easiest thing to say, which does not make you stand out or paint you in a favorable light.
And when I don't reciprocate or act flattered, the complimenter turns on me. Sometimes it's privately, as he whispers to his buddies "she must be a lesbian". Sometime's it's very publicly, as in the kinds of things in this letter. Often, compliments about my physical apperance are connected to a belief that someone has the right to have access to me. I may be dressed attractively, flirtatiously, sexy, and I may even be sexually available. But not to you. Talking to me as a person first, not seeing my gender, not seeing me as a potential date, that will give you the clues as to whether or not I am "available" to you. Without those clues, you should assume that I'm not, regardless of what I'm wearing or how I'm behaving, until otherwise notified. I am not here for your amusement, or your appreciation. I am here for mine.
I've written about attaching expectations before, and
tacit talks about things are "not about you". The world would be a less hostile place if these two concepts were better understood.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 9/24/09 10:12 pm (UTC)From:That's why my friends get a free pass and strangers don't.
That's why I posted a while ago those rules that you should never hit on someone until you've had a steady 30-minute conversation that includes indications that she might be interested in your come-on.
From a total stranger, we can't tell. In text, we really can't tell. And from someone like me who is poly, into BDSM, and works in a culture that is extremely heavy on the sexual content, I get an awful lot of approaches that say "no, really, I totally mean it the way you want to hear it". And, unfortunately, experience has taught me that there is an unspoken add-on that says "because that's what'll get me into your pants".
I am aware of the danger of assumptions, and I try very hard to compensate for the fact that our brains have evolved to categorize things for quick reference. But that's something that you should be aware of too - that we *are* categorizing things for quick reference. And if you superficially resemble a category of people that the recipient doesn't like, that will be her impression.
And the odds are that, if she's female, she probably has experience with this category of man.
Discussing an element in a photo, even if it is complimentary, is not the same thing as complimenting someone on her appearance. It's a very subtle distinction, but an important one. Complimenting someone on the clothing, or the artistic nature of the photo, is a compliment on something the woman can *control*. It's something she chose intentionally and therefore often has much more meaning and is much less of a minefield for guys who don't know if she's sensitive about her nose or thinks she's fat or something. For example, I appreciate emails that say "that's an awesome costume in your photo!" but I will blast anyone who says "u look hawt in that costume!" Do you see the difference?
So, really, don't compliment someone on their physical appearance right off the bat. Get to know them first, and that takes a few email exchanges. Even women who enjoy compliments on their appearance can be turned off by a compliment coming right at the start. You sound like everyone else who says "hey baby, ur hot, and I just wanted to say that, not to try and get you to fuck me but what I really mean is that I want you to fuck me".
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 12:30 am (UTC)From:You can *always* compliment a woman later once you've built up a rapport with her. You can't correct your mistake if you've pissed her off from the first line.
If one has to make an assumption, assume we can't tell the difference. That's what the get-to-know-us part is for, to help us learn how to tell the difference.
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 12:02 am (UTC)From:(of course, I get my fair share of these remarks doing massage. I usually respond with a polite thanks and mention that I spend about 35 hours a month on a bike. There are moments when I'm tempted to say, "yeah thanks, I'd damn well better have a nice ass. Now shut up and get yours on the table," but I refrain).
I find physical complements when one is actually in a situation where dating might feasibly be an option (or the person is actually my sweetie) to be trickier. I certainly hope that by the time I'm willing to offer a physical compliment she knows I'm completely smitten with her brain, because otherwise I wouldn't bother, but there are moments that I just want to let her know that her extraordinary sexiness is driving me to distraction, and I am appreciative if it.
Not always the easiest thing to do when the lady in question is somewhat prickly about such comments as some of the ones I appear to end up attracted to tend to be. I certainly don't want to offend her, but I want to let her know the impact she may be having on me because it seems relevant.
...figuring out how to flirt with women is not, in fact, apparently made any easier by being one. Damn.
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 12:37 am (UTC)From:My sweetie,
But, as you can tell by the fact that I can write his side of things for him, I *am* very well aware that he appreciates me for all those things that I find most meaningful, and that makes the compliments not offensive and really kinda sweet. I very much appreciate hearing *from him* how distracting I am to him, since I actively want to be a distraction to him. Once I'm aware that a person values me for who I am, I am much more willing to hear compliments :-)
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 01:08 am (UTC)From:Well. As long as everyone is equally confused about how to flirt with women...
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 01:56 am (UTC)From:I've recognized this feeling in women before, and am not certain how I can make the situation better, other than abstaining from the annoying behavior. I understand the idea of a gauntlet that women have to run through, pretty much everywhere. Ugh.
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 02:11 am (UTC)From:The employee at the store was helpful and focused on information relevant to the product I was interested in obtaining. I was offered help when I mentioned any difficulties, when I accepted it was given cheerfully and professionally and when rejected no help was forced on me. Nobody called me dear, sweet, love, or made any comments about my disabilities. Nobody seemed to have a problem with me having a white cane with a red tip despite the fact that I seemed to have some vision. I only ended up interacting with store employees, all of whom were professional and courteous. It was awesome.
The fact that I came back from this small encounter in such a positive mood about all of these things is, however, slightly depressing. Although really, I face a lot less of the negative behaviors than a lot of people with disabilities as I live in an area where there is a reasonable density of people with disabilities, so I'm not as much of an oddity. And I also was really pleased about my roller-tip cane. It's still fairly new and working out wonderfully. But still... it really felt like a particularly good experience, and it really felt like it shouldn't feel that way.
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 02:28 am (UTC)From:And I have to agree. Politeness and respect should be such a normal part of our everyday social interactions that we should not come home in an unusual state of happiness over it. We should be in a general state of positive feelings because people are behaving kindly in general, and poor behaviour should be shocking.
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 05:35 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 9/25/09 07:16 pm (UTC)From:Where the women come in is regarding the rules on treating those weaker than oneself, which include women and pretty much any man who isn't a knight.
Modern day versions of chivalry is actually very sexist. Yes, behaviour that is supposed to be "nice" can also be sexist. Its gender disparity and unfairness to men actually contribute to the overall harm that women suffer as a "minority" in a patriarchal society.
I prefer to simply protect an individual's right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Sometimes that's women, sometimes that's men, but the gender isn't the important qualifying point. The defense of someone who needs it is.
As I've pointed out to those who defend "chivalry" - it's not politeness or decency if you do it only for one gender and not the other - that's sexist, by definition.
So I thank you for your contribution.
no subject
Date: 9/25/09 07:39 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 9/27/09 06:28 pm (UTC)From: