Essentially, what I was trying to say is why can’t women be women without the fear of being looked up and down, leered at, or possibly sexually assaulted? And this isn’t just about the “type of men [I] meet” – it’s about being a woman, walking out into the world. Unfortunately, those “types” are everywhere, whether or not I’m meeting, talking to, or even looking at them. No, not every time I walk out into the world do I get leered at. But I can certainly tell you the outfits I have which greatly ups that possibility. Some would say to me, “well, then don’t wear them.” And that makes my point – why the hell should I have to not wear certain clothes because they will be sexualized (in a demeaning and disgusting way) by someone else? And I’m not talking tops cut to here or skirts cut to there (though I would still argue the same thing if I owned or wore those types of clothes).

There is a huge difference in being appreciated by men and being inspected by men. One makes you feel like a valid human being, the other makes you – excuse the cliche – feel like a piece of meat. To relate it to another cliche and a generality as old as time, but may get the point across, it’s like saying a man is worth how much money he has in his pocket.

Ok, so help me to understand—are you frustrated because you yearn to revel in your sexuality, to present yourself in your most attractive and sexy aspect, simply because—like Leslie Nielsen who once wore fuzzy pink slippers with a tuxedo—you just want to feel pretty, but then find men leering at you, using your beauty and allure as the yardstick by which they measure your worth?

Hmm. Maybe it’s the type of men you meet.

I don’t come-on to every beautiful, sexy woman I encounter. It’s not because I don’t long for their attention, nor is it because I respect them as complete persons who would be insulted to find that I prize their company at a gonadal level even if they happen to be witless drones. It’s because I’m shy. Well, that and the character shaping influence of a string of incredible women in my life, including my mother, who even at 5’3” was a towering figure, three sisters who scrapped with me throughout our formative years, but are now my biggest supporters, a loving distant cousin who taught me about sex, two formidable women bosses who showed me how beauty could be melded with steel, two wives who were kind enough to point out my most irritating deficiencies, and two spectacular daughters who allow me, every day, to appreciate femininity in a whole new way.

Or, maybe you expect too much of men, hoping they’ll play against type.

Pardon my clumsy analogy, but if after routinely wearing your zookeepers uniform to uneventfully clean out the lion’s cage as the cats lounge, oblivious to your presence, you decide to wear your meat suit to stir them out of their lethargy, to notice you as a person of value, who improves the quality of their lives, is it fair to question or curse the feline biological imperative that triggers an attack?

Or, maybe, like I said, I just don’t get it.

1- I went out one Halloween in full drag. I was a short man with a beard and I experienced so much privacy in public. Being a woman is so different and there is a level of privacy and respect that men live with that women can’t possibly understand/experience being women in the world. Not one stare or glance was cast my way and the waitress called me “sir.” Ha!

2- I watch the dirtiest porn I can and enjoy it. I know that there are things that go on with porno that are horrible and infuriating, but I still watch it.

3- Sometimes I think certain schools of thought in feminism are self defeating. We need to understand those perspectives to empower ourselves to move beyond them, but taking a victim mentality to heart can be very limiting.

I really enjoyed this post. You always get me thinking.