Over the last few days, weeks and months I have been made acutely aware of how oppressive the sight of my thighs, chest and stomach are to a number of the general public. I, for one, had been oblivious to the horror that is my human flesh until these impromptu reviews, recommendations and critiques and complaints started pouring in. For this, I apologise. May I never insult your retinas with my limbs again. I accept total responsibility for your distaste and discomfort with my body.
Of course, it is only appropriate to censure and chastise me about the way I dress before I enter an exam hall. It is, indeed, more than simply appropriate- it is absolutely paramount. It is your duty. Your role is to make it known to me that you are not happy with the outfit that I chose- that it offends you and therefore that it is offensive. Objectively.
Your displeasure at the sight of my clothes on my body is also, of course, completely rational and fair. Your assessment that my body would prove a distraction to men is completely substantiated and it falls to me to try and amend and prevent this by covering myself up (or indeed, it seems, perhaps just changing my clothing style to fit more conservative tastes... or, even better, if possible, change my body shape so that it fits with your concept of the virginal ideal of femininity) because my body is, first and foremost, a sexual object that must be tamed. This is not a case of predator and prey, your raised eyebrows confirms to me, this is more slab of meat and slobbering dog.
I am indebted to you for confirming my preexisting insecurities, for corroborating stranger's comments and for continuing a trend within society that pins the blame for sexual harassment and assault on the victim. I am glad that my body is being appreciated for what it really is- not anything to do with a human being, but rather an artefact to be scrutinised, criticised and hidden in a cupboard when you think it looks out of place. I am so thankful for all your hard work making my morning just a little bit harder.
Every time I try on an outfit before leaving the house now, I will think of your words and your eyes rolling over my body. I will abstain from wearing the clothes that make me feel empowered, comfortable, happy, confident, strong, proud and- goddamn it!- sexy. I will feel ashamed. I will look at other women in shorter skirts and lower cut tops that have walked past you uncensored and I will feel angry with them, and angry with myself for feeling angry with them.
Perhaps instead I should be feeling angry with you? Angry with you for sexualising my body, for your slut shaming, for your victim blaming, for your insensitivity. I should be fuming. I shouldn't care what you think about how I look and I shouldn't lose a single tear over what you have said. I shouldn't think twice about what i wear in light of your ("constructive") criticism. I should stalk past you wearing whatever i want because the only thing that clothes should do, is make me feel good about myself. The only thing i should feel towards my body is love. The only thing i should feel for myself is pride. And what i should feel for you? Anger.
But i don't. I am not angry; I am sad. I am not empowered; I am ashamed. I am not saying "fuck you"; I am staying silent.
You are the men on the street, the men on the platform, the man in the lorry, the teacher in reception, the exam officer, the woman at the bus stop, the girls on the bus... You are everywhere. You are the sound of footsteps behind a woman as she walks home that makes her take out her keys. You are the hot breath on the back of a woman's neck on a tube. You are the lawyers that think it is valid to make a comment on what a woman was wearing. You are the cackle of a punch line in a sordid joke. You are eyes ogling bar staff. You are double standards. You are an invasion of personal space. You are the "grey area". You are a dress code.
And this week, you are the straw that broke the camel's back.
I will spend the rest of my life, in all likelihood, trying to evade your stare. Perhaps the worst bit of all is that I won't succeed. That no one will succeed. That it is almost impossible to saunter through life, never having your body or your clothes judged without a fleeting thought given to your person. We shouldn't ask someone else when we get dressed "Do you think this looks good?" or question whether something is "appropriate", whether something might make us look "too slutty", we should just get dressed in clothes that we like, that we feel comfortable in, that make us happy.
Just remember that when you pass judgement on someone's outfit or try to find out what sort of person they are by how they dress or comment on someone's body (even if you think it's a compliment), unless your comment was invited, you are imposing your ideas and your criteria for perfection and attractiveness on someone else against their will. You are, in effect, assimilating your prejudice and their personality. And it is wrong.
It is more than wrong, in fact. It is disgusting. It is pervasive, putrid sexism. It is sickening, it is superficial, it is cruel. It demeans and dehumanises. We have a culture that encourages people to rank one another out of ten, to swipe left or right, to damn someone as hot or not but we all know that humans are not binary- they cannot be reduced to a single figure, a single word and to do so is in fact to say that the whole of society can be summed up just as simply...
Oh wait.
It can be.
"shit."
yours,
Vida Adamczewski
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