An Abusive Relationship with the Patriarchy

“unsolicited male attention, mild or not, that is rooted in the assumption that their autonomy is more important than mine”

I look great today. I knew this before I walked out the door but it was confirmed as, from behind the tinted security of my sunglasses, I observed several men give me the side eye. You, know… that not-so-subtle glance out of the corner of the eye so as to drink you in until the last possible moment without giving themselves away by actually turning their head?

As I watched each man rest his gaze on me I couldn’t help but smile. I knew I looked great for my own damn self — but now I had external validation. And, for a formerly obese person, external validation is more satisfying than I like to admit. My satisfaction, though, is tied up in so many other feelings, the least of which is the knowledge that this seemingly innocent attention is just a watered-down version of the more aggressive and pervasive attention that most women experience every day — unsolicited male attention, mild or not, that is rooted in the assumption that their autonomy is more important than mine.

Like most of my female compatriots, I regularly receive whistles and comments and hollers and the occasional car that pulls over to tell me good morning and then gets angry that I didn’t hear or respond to him because he’s a fucking stranger… But that wasn’t always the case.

I used to be fat(-ter than I am now). And fat women, as Lindy West recently put it, are often both too visible and invisible. I was ignored and irrelevant, yet actively repulsive to the men (boys) in my life. I so envied the skinny girls who were asked out, who were whistled at, who were hit on. The worst envy, though, was the envy I felt toward sexual assault victims — because at least someone wanted them on some level, any level; someone saw them.

I know—that is an insane thing to say, let alone feel. I know sexual assault does not stem from desire, but from a need for dominance. I know fat women get sexually assaulted, too. I know that sexual assault of any kind is one of the worst things that can happen to a person. My rational self rejected these feelings, but, as in any abusive relationship, I feared being alone more than being hurt. I understood the horrors of sexual assault, but I knew and felt the emptiness of being unwanted. My take away from society, on whatever twisted level, was that it was better to be sexually desired, at all costs. I was in an abusive relationship with the Patriarchy.

I even envied the stories of sexual assault victims — because at least someone wanted them; someone saw them.

But now — now that I have lost 100lbs and am within the range of socially acceptable pants sizes for women — now I am seen. I get the glances and the compliments and the pick-up lines. I get the attention that I wanted to badly when I was fat. And it feels fucking great. But I am acutely aware that this attention feels so good, partly, because I felt so bad when I was invisible. So bad that I would have rather been assaulted than ignored.

Now, when I receive male attention in any form, on top of feeling flattered I also feel guilty. I feel guilty for drinking in the affirmation I told myself I didn’t want (but desperately did) when I was fat. I feel guilty for envying and misunderstanding the experiences of women who were sexually assaulted. I feel guilty for allowing men a gate-way flirtation and for possibly encouraging worse behavior in the future. I feel guilty for not saying anything when a man invades my space. (But when women get stabbed for standing up for themselves, you’ve got to choose your battles.)

I feel guilty because, even though I know an isolated incident is harmless, it’s never really an isolated incident. The man who stopped to shout compliments at me until I finally passed him wasn’t saying anything offensive (he appreciated the retro vibe of my blazer, apparently) but the fact that he felt it was ok to draw me into his narrative, to have any say on my appearance, to assume it mattered to me what he thought about me or my life, is part of an enormously harmful dynamic in our country.

on top of feeling flattered I also feel guilty

Men feel too comfortable inserting themselves into the lives of women. Whether it’s rape, a squeeze of the shoulder, a long-winded explanation of something you already knew, or just a compliment, so many men in our culture don’t understand the proper scenario for most social interactions (which, for the things I just listed, are: never; maybe with a friend; never; and save it for someone you know). And because they feel too comfortable, and think too infrequently, they also do not understand how all these things are connected.

A recent, non-homeless-person example of this is Joe Biden. A real fan favorite until recently, Joe has come into some trouble for his “creepy uncle Joe” tendencies. Like most twinkly-eyed septuagenarians, he claims ignorance of any inappropriate behavior on his part. And sure, in a vacuum scenario, a shoulder squeeze from good ol’ Joe would be more than welcome by all the Leslie Knopes in the world. But we are not in a vacuum. We are in a world where men regularly cross boundaries; boundaries that seemed clearly drawn. And so, whether a line has been drawn in a conversation or a sexual encounter, if women can’t predict which lines will or will not be crossed, we are forced to draw the boundaries further back and more frequently.

I think the worst part of all this is that even with all I know now, and even when the slimiest guy hits on me, there is still a part of my brain that thinks “well, he must really like me to go through the trouble”… No. He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t know me. He most likely thought (a) I was an easy target and (b) he was more important than me, important enough that what I thought didn’t matter.

every boundary must be respected, even if you don’t understand why it was drawn

I spent so much time learning how to feel good about myself when I was invisible. Now that I’m visible, everything I told myself about what I wanted or needed feels like a lie. I told myself that I was enough, that my opinion was the only one that mattered. If that was true, I wouldn’t find so much satisfaction in the desire that is finally directed at me for once…. right??

Of course not.

Everyone, or most people at least, feel good when others like them. It doesn’t diminish my self-love to indulge in someone else’s attention. That attention can hold different value for each party involved. It is important, though, for us to recognize that nothing is harmless. Until we have eradicated toxic masculinity and all its consequences, every boundary must be respected, even if you don’t understand why it was drawn. I have learned that the envy I felt is not real, I don’t want to trade places with victims of sexual assault — it is misplaced grief at my own perceived rejection from society. I think, though, the conversations we have only begun to have surrounding sex, health, bodies, and boundaries, are the beginning of the end of these imbalances, in our culture and in our minds.