Next week I will begin ageing out of the male gaze in earnest. Yes, that’s right — I’m celebrating my 30th birthday. And while I appreciate the assurances of several men in my life that my beauty is timeless, I am actually looking forward to it.
The main reason: I’m hoping it’ll mean I stop getting harassed in public.
Take yesterday, for example.
It had been a long and stressful day. I went for a walk (in broad daylight) to clear my head.
My face was sober, downcast. Bitch-like, in its restful state.
I happened to accidentally lock eyes with a passerby, his face looking every bit as weary as mine. I offered a meek smile (in case he thought I was glaring at him.) A sort of two-strangers-briefly-acknowledging-each-other’s-suffering-so-that-for-an-instant- they-both-feel-less-alone kind of smile.
Unfortunately, he misinterpreted it as a sign of interest.
He then proceeded to change directions and follow me for 6 blocks badgering me to let him buy me a drink, tell him where I lived, and give out my personal contact information.
The more I resisted, the more he persisted.
While this man was not overly threatening, it was a little disconcerting to be…
