By virtue of being a woman on this planet, I have been navigating unwanted male attention since I was 11 or 12 years old. The street harassment reached a fever pitch roughly between the ages of 16 to 21. It was not possible for me to walk down the street without what seemed to be a constant onslaught of male attention. I remember being shocked when I would take out my headphones as to how incessant the noise was. It seemed like every fucking dude had a reaction to my body that they felt they needed to be shared out loud.
You’re so beautiful. Damn girl you fine. Can I have your number. Just cause you have a man doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Why don’t you smile. Nice ass. Get in my car. Come over here. Suck my dick. Fuck you bitch.
All the time, every day. Why is this such a prevalent cultural phenomenon? Why do so many men feel so entitled to women’s bodies? Catcalling functions as a way of keeping women scared, and in their place. A lurid reminder that at the end of the day, men can pretty much say and do whatever they want to women. To be in a public space means to be in a male-dominated space. And what better way to ensure this than by reminding woman that their place in society, first and foremost, is as an object of male pleasure to be dominated and hated in equal measure.
Street harassment is one thing. But navigating unwanted male attention in social settings such as bars or parties is another, more dangerous thing. It was often easier and safer to make up an excuse than to directly reject whoever was hitting on me. The best and most frequently used being that I already had a boyfriend. A man is more likely to respect another, even imagined man, than the woman in front of him. Firstly, because a woman saying no is not taken seriously in our society. It is often seen as a challenge to be overcome. Secondly, the fragile male ego can become violently enraged when rejected. And I mean violent in absolute terms. A quick Google search of the term “Woman killed for rejecting man” will tell you more than I ever could.
This attention has decreased as I have gotten older and also better at establishing firm boundaries. But depending on the setting, I am often surprised at the volume of unwanted male attention I do still receive.
This is not the post that I had planned to write about Lisbon. I was so excited to go for the first time a few weeks ago. Yes, it is a beautiful city. But for me, something that made it extra special is that kizomba is so popular there. It is one of the few places that I know of where it is possible to go to a social dance every night of the week. Kizomba comes from Angola, a former Portuguese colony. Because of this influence, it has become especially popular in Portugal.
If you don’t know, kizomba is a social partner dance, and by far my favorite style of dancing. Where I live currently kizomba is not very well known, and the dancing scene is still small. The first night I arrived I couldn’t believe the number of people and the high level of skill. Best of all, they were playing only kizomba music the whole night. And as is typical there, the party would go on until early in the morning, usually 5 or 6 am.
When I first started partner dancing, as an outsider, I thought that everyone who was dancing was participating in some kind of foreplay. I remember the first time I had a really good dance connection with someone. I’m not joking or exaggerating when I tell you that I thought I was in love. A full-body connection is often used in kizomba and zouk. Because of this, these dances tend to be especially sensual. But as I developed as a dancer, I began to understand that a good dance connection is just that. Nothing more, nothing less.
For so many people, both men and women, they dance for the sake of dancing. This happens even if they originally come to meet people or specifically to find someone to date. It does become just about the dance, once they get absorbed by the magic of it. And that is something that I love about dancing.
For the vast majority of people I have danced with, which is literally hundreds and hundreds of people, I can have a well-connected, even sensual dance. Then we both say thank you and immediately move on with our lives. However, just like in any scene, there are always creeps.
I went out dancing the first night I arrived in Lisbon. The venue was a club, and because kizomba is as popular as salsa or any other style of dance there, not everyone that goes is a serious dancer. Some folks just want to go out casually, the same way you would go to any other bar or club. One guy offered to buy me a drink after we danced, I said no thank you, and he moved on. Another guy offered to buy me a drink. When I said no he kept trying to talk to me. I finally pointed to my ring and said Sou casada. Tenho um marido. I’m married, I have a husband.
I danced with a guy who looked like he was a good dancer who knew kizomba well. His English was about as good as my Portuguese, which means we basically couldn’t communicate. He asked to add me on Facebook, and I said ok. Maybe he could give me a local’s recommendation for the next dance event I should go to. Then he offered to give me a ride home, which I refused. He told me that I was simpatica, linda, beautiful inside and out.
I saw him again the next night I went out to dance. He told me that the way I dressed was sexy and gave me a wet sloppy kiss on the hand. It was so gross. He invited me to breakfast and I told him I was busy. The screenshots below are from the next day. He deleted most of the messages before I blocked him. But in the initial messages, he invited me to breakfast again, then lunch. After I rejected him, the next deleted message was similar in length and tone to the one I was able to screenshot.
It made me really fucking angry to receive these messages. No matter how little this person or interaction may mean to me, I don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of someone’s unhinged meltdown, ever.
First of all, I’m absolutely sure that this guy was attracted to me and wanted to make a move. That is why he was repeatedly trying to spend more time with me after I had already told him no. What is interesting to me about this response is that he seems so focused on the fact that I must be rejecting him because I think (know) that. His entire message is based on the fact that he didn’t want to have sex with me and that I was missing out. Not on sex, but on friendship. And because I am rejecting him, it must be because I think he wants to have sex with me, which he claims to not be true in no uncertain terms. The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.
The thing is, I didn’t reject him just because I didn’t want to have sex with him. When I said I wasn’t interested in anything more than dancing, I meant that I completely rejected him as a person. His primary cause for concern is that when I rejected him, in his mind for inaccurately assuming sexual intentions, I am actually missing out on the blessing of his platonic presence when he’s such a self-proclaimed “good guy.” His entire premise falls apart because I’m not interested in sex but I am also not interested in his friendship.
Not only do I not want to spend time with him as a person or sexual partner, but I would much rather be alone. And not just because he was being creepy and I enjoy being alone, but because of who he is. And that is of course, totally valid. No one should be forced to spend their free time with people that they don’t want to, for whatever reason. You can force someone to have sex with you when you rape them. But you can’t force someone to like you, to be friends with you. That is the reality of the situation, which he seems most unable to accept.
I personally was becoming cautiously optimistic that the practice of prioritizing men’s feelings over women’s safety was slowly starting to die out. There seemed to be a slow shift in cultural attitudes as signaled by movements such as #MeToo and #NiUnaMenos. As well as the rise in equality and inclusivity regarding sexual orientation, gender identity, and gender expression that Gen Z has come to represent.
This is obviously antidotal, but I was really disheartened when visiting a coffee shop in San Francisco. I overheard a group of community college kids. A girl was talking to her male classmate. She was half joking, asking him to intervene on her behalf. Someone in their class had asked her out. She was 17 and the guy was 24, and she didn’t want to reject him directly. She specifically wanted her classmate to let this guy know she was 17 as a deterrent. And it was also to gauge if he already knew that she was underage, and was hitting on her anyway. Was he a creep and would pursue her regardless? Or was he just clueless and would back off passively with this new information? She didn’t want to find out first-hand.
I’m not saying that this girl feared for her safety in this situation. There is no way for me to know why she was soliciting help. Maybe she was just being young and shy and awkward. However, the fact is that she wasn’t willing or able to turn this guy down directly. And this speaks to a larger cultural problem that still exists.
As I have been traveling all over this past year. And I started noticing similar signs in the bathroom stalls of bars and restaurants in more and more places. The message is basically the same. Are you in an unsafe situation? Say a codeword at the bar, and we will help you get home.
And the worst part is, regardless of how we react or choose not to react, in the end, we lose. Women always lose when we are unsafe because of men. I debated if I wanted to go out dancing during my last nights in Lisbon. I mean, fuck this guy. His shitty behavior shouldn’t dictate my decisions. On the other hand, this guy had been only mildly annoying and persistent in person. I absolutely was not prepared for his aggressive, irrational, outsized reaction over text. I didn’t know what he would do next.
And as he correctly points out in his message, I was completely alone in Portugal. I don’t know anyone who lives even in the country. Who could I tell where I was going that night? And what could they possibly do if I sent them a message or called them?
Would he do anything if he saw me? I wouldn’t be able to relax if he was there. And I would be on edge, waiting for him to show up, if he wasn’t. What about getting from the club to the taxi? There was no way to know if there would be security when I had never been to the venue. A lot of people speak English, but not everyone, and not always that well. I couldn’t count on being able to communicate.
I thought about it a lot. In general, I tend to be more optimistic and adventurous. I believe that people are generally good and that they do want to help each other. Maybe I wouldn’t see him again. Maybe nothing would happen if I did see him. Maybe, maybe, maybe. In the end, I chose not to go out dancing in Lisbon after this encounter. And I know it was the right decision for me, even if it isn’t fair.
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