Picture this:
You are out with friends on a Friday night at a bar. There is a drunk woman stumbling and constantly bumping into others. As she orders another drink, the bartender expresses concern over her intoxicated state and thus refuses to give her another drink. He insists on calling her a cab. Meanwhile, the owner also expresses concern for the woman and also insists that she be driven home.
What do you think?
Most of us agree that the bartender and owner of the bar acted responsibly and intervened in an appropriate manner—the woman’s safety was at risk, right? We may even feel that the bartender and owner needed to take action and had they not, it would have been neglectful.
Now picture this:
You have just finished your workday and you are heading to the gym to work out before meeting a 
friend for dinner. While on the elliptical machine, you notice a woman running on the treadmill. She is looking rather emaciated with her exercise clothes hanging off her. Her skin looks pale and she appears faint, even though she is exercising relentlessly. You feel uncomfortable watching because you think she is going to pass out. Her emaciated physical status also concerns you. You notice people looking at her and then continuing with their workouts. One of the gym’s trainers notices the woman on the treadmill and continues with his task. You keep thinking about her as you shower and dress. You leave the gym and head to the restaurant to meet your friend. You have a leisurely dinner lasting close to two hours. When you finish and say good-bye to your friend, you head to your car, which you parked near the gym. As you get into your car, you notice the emaciated woman leaving the gym. You realize that she must have exercised for close to three hours.
Is this a problem? Have you had this experience while working out at your local gym? How did this make you feel? Do you think any action from the gym staff should have been taken?
–M.R.
February 4th, 2007
I live 1.7 miles from my office. My commute consists of various combinations of public transportation (depending on the weather, the type of shoes I’m wearing, and the number of times I hit the snooze button) and despite the many frustrations of the San Francisco MUNI system, often the most aggravating part of my commute takes place in the final fifty yards leading up to my office.
You see, the last stretch of my commute takes me past one of the most unfriendly parts of the city for women: the Financial District. More specifically, the corner of Market and Montgomery, where bike messengers gather, where businessmen get their coffee, where commuters wait for the bus, and where construction workers are forever building luxury condos. It is here that I am subjected to a never-ending onslaught of lingering stares, inappropriate catcalls, and lewd comments.
As a side to my morning latte, I get a “What’s up sexy, you wanna go out with me?” (do these lines ever work?) a “Hey girl, you Russian?” (what is that even supposed to mean?) or the ever-popular hissing and kissing noises (what am I, a housepet?). Some comments are accompanied by lewd gestures while some men have even had the audacity to reach out and grab my arm, as if touching a stranger is a completely normal and ok.
The crazy part is, it doesn’t even really matter what I look like. I could be showered with my hair down and wearing full makeup or bare-faced and pony-tailed, in a skirt suit or a turtleneck and baggy jeans, in high heels or flats, or even a potato sack for that matter. The result is the same. I am wading, unprotected, through a sea of unsolicited negative attention.
Frustrated, I wonder what makes men think they can treat women this way. What gives them the right? Then I look up and see an advertisement of a model in a bra and underwear. Oh yes, I think to myself, that’s what.
Women are continually objectified in advertisements, movies, television shows, and magazines. Often they are shown wearing hardly any clothes. Other times they aren’t even shown as whole women. Instead their bodies are chopped into parts: midriff here, cleavage there, legs all over the place. It’s no wonder men do the same thing on the street, verbally dissecting me into nothing but a “nice rack” or “hot ass.” We are socialized to believe that women exist not as individuals with thoughts, feelings, dreams, talents, and aspirations, but solely as bodies. And that’s where the danger starts.
So how do we fight back against this? Should I say something to the men who objectify me? Should I say something to the advertisement and entertainment industries? Or should I say something to the millions of women and girls that are subjected to negative attention from onlookers on a daily basis simply for walking down the street?
I think I’ll choose option number three.
As I approach the door to my building a man who’s just walked out of a neighboring deli looks me up and down and blurts out “hot legs.”
Great, thanks, I think as the door closes behind me. So I’m a set of legs. I’m not a human being off to work in an attempt to save women and girls from a lifetime of objectification or anything. –A.D.
January 14th, 2007
