Catcallers: The Bane of our Collective Existence

Black leggings, which apparently emit some sort
of Annoying Male Pheromone

I have seen the seventh circle of hell, and it isn't frozen over or populated with antiquity's greatest traitors. It's outside of a McDonald's at 2 am or lurking silently behind a tree on the quad when you have five minutes to get to class.

"Ay baby lemme get ya number!"

"'Scuse me, I just wanna talk at ya for a second."

"You lookin' mighty fine today girl!" (let's ignore the fact that you're probably wearing your oldest pair of black leggings and a slightly agonized expression)

Your blood runs cold, your pulse speeds up, and you suddenly realize that you're a goner, caught in the clutches of a villain from which there is no socially acceptable escape: the catcaller. 

The obvious, self-preserving response would be to return his crass greeting with a foul hand gesture and even fouler language (fighting fire with fire and all that). But it seems that catcallers have perfected the art of preying on the more generally polite and kind members of the populace who lack the forethought to carry a tube of mace (myself included) and a snappy, eviscerating comeback in their back pocket.

The general cause of this verbal predation is the belief by society that the Black female body can be possessed and claimed by any and everyone. It has no rights, no claims to personal space (hence the constant hair touching, but that's another story for another day), and no grounds to be offended or disgusted by the crass advances of catcallers, street boys, old men, and random passerby. 

When a young black girl is leered at or pinched by an old man (usually either a distant relative or family friend), everyone chuckles at how "cute" the scene is, completely oblivious to the lifelong psychological consequences of having your body preyed upon by someone you are instructed to trust.

When a young black girl is criticized and condemned for being "fast" or "ho-ish" at the age of twelve for having a curvy shape that she cannot control (and this happens quite often with African American girls), it is she who is shamed and becomes ashamed of her own body, not the whistling passerby or the aggressive high school boys searching for an "easy target."

When a young black girl becomes a woman and leaves home to go to college (and is under the false impression that a college campus solely houses respectful intellectuals), she is under constant attack by other Black male students who are already too deeply entrenched in the unique culture of Black misogyny to consider the intellectual substance of a woman when her behind in black leggings is easier to approach. Or she is besieged by the male campus employees from whom she really doesn't want your number with her side of fries. Or, possibly worst of all, there is the legion of locals, lying in wait in the university dining halls, on the campus lawn, or on the university bus system, waiting for the moment to strike on an unassuming freshman with well-intentioned (but horribly misplaced) dreams of an "older man."

So how do catcalling, leering, and poorly constructed sexual advances ultimately affect young Black women? There are two options: either she gives into these advances, opening herself up to a lifetime of baby mama drama, underemployment, and an aura of general misery; or, in order to withstand the constant barrage, she builds up a defense system to make herself undesirable to catcallers. This includes (but is not limited to) the epidemic "perpetual bitch face," becoming extremely snappish or rude with everyone she meets, dressing poorly or in a dowdy fashion, and intentionally or subconsciously gaining large amounts of weight to place a physical barrier between herself and her tormentors. 

Here are the origins of the stereotypes of the "angry black woman," the asexual nouveau Mammy, and the "ratchet" and extremely overweight black woman. Often, these characteristics are adopted by highly educated Black women as well as they adopted these negative external tendencies to ward off male predators as they worked to educate and improve themselves. However, the problem arises that Black women have made themselves unattractive not only to the catcallers, but also to men of all races and employment backgrounds who may have been the perfect spouse. 

The temptation to fully close oneself off against the waves of catcallers and unwanted advances can be overwhelming, especially in college when it seems that that is the only male attention to be received. However, I've found that it is best to try to brush off or laugh off the catcallers in their absurdity and continue working to become the best and most successful version of you. Continue to dress nicely, go to the rec center,  participate in class, and actually smile at people when you pass them on the quad. It may attract a few straggling catcallers, but it will attract a lot more genuinely nice people too. Plus I've found that it actually hurts after a while to maintain the Perpetual Bitch Face. Am I right?

What's your craziest catcalling story? Got any advice for people struggling with catcallers?