“You’re a beautiful woman ... I’d love to shove my cock up your ass.”


Diaries of an Unaccompanied Woman, a thread. (1/14)

I was on a run near my flat when the owner of those words, and (I’m imagining) an unimpressive dick, threw them in my face. He honked his horn, leaned out of his car window, and in an instant - likely without a second thought - utterly objectified and dehumanised me. (2/14)

I was shocked, and tried to yell something like “Fuck off, asshole!” But I hadn’t reacted quickly enough and he’d already sped off. I started crying and called C, my bf. I turned, facing a bush so others wouldn’t see me - as if I was the one that should be embarrassed. (3/14)

It always starts the same way. It always ends the same way.

It always starts with them grabbing my attention: honking horns or walking up next to me and just starting a conversation, like a chatty American on a flight. I usually wear headphones, not that it matters. (4/14)

I remove my headphones, my first reaction always being curiosity, always assuming innocence. I always assume that they’re getting my attention to help me - maybe I’ve dropped something on the ground and they’re letting me know. (5/14)

It only takes 2 seconds to figure out that they’re chatting me up. By the time I roll my eyes and go to put my headphones back on, they’ve told me that I have a sexy body (I know) that I’m a beautiful woman (aren’t we all?) and they’d like to do X to me (you wish, mate). (6/14)

I don’t understand how they think this would ever work. Honestly, what is their success rate? But I know it’s not really about me. It’s about power, and about making me feel small. It’s about insecurity, and making themselves feel big. (7/14)

It always starts the same way, and it always ends with me either politely telling them I’m not interested, or I’m in a rush, or that I have a boyfriend - as if that should matter. (8/14)

They’re braver in a vehicle, yelling obscenities and driving off before I have a chance to yell something back. It always ends with me feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, feeling like I let myself down for not reacting quickly, feeling shocked and shaken and helpless. (9/14)

They probably forget about me within a matter of minutes, and if it was a single incident maybe I would forget about them too. But the micro aggressions build up bit by bit, and they start to wear you down. (10/14)

These are fathers, brothers, husbands - men of all ages, races, religions. I’d estimate my experiences with street harassment to number in the hundreds. I am only in my mid-20s. It’s never the same man, which is worse - that means that they too number in the hundreds. (11/14)

Well, I'm done being silent. I've started this account to document every time I experience street harassment. I want men to understand how frequently this happens. Bear in mind that I'm white, which means I only experience a fraction of what women of colour go through. (12/14)

Unfortunately, men rarely see the street harassment happen, because their presence with me in public reduces the chances of its occurrence to almost zero. But it happens all the time, and I am tired of it. (13/14)

I deserve to exist in public without being constantly subjected to sexualization and objectification. For humanity’s sake, I hope I rarely update this account. But I know I’ll be back soon. (14/14)