#femcurrent

via Motivational.Mornings 

→ Cindy Gallop isn’t taking any shit In an interview with The Guardian, Gallop rips the rose-colored glasses off “Mad Men" fanatics in one sentence: “Advertising is dominated by white guys talking to white guys.” Who run the world? Peggy and Joan. 

→ babe.wear Meet the new t-shirt line from kaitmvp of dearscarlet whose Instagram makes me cry at least once a day (good cry). “This is a body positive Tshirt company and social media project. You are not a babe DESPITE your flaws. You're just a freakin babe.” Amen.   

by Caity

With such a clickbait of a title, you know this post is going to delve into the details of me getting a traffic ticket in New York City. But what you maybe aren’t expecting to find is a reflective piece on the purpose and intent of government. What I was surprised to discover after this event was how one unenjoyable experience could cement some ideas or inclinations I had had for a while. In a time of political debates that seem to focus on the idea of “government policies can negatively affect me!”, I hope you read this piece and instead walk away with the idea of “hey, sometimes the government’s job is to help other people.” With that: here’s my story.

Over the winter break, my husband and I went back east to spend the holidays with our families. One of the things I miss most about living outside DC is being just a short four hours from New York City and all the newest Broadway musicals. This year, we decided to take Ryan’s younger sister on a one day trip to visit NYC to experience her first Broadway production (Phantom of the Opera, a classic show that is still amazing.) Looking at the costs of bus or train tickets vs driving and parking, we decided that for the three of us, it was worth it to drive so we could have a more flexible departure time. I had always sworn I would never drive in New York City because it is straight up terrifying, but after living and driving in Seattle for three years, I figured I could handle the three blocks required to get to our hotel. We’d leave the car there the whole time and do public transit for our 24 hours of bliss in the city that never sleeps.

As we approached the notorious Lincoln Tunnel, I was a mixture of excitement and anxiety. “We’re almost there! I’m going to get hit by a cab. We get to leave the car! I won’t be able to merge. Jess is going to see New York! I’m going to total my dad’s car in this tiny tunnel. We get to eat cheesecake! We’re going to spend two hours in traffic. Broadway! We’re going to die.” So when the tunnel was surprisingly clear, I was elated. I just had to make two right turns and we’d be at our hotel. Upon exiting the tunnel, I was met with horns blasting and yellow sedans that refused to accept the idea that perhaps five cars should not be side by side on a three lane road. I got to the traffic light, and was strongly encouraged by the guy behind me to turn on the yellow signal. Being a good driver, I decided to wait until it changed to red and a clear path was open. Though the man behind me stopped honking as soon as it was red, I could feel his impatience and turned as soon there was a safe amount of space in the oncoming traffic.

Immediately following my successful right turn on red after stop in this crazy city, I was ushered into the right lane by about ten police officers. There was a line of out of state cars that apparently had done the same thing. When I rolled down my window, the officer barked, “What happened?”

“...I turned on this street to get to my hotel that’s two blocks away?”

“This is New York! You can’t turn right on a red light.”

Astounded that my drivers ed teacher from 2006 never mentioned there was a place in the US where you could not turn right on a red light after stopping, I gave him my Washington state license and my father’s Virginia registration and waited in shock while he left. It took him over fifteen minutes to return and give me a $280 ticket. During this time, Ryan speculated as to whether this was just a scam to get clueless out of staters to give up their driver's licenses. An elaborate identity theft operation done by a dozen men in convincing blue uniforms and badges. How on earth was this really a law? So I looked it up on my phone, and sure enough, there’s the “Steady Red” law in New York that prohibits turning right on a red light in all cities with more than 1 million residents. (A law that only applies to NYC.)

At first, I was enraged. There were no signs! Do they really expect people to know this? Why does this law even exist? And then I thought about how many people live in this city--drivers, bikers, walkers. It seems like a smart safety move, relying on green showing the all clear. But if this was really about safety, wouldn’t they put signs up before you enter the city? Or perhaps, pull over all the people who break the law at this intersection and give them a warning about it?

The fact that this was so clearly a trap, set up at the first intersection out of the tunnel--one with multiple lanes to turn right into--manned by several police officers so they can administer more tickets and not let any person who turns right get away with it, made it so much worse. But then I thought about what this probably represents. After watching John Oliver’s segment on Last Week Tonight about traffic tickets and some of the outrageous stories involved, I knew that many local governments need people to give tickets to function. Their budgets depend on a reliable source of money that comes from these fines. So in the moment, I calmed down, justifying my loss of $280 by remembering it’s going toward some other teacher’s paycheck.

After our trip (which was wonderful despite the constant rain), I had to recount this story to multiple groups of people. It made me wonder just how much of New York’s budget comes from tickets. So I went down the wormhole that is google research and discovered quite a few interesting things.

First off, I was not the only one to be disgruntled by a NYC ticket. It’s apparently one of the few things that the locals can agree upon. Overwhelmingly, the most common ticket is a parking ticket. But what you can be fined for in this city ranges from “unauthorized assembly” to “unauthorized possession of a garden tool or plant.” NYC was estimated to have raised $812.5 million in 2014 from tickets. That seems like a ridiculous amount. However, I then remember that over 8 million people live in this city, so I figure the budget has to be pretty hefty.

And that led me here-a breakdown of how the city spends its money. It turns out, only 10% of the city’s budget comes from sources other than taxes and federal funding (my ticket falls under this “other sources” category.) However, the city’s total budget in 2013 was 69 billion dollars.

I can’t even really wrap my head around that kind of money. It’s an insanely high number. But as I continued to read, I learned that that money gets spent pretty quickly. Almost as if the writers of this document realized the average person would have a hard time comprehending that large of a sum, they break down just how far 10 million dollars goes in each section of government. Below are a few examples.

Education: 159 new teachers (the city employs about 75,000 teachers)

Fire: 9 ladder trucks

Police: 80 police officers per year (the city employs about 22,500 personnel at the rank of police officer)

Jails: 2 days of incarcerating the average daily population of 12,789 inmates in city jails

Sanitation: 10 days of disposal of residential garbage

Street Resurfacing: 65 lane-miles of city streets (about 7 percent of total lane miles resurfaced each year)

And now I understand why they gave me a ticket for turning right on a red light. While some of these expenses can be argued on an ideological standpoints (why do they have so many people in jail each night? Why do police officers make so much more money than teachers?), at the end of the day, people need fire trucks, roads, and garbage disposal.

But what really shocked me--the entire reason I decided to write this blog post--was the last category on the list.

Tax Relief: $4.47 Personal Income Tax (PIT) savings per city taxpayer.

That’s right. Cutting 10 million dollars from the budget would only give each city taxpayer about 5 bucks back from their annual income tax. For a New York resident to save $4.47, the city would have to get rid of 159 teachers. Or not provide shelter for 272 homeless families for an entire year. Or not deliver 1.3 million meals to senior citizens.

On the flip side, increasing taxes by just five dollars would get them 12.4 billion gallons of wastewater treated. Or 11,328 job placements for small businesses. OR 159 NEW TEACHERS. (Do you see why this may be important to me.)

by Caity

(image via socialistalternative.org)

Growing up, one of my favorite movies was The Newsies. I loved watching young Christian Bale organize a bunch of rambunctious (and strangely musically inclined) boys, rally the support of the community, and challenge greedy old Robert Duvall. It was the ultimate story of young people standing up for themselves and what was right and winning. I thought ALL strikes must end victoriously and with a big musical number. When I was older, I became enamored with another film, Billy Elliott, and my perception of strikes was shattered. After months of no work—destroying beloved pianos for firewood and pawning off precious jewelry to survive—the coal miners in England return to work with nothing to show from it but weary faces. Participating in the Seattle Public Schools strike was nothing like either of these stories, and yet somehow similar to both.

For those of you who maybe haven’t been keeping up with the details of the strike, here is a quick summary. Negotiations for a new contract began in May. The Seattle Education Association (SEA) had representatives at the bargaining table demanding several ways to improve our district’s school system. These demands included: equal recess for all elementary schools in the district, less testing, better evaluation systems, hard case load caps for ESA (school psychologists, speech pathologists, and physical therapists), equity teams in all schools to address systematic injustices, and the most popular with the media, a pay increase. This last point got a lot attention. On the one hand, you have supporters of teachers talking about how educators in Seattle haven’t gotten a cost of living adjustment in years. They are being forced to move out of the city they teach in because they cannot afford to live there. This has led to us LOSING good teachers who then decided to work closer to new homes. We aren’t attracting new talent because the pay does not align with the cost of living. Meanwhile, supporters of the district point out that there is only so much money allocated to the public schools, so if we really want a better school system, funds should be allocated to other areas of need, instead of our income. I see merit in both arguments.

So right before school was to begin with no contract in sight, we had a General Assembly meeting to vote on whether or not we would go on strike. (Something SEA hadn’t done since the 1980s.) Walking into that meeting (spoiler, we all knew it was going to lead to a strike vote), I remember saying to multiple people, “I don’t really care about the pay part. I get why others do, but I’m a new teacher and haven’t gone through ten years of contracts with little raise. I care about the other issues.” And that was true. I knew going into the profession that I wouldn’t be making great money compared to other jobs that require the same amount of higher education. I am fortunate enough to be married to someone whose salary is more than I will ever hope to make as a teacher. But still, issues of equity were clearly worth fighting for. We voted to strike and instantly we were everything local media was talking about.

One thing I did not really consider about going on strike is how I would be spending my days on the picket line. It boiled down to two things: walking and talking. I walked 56 miles over the course of our one week strike. I talked with at least 40 different colleagues about the strike, local politics, units we’re teaching, clubs we’re sponsoring, but also Star Wars, Batman, Harry Potter, weddings, cats, and how many miles we had walked that day. I developed new friendships and solidified old ones. I was reminded once again that I work in the best school on the planet. My colleagues are intelligent, passionate, funny, kind, and all around amazing human beings. If I have kids one day, I hope their teachers are as awesome as the ones I work with now.

(image by Don Eaton)

Within the first 24 hours, I had people posting on my Facebook photos of me in the strike. First it was blogs, then smaller newspapers, then local news channels, then national newspapers, then national news! I felt like Race in Newsies - “Suddenly, I’m respectable, staring right atcha, lousy with stature.” People were noticing us! People were overwhelmingly supporting us. We got so much free food and water from families and community members. Hundreds of cars drove by and honked in support. Parents and students joined us on the picket line. Children barely big enough to hold signs were leading chants. We weren’t just fighting for our pay. We were fighting for our kids’ futures. And on a larger scale, we were fighting for kids across the nation. With the national media attention, we were starting conversations about broken education systems underfunded by regressive taxes. We were empowering other teacher unions to consider striking for these same issues. We were 5,000 educators with the support of millions of Americans.

And finally, after four days of striking, a tentative agreement was reached. We weren’t told the details, but instead instructed to continue picketing. The strike wasn’t over, but the end was in sight. Our union reps from each school would go to vote on whether or not to suspend the strike, and if so, we would vote on accepting the contract in the immediate future. The people at my school site were nervous and excited. “We’re finally going back!” “I can’t wait to get into my classroom and meet my students.” “I hope the union didn’t cave and let us down.” Though we walked a little less that day, it was by far the longest one spent on the line. In the evening, we get emailed a summary of the tentative agreement. The union reps had a majority vote to suspend the strike, so we would return to school and classes would begin Thursday. We won so many issues! Recess! Equity teams! Hard caseload caps! Evaluation untied to testing! Possibly less testing! Better contracts for subs! We were elated! And then we saw the pay increase. We went in asking for 21% raise over three years. The district originally offered somewhere around 6% over three years. The bargaining team agreed to a 9.5% increase over three years. We would also have additional time added to our school day starting in the third year. Upon closer look, equity teams were only promised to 1/3 of our schools, and the testing agreement was shaky at best.

Of course winning all the other battles meant we had to sacrifice somewhere else. Of course, as teachers we want the best for our students. Of course we’ll push better pay to the next contract negotiations. But that’s in three years. What about all the teachers who will need to move away during that time? And what about the other equity issues that will arise? Knowing the selfless, compassionate teachers in my life, I can only assume we will continue to make this compromise. And like I said at the beginning, this is what I was fighting for. I should have been ecstatic. But I found myself somewhat relating to the coal miners—we caved and it’s not going to change.

We could theoretically have gone back on strike. We had another meeting on Sunday, and we could have rejected the contract. But how on earth could you convince over 2,500 teachers who FINALLY got back in their rooms and met their kids to turn around and go back to the picket line? How could we convince parents and community members to support us again when this time, it would be almost exclusively about pay? How could we keep up the morale, knowing every day we would be out, some kids weren’t getting the attention, encouragement, even food that the public schools provide?

by Allyson

I’m Allyson. I’m 25 years old and have been an ER nurse for a little over a year now. My job is challenging, has pros and cons just like any other, and can be downright heart-wrenching at times, but I love it. My job gives me the opportunity to help calm the frantic, educate the unaware, heal the sick, and provide comfort to people when they need it most.

The Miss America pageant was held recently and I’m sure many of you have heard about or watched a clip of Miss Colorado, Ashley Johnson, delivering her original monologue about being a nurse for the talent portion of the program. Furthermore, some of you might have heard about the comments made about Miss Colorado’s monologue on The View. If you haven’t, take a second to Google it. This is my summary of the events. Miss Colorado’s monologue told of an Alzheimer’s patient whom she developed a close bond with. This patient pointed out to her that while she encouraged him that he was not his disease, she had also stated that she was “just a nurse”. The patient then informed Ashley that she was not “just a nurse” because she had been his nurse, who had cared for him and changed his life.

Being a nurse, this monologue gave me chills and brought forth feelings of pride for my profession. Nursing can be a thankless job. The fact that Miss Colorado could elegantly and succinctly provide a glimpse into our profession on a national platform made me swell with happiness because nursing was getting some recognition I believe it deserves. Ashley Johnson’s talent portion was brought up for discussion on the television show The View. Needless to say, positive remarks were not made. Miss Colorado’s scrubs were referred to as a costume. Her original monologue was said to sound as if she were reading her email. And one co-host asked why Miss Colorado was wearing a doctor’s stethoscope around her neck. I can assure you that these comments are offensive to all nurses who put their own blood, sweat, and tears aside to deal with other people’s on a daily basis.

It is common knowledge that the majority of the nursing profession is composed of the female gender. And I believe that there has been a wave of feminism sweeping through and bettering this profession since its foundation. But I do not want this blog post to be only about nurses. I want this blog post to be about women. What bothers me most isn’t just that the ladies of The View don’t seem to understand my profession at all, but that this is yet another example of women cutting women down. We see it on television. We see it on social media. We see it plaguing halls and classrooms in schools everywhere. Ladies, this needs to stop. I want you to take a second and think about a few times in your life when another female said something negative towards you. What if each of those negative comments was an encouraging and empowering comment? What if, instead of seeing each other as competition, we saw each other as equals with the same ultimate goals? Don’t we all want to be happy? To love and feel loved? If women began helping each other instead of knocking each other down…it could be life-changing. World-changing.

The internet seems divided on whether Miss Colorado’s monologue was an actual talent or not. I think that argument is unimportant. What I think is important is that Miss Colorado be recognized and praised for presenting a talent so different from what is traditionally presented. In addition, I also feel that Miss Colorado should be given major kudos for being such a strong and positive role model for the nursing profession and women in general. These would have been wonderful talking points to be brought up on The View. Unfortunately, that’s not what was heard.

So what does this mean for the ladies of The View? I want to urge everyone to take the high road. Don’t criticize these women for what was said about Miss Colorado’s talent when clearly they are just uneducated about the work that nurses do. Perhaps this can be a learning experience for those women. I, personally, would love to watch an episode where they talk about their experiences after each of them have shadowed a nurse for a 12 hour shift or two. Women supporting other women in their perspective workforces - that is a show I would tune in to.

To all my nurses out there: you are appreciated. You are never “just a nurse”.

To all women out there: let’s be each other’s building blocks instead of stumbling stones.

by Caity

Stumbling onto a dark, crowded school bus filled with grumpy, possibly high older teens, I scanned the rows for an open seat or a friendly face. None greeted me. As the dirty, yellow monster lurched forward, I desperately looked once more—perhaps someone sleeping had left their bag on their lap and I could have a seat without disrupting them. And then, miraculously I noticed the quiet, curly haired girl with glasses clutching a violin case around her huge backpack. I was 98% certain she was in my first AND second period classes, so turning me down would be awkward for her soon. I went for it and sat down. She smiled weakly and whispered, “Hey.” The lack of confrontation was a Godsend to an awkward 14 year-old. Over the next few weeks, we continued to sit together—mostly to avoid ending up with any other people on our bus—and bonded over our similar class schedule and complete disgust with the bus driver’s obsession with country music. Eight years later this girl was in my wedding.

Clutching a solo cup of lemonade and tray full of pizza and salad (the latter mostly added to not look like a total pig), I nervously walked through the rows of folding tables to look for a familiar face. After two weeks of casually showing up to a particular campus ministry, I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be able to find a community and would spend my college years locked in my room watching Hugh Grant movies. Then a thin girl who bore a striking resemblance to Juno sat down next to me and abruptly began, “Ok standard greeting: Name, year, and major.” It was a statement, not a question. Taken aback but glimpsing an escape from perpetual isolation, I shakily responded with “Caity. Freshman. English.” Four years later, this biochemistry chick was also in my wedding.

These two examples of best friendships starting are nothing special. I have others that range from “We had drama together” to “they randomly assigned us a roommates.” And I am not alone on this. While some people have really exciting tales for how they met besties, most people are probably more aligned with this formula of “we saw each other a lot and thought the same things were funny.” I am nothing like either of the girls I mentioned above in personality or interest, really. But we have been through a lot and complement each other well, so it works. For people who graduate and stay close to where they grew up or went to school, this means at least a few people they can rely on to be up for a coffee or a drink after a particularly long week. But what about those of us who just up and move across the country?

There are so many things out there by millennials about how “adulting” is hard. Sometimes we commiserate over not understanding complicated financial things like 401Ks (or 403Bs? I think that’s what I have?) And sometimes we just complain about how we can’t hide under our covers and wait for our problems to disappear, because unlike skipping a class in college, that can lead to losing a job and then your part of rent and food. (And like, my apartment has an additional 30 bucks a month for pet rent, and my cat STILL hasn’t ever contributed her share so it’s even more you gotta think about.) But in my personal opinion, the hardest thing about adulting is making friends. Like, why did no one ever tell me this was so hard?!

In high school and college, you just hung out with people in your classes, on your hall, in your club. It helped if you had similar interests, but it wasn’t a requirement. Now, I can meet a person who shares all my opinions, tastes in movies, and preferred leisure activities and it’s still only a 25% chance I’ll ever see them again. I thought getting a job would help, but it’s taken me two years of daily lunches and monthly staff meetings to get to the point of hanging out with coworkers outside of work. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been married and thus conveniently living with my best friend who was legally obligated to hang out with me. (Speaking of Ryan, he’s been on the same team at his work for over three years and does not have a single coworker he considers a friend, so some people have it way worse!)

Church was also a good way to meet people—especially when looking for couple friends. People are generally really friendly to new faces and there is even a built in five minutes of awkward small talk to frantically search for someone else who plays geeky board games. But many couples have kids or already have their own friend group established. When you are new to a city, you can’t just insert yourself into someone else’s group!

And then even if you DO find someone you like and you are pretty sure likes you back, there’s a ridiculous process of friendships. First you friend them on Facebook. Then you like/comment on some things you see them doing. Then you run into them in your mutual space and talk about what you saw and casually mention the possibility of you two doing that thing together. Then maybe in a few weeks you suggest a time to actually do it. Then you spend two weeks figuring out a time. Then you reschedule when one of you realizes it’s the same day as your cat’s vet appointment. Then maybe—hopefully—you actually DO the thing and it is a little awkward but overall good and you spend the last five minutes saying how much fun it was and how you definitely need to do it again. And then you wait a week or two or five and suggest it again and the process of planning stuff starts over.

Some people blame this problem with making plans on our generation’s dependence on technologies. Millennials don’t commit to making plans because if you agree to go see “Mission Impossible” with someone on Friday night and then someone else calls you that day with tickets to see Macklemore in a secret performance in a warehouse, you’re going to have to turn them down. And with social networking, you can talk to all your old friends on three different devices to get your fill of socializing without ever leaving your house! But in actuality, I think it has a lot more to do with amount of free time. In school, you had constant access to people and almost unlimited time to hang, go get ice cream, or just do homework in the same room. As adults, you work a ten hour day, come home, make dinner, maybe watch an episode of “Parks and Rec,” and go to bed. You don’t want to have to stay out late getting a drink with someone you barely know. It could be awkward and definitely requires pants. So you’ve got weekends and those fill up quickly—especially if you have a significant other who has ideas for things to do.

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about having a lot male friends. As an adult, this can become even trickier because—if they are straight—you often have to consider their girlfriend or wife. The last thing I want is to cause problems in someone else’s relationship by getting too close to their husband or boyfriend. So this usually leads to double dates which basically is dating all over again. (What?? I got married specifically so I wouldn’t have to do this anymore!!) So now, instead of worrying about how I look and not talking too much, I worry about how I look, how Ryan looks, how we look together. Am I talking too much? Is he talking too little? Are we talking about boring things? Are we engaging BOTH parts of the other couple in conversation? Does the girl like me? Does the guy like Ryan? What about the opposite? Are they having fun? Is Ryan having fun? Am I even having fun? It’s a nightmare.

No joke, I have had multiple conversations with people that go basically like this:

Person: I had so much fun with you two. We should hang out more.

Me: Right? Us too. It’s so hard to make friends as adults.

Person: I know. But we get along great and Ryan seems really cool with his [hat, batman collection, movie knowledge, whatever came up during conversation.]

Me: Yeah, and he really liked you guys! So we should definitely be friends.

AND IT STILL TAKES FOREVER TO NOT FREAK OUT ABOUT INVITING THEM OVER FOR BOARD GAMES.

I know this doesn’t have much to do with being a woman in a patriarchal society, but it has to be said. We should be able to make friends and actually do stuff with them in a more efficient manner. When my roommate from college came to visit two weeks ago, I was simultaneously overwhelmed by excitement and relaxation. There is a girl here who knows me and my flaws. I can talk to her about anything, and she won’t judge me at all (ok fine, she won’t judge me that much). I can suggest an activity and she will either agree if she wants to do it, or suggest something else to do instead of making excuses. She definitely won’t do it despite the fact that she knows she won’t enjoy it because that is just silly. Why is this so hard to make this kind of relationship happen again?

Basically, I’m writing this post for all those 20-somethings out there who feel like something is wrong with them for moving to a new city and not instantly being surrounded by new, intimate friends. There is nothing wrong with you, and you are not alone. Adult friendships take time, persistence, and honestly a little luck. Don’t give up.

(image via My Little Paris)

→ While we were all distracted by Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus may have become secretly awesome (via Marie Claire) In the past year, Miley has launched her own foundation to help LGBT and homeless youth, embraced gender fluidity, lashed out at sexism in the music industry, and smacked down materialism. For someone who got rich fast as a young age, she’s refreshingly levelheaded: “Getting more money, having more hits, being the lead in the movie—those things might stimulate you, but they don't make you happy. I've experienced it all already, and I'm telling you firsthand, it doesn't." Taping this to my bathroom mirror as we speak.

→ “The village where men are banned” (via The Guardian) In a culture where female victims of sexual assault are often more punished than their attackers, survivors have found an oasis in the desert: Umoja. Located in Kenya, Umoja is a women-only community where sexual assault victims are accepted, educated, and able to make a living for their families. Some girls arrive as young as thirteen (and younger) after being solid into child marriage. Many can neither read or write. But in Umoja, they can be whoever they want to be. “We don’t have much,” says one survivor, “but in Umoja I have everything I need.”

by Grace 

(image via Flickr)

Last night, I took my dog on a walk. I had taken maybe three steps onto the sidewalk outside my apartment when an older man confronted me.

“Hey lady,” he yelled, “can I pet your kitty?”

“Excuse me?” I asked. I have a pug puppy who is quite small, but no one has ever mistaken him for a cat. Still, I wanted to give this guy the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was confused. 

“Sir,” I clarified, “this is a dog?”

“Oh I know,” he said, snickering. “I want to pet your kitty!”

Then he pointed at my crotch.

Truth time: I’ve never confronted a street harasser. I talk a big game, but I’ve honestly never felt safe enough or confident enough to do it and not break down crying or be attacked. But this was too much. This was right in front of my house, my safe space. 

So for the first time, I cussed him out and flipped him the bird.

There’s a scene in the Netflix TV series “The Fall,” when the lead detective, played by Gillian Anderson, asks another woman, a medical examiner, how she’ll teach her young daughters to stay safe. I’m paraphrasing, but the medical examiner replied, “I’ll tell them to stay away from strange men.”

Gillian Anderson raises a knowing eyebrow at this. Both had just come from a crime scene where a man raped and strangled a young woman to death. “Strange men?” she says. 

The medical examiner shrugs, almost helplessly. “All men.” 

Similarly, in the second season of “True Detective,” a male cop and a female cop are discussing the differences between men and women. “The fundamental difference between the sexes is that one of them can kill the other with their bare hands,” the female cop explains.

I don’t want to navigate life with a pessimistic mindset. I don’t want to believe that people (men) are inherently evil and ready to assault me at every opportunity. But the problem is that even when I do give seemingly nice strangers the benefit of the doubt, they take advantage. It isn’t just old weird men in the park harassing women. It’s also men in suits with faces your mother would trust. It’s not just strange men I have to be on my guard with, it’s all men. 

Society has been slowly opening its eyes to the real issues women face every day, but resistance remains. I’ve been told that it can’t be “that bad” and that I need to “chill out” or “quit exaggerating.” That I’m making things up out of nothing. People have told me that I’m starting to seem a little radical or “mean to men.” That I should take everything that happens with a grain of salt. Or deal kindly with the onslaught of Twitter trolls screaming #NOTALLMEN!!!111!1 

If I was a man, I could’ve punched that guy in the face. Or felt at least felt safe enough to even consider it. I often wonder what it would be like to be a man navigating public spaces, to walk down the street at 4 a.m. and not have my keys in a knuckle-white grip. To wear shorts and not worry that men are making lewd gestures at my behind. To say “hi,” to whomever I wanted to in the park and not feel like I was risking my well-being. To not be scared to go places without my husband. To go running outside whenever I wanted. To not wonder if the guy pointing his phone my way on the bus is trying to take a picture of me. To walk my dog in peace. 

I’m not blaming men just for being men. Maybe you’re a man reading this, and maybe you don’t think you’ve ever made a woman uncomfortable. Maybe you don’t think you’re a “strange" man. Maybe you were just trying to be nice and she was being a “bitch” to you. Maybe you don’t think any of this is real. Maybe you see #yesallwomen tweets and tweet back using #notallmen. (Maybe I sound like a broken record, constantly complaining about my serial street harassment. Maybe I should just not go outside anymore? Winter is coming anyway.) Maybe you whistled at a woman on the street, and although you instantly forget about it, she carried it with her for the rest of day, wondering what she did wrong to attract your unwanted attention. 

by Caity

image via Flickr

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about how I love to defy gender norms. As a woman with a lot of smart, talented female role models, I want the next generation of girls to be able to do whatever they want to do—regardless of societal expectations. “Teach your daughters to care less about fitting into glass slipper and more about shattering glass ceilings,” as an inspirational quote I quickly retweeted says. But one of the commenters on my last piece mentioned something that I often overlook—what about the next generation of boys? I couldn’t really address this because I have not grown up as a boy nor have I raised a son, but I see it a bit with my male students and realized it was an important point. I left for a belated honeymoon with this idea in mind.

Then I spent two weeks in Europe, and oh man, gender norms and expectations for men in America became so clear. The first thing I noticed in Italy was the crazy traffic. They have lines on the roads there, but I don’t think they actually mean anything because no one pays them any attention. Because the roads are so slim (that happens when your city is literally ancient and not designed around interstate highways) a lot of people use motorcycles or scooters to weave in and out of traffic. And just like here, when friends want to go somewhere together, they share a ride. I saw countless duos on bikes—guy and girl, girl and girl, but most frequently, guy and guy. Dudes shared bikes all over the city. This really isn’t a big deal and makes sense from an economic and efficiency perspective, and yet it seemed off to me because I never see it in America. I feel like the only time motorcycles are shared, it’s a woman on the back of a man’s bike. Two guys sharing would be met with homophobic remarks. First off: why would sharing a ride be considered gay? Secondly: why would that be bad? More on that later.

Next thing I noticed about Italy was its population’s affinity for babies. (Disclosure, I probably noticed this more because I was often travelling with my not quite two-year-old niece and four-month-old nephew.) Everywhere we went, Italians were waving, talking, kissing, and trying to hold the kids. I don’t blame them—they’re adorable. But this was not just the women. All of the men did it too. Twenty-something-year-old guys were smiling and waving. Forty-somethings were talking with my sister of the blessing of family. Eighty-somethings who couldn’t speak English were cooing, “Ohhh bambino! Ciao! Ciao!” and beaming. And why doesn’t this happen in America? I am lucky to know a lot of really great fathers who are openly affectionate with their own children. Our society is definitely encouraging more and more of the softer side of men in regards to how they interact with their kids. However, being openly interested or excited about children is still a taboo for men. It seems like some weird connection everyone has made: if he is an adult male and thinks my baby is cute, he must be a predator. What?

Finally, as Italy and especially London showed: European men seemed to put a little more emphasis on fashion. We passed so many high end clothing stores, I lost count. Because we were staying in a business district in London, most men we passed were wearing custom tailored suits. But even when we were strolling through parks, there seemed to be more of an even balance between the genders when it came to the “togetherness” of outfits. When I walk through U District (the college neighborhood of Seattle), I like to people watch—especially the couples. In many heterosexual examples, the girl is wearing a dress with matching necklace, earnings, bracelets, shoes and her hair is in a cute updo that looks sorta messy but complimenting her face shape, and you know it took hours to actually master that art. The guy, on the other hand, is sporting sweatpants and a U Dub t shirt. Now there is nothing inherently wrong with this. I think it’s great that comfort-wear has become more socially acceptable. Yoga pants make grocery shopping slightly less heinous. And I also really like getting all dressed up for dates from time to time. But I think there is still some weird societal expectation that women are supposed to look nice when going out, but men can wear whatever they want. A guy may dress up for special events, but for the most part, when he can be comfortable in sweats, why wear anything else, amiright? So when a guy likes fashion—when he prefers to wear fitted clothing, cares about the way he looks, or what trends are popular—it seems out of place. Once again, he somehow is less masculine.

There are a lot of writers in the LGBTQ community who have covered this topic in depth, but male gender norms are tied to homophobic ideas. If you do not conform to the expectations society has for you as a dude, you are somehow less of a man and more like a woman—or worse—gay. That’s why many straight men are uncomfortable with gay men: they challenge their notions of gender expectations. If being a man is somehow tied to finding a woman and being different from her, how is that guy a man when he is dating another man?

Now, I think most people should be able to realize that your preferred leisure activities are not inherently tied to your sexual orientation. That’s how we have gay men who like sports and camping and straight men who like cooking and fashion. And yet, Americans still bring up boys with a very narrow set of expectations. Notions such as “stop crying.” “Grow a pair.” “Be a man.” Emotions are signs of weakness. Showing affection to your male friends is wrong. Wanting to have a family and care for your home is not a real life aspiration. Feminism is usually thought of as the movement to give a woman equal chance and opportunity to do whatever she likes, whatever men do right now. But it is also very much so about opening up society’s mind so that men can freely do whatever they like, what currently is unfoundedly reserved for women.

To hear more about this topic, check out the documentary “The Mask You Live In” trailer below.