Don't Tell Me To Smile

*This isn't a movie review. This is a discussion of cat calling and street harassment*

Smile, young lady!
I'm not smiling for you.
Aww why not? You'd be so beautiful if you smiled!

This is the conversation that happened in Harvard Square at about 11:20 tonight, at the intersection of Mt. Auburn St and Brattle St.

This is the conversation that ruined my favorite part of my walk back to my car.

On Tuesday every week, I go blues dancing. It's fun. It's a big part of my social life. I love it. Sometimes I carpool with a friend, which has all kinds of perks and I love it. When I go by myself, I have a little tradition.

See, I love cities. I love walking in cities and I love being in cities alone and at night. Unfortunately, cities alone at night can be really creepy. That's part of why I like Harvard Square. It feels safe.

When I walk alone in cities at night, when it's all empty and quiet, I get to imagine I'm in a movie. I always hear Marlon Brando's voice (from the Guys and Dolls movie) going "now is the time you can hear footsteps on Broadway." Sky Masterson loves New York at night and I love Cambridge.

So when I walk back to my car after bluesy tuesy when I'm not carpooling with my wonderful friend, I get to play a little pretend.

The garage where I always park has a big brick covering with columns along the sidewalk right before you get to the entrance. The acoustics are amazing and at 11:30 at night no one notices or cares if you want belt a little bit.

It's fun. Walking alone when everything is quiet and empty is fun.

But I didn't get to have that fun tonight.

I was walking down Mt. Auburn, about to cross the street, thinking about how excited I was to get to those bricks and how I could sing Once Upon a December (from Anastasia which has been stuck in my head all day) and hear it in the cool acoustics. I was lost in thought and excited. I was planning this.

And then I hear it.

Smile, young lady!

I didn't think about what I should say back. I forgot that you're supposed to ignore it. I forgot that saying no could mean literally taking my life in my hands.

I said no, I'm not smiling for you.

You could hear that he was surprised. He hadn't expected me to say anything.

He was crossing the street about 20 feet from me. He couldn't have actually seen my face, but he'd seen my heels and maybe a flash of red lipstick. And he wanted a smile.

He told me I'd be so beautiful if I smiled. He wanted to know why I didn't want to smile.

I have a few things to say to this man on the street.

#1 I don't owe you a smile or beauty. Beauty is not the tax I pay for being a woman. Beauty is not the tax I pay for being on the street. A smile is not the price of courtesy in public. A smile is a gesture I can bestow or not on whomever or whatever I choose.

#2 I'm writing this sitting in my bedroom, where I can see my mirror across the room. I'm not smiling. I'm looking at my own face and you know what? I'm goddamn gorgeous. I don't need to smile to be pretty. Fuck you.

When I walked away from him, I walked fast. I pulled out my phone and called a friend. She didn't pick up. She texted me that she couldn't talk. I texted her what happened. I told her I was nervous to finish the walk to my car.

At that point, I could see the brick columns. I was almost to the spot where I would get to sing. I didn't want to sing any more. I wanted to cry. This stranger ruined my favorite part of driving by myself.

When I got to the columns I told my friend I was walking to my car but that I was still nervous. If she didn't hear from me in 20 minutes she should be nervous too. I put my phone away, sucked it up, and belted Once Upon a December. I was convinced I couldn't let him destroy everything.

I was, quite frankly, terrified when I got to the garage. I had had to park on the lower level and the elevator at first wouldn't work. I nearly ran to my car when I finally got down to it and locked the doors the instant I was inside.

Why was I so afraid?

Because a man ran his car over a 14 year old girl who turned down his advances on the street. Because a woman in Detroit who wouldn't give a stranger her phone number was killed. A New York woman was killed when she wouldn't go on a date.

I found these with a single google search. They were the top couple of results. I've heard the stories before. They're all less than two years old.

All women know: any time you say no to a stranger on the street, he might kill you.

That is fucking terrifying.

I was alone. I was wearing high heels. I was carrying a big tote bag.

The guy was big, he was with a friend. If he had wanted to hurt me, there would have been nothing I could have done.

"But Wendy," you might say, "if you didn't hear all these stories about street harassment escalating into violence, it would be okay, right? Because you wouldn't have had to be scared."

Actually does it matter if it might escalate into violence? Isn't the fact that MY SMILE AND BEAUTY ARE NOT THE PRICES I PAY FOR EXISTING IN PUBLIC enough to show that you DON'T TELL STRANGERS ON THE STREET TO SMILE???

I've been cat called at times when I had no fear of it escalating. A cabbie has commented on my bright red cheeks. Cars have honked as they've sped by. Guys have winked, hooted, and generally hollered as they've passed.

Not all of them are scary. All of them suck.

I. Do. Not. Exist. For. Your. Approval.

I do not want you to tell me I'm beautiful. I don't want to hear that my cheeks are rosy red.

You know what? I know I'm gorgeous. I know my cheeks are red. I know my ass looks good. I know my boobs are big. Do you really think you're telling me something I don't know?

If you actually wanted actual conversation you can probably come over and say "excuse me, I know we're strangers but I just wanted to say, you look really nice and I wanted you to know people notice too" because, yeah, it's always nice to hear everyone else knows you're pretty. But when you yell it at me, it's not a compliment. You can stop me and say "hey, wow, you have such bright cheeks! You don't see too many people with such rosy cheeks!" That's fine. What's not cool is the yelling that roughly translates to "I approve of your body and it is here for public consumption."

I'm not a drinking fountain. I am not a park bench. I am not here for the public.

Don't tell me to smile.