Home Sweet Madtown

I had an interesting experience returning home from my travels. The last leg of my journey involved me, a huge pack, and State Street. State Street at 1 a.m., to be more specific, packed with the late Saturday night crowd.

First, I have to comment on fashion. This is an incredibly rare thing for me, as fashion and I have never hung out together. But the latest style for women appears to be this: a bag-like dress that is extremely low cut, as in low to the point of fear of witnessing an accident, with a shapeless waist but showing a ton of leg all the way down to Cleopatra sandals. First of all, if all you women wear this I can’t tell you apart. Second of all, you’re all wearing goddamn BAGS.

But I am sure my pleas will go unanswered, as this fashion seems to have its desired effect. They got the attention they wanted. In watching all this I discovered that men have corners; not in the way women have corners, but these men absolutely have catcalling territories.

I passed a bunch of these men, each with a separate corner on State Street, each just standing there catcalling women. I couldn’t imagine what on earth was motivating them since, let’s face it, none of them are getting laid tonight. There isn’t a woman in the world who is going to watch a guy catcalling every single girl he sees including all the girls in front of her and all the girls behind, get across the street and stop, turn around and think, “That man is discerning and has excellent judgment. I think I’ll take him home.”

Well, maybe these men do have some judgment, because not a single one of them catcalled me. It was odd to be in a parade of women on State Street and have every woman up until me catcalled, and have the catcalling continue seamlessly with the woman behind me. I had somehow made myself invisible, a feat with such an enormous pack.

I was not offended; rather I was grateful to be left alone after a long day of traveling. And I instinctually knew that it wasn’t that these men didn’t think I was attractive. I don’t think it’s beauty or body type. I think it’s attitude and advertising.

These women, with their bag dresses and Cleopatra shoes, were advertising that they wanted attention and wanted to be found attractive. With my pack and sneakers, I was advertising that the only reason I was on State Street was for the fastest route home.

But it was striking to be completely invisible. I began to think about all the women who don’t consider themselves attractive, who hide themselves in drab clothing and feel their fears are confirmed when men treat them as invisible. But it's truly not whatever physical thing it is that they think makes them unattractive. I could prove it to these women, too. All I would need are some Cleopatra shoes and dresses that look like bags.