Womanly existence

Ever since seeing the Barbie movie, that America Ferrera monologue has taken up a permanent space in my brain. Never before had I heard the collective female experience be summed up so accurately and eloquently. It's a contradictory existence. The expectations that fall on our shoulders are paradoxical and often unattainable. And, Ferrera says, we bend over backwards trying to live up to them anyway in order for other people to like us. We may not do so consciously, but I'm sure every woman who reads this can think of an example when she diminished herself for external validation. Personally, I see this reflected in my skills of not making men feel bad when they are being inappropriate or just plain bothering me in public. How backwards is that? Though of course it's not only an internalized politeness. It's a safety mechanism, too. Because as a girl and as a woman, you learn quite quickly that not every man can be trusted. And you don't know someone's intentions when you first meet him, or even after you've already gotten to know him.

I've definitely held my keys between my knuckles when walking through the city at night. I've felt my heart pounding in my chest when approaching groups of men, anticipating doom scenarios. I've been hyper alert on public transport, catching a man continuously staring at me out of the corner of his eye, getting up to move closer to me, as we drive through my poorly-lit neighborhood. Coming up with an escape plan in case he hastily makes his way over to the door when he notices it's my stop. I've felt objectified when strange men made comments about my body, whistled as I walked by, only to be told by others that I should find it flattering. "They're just telling you you look good. What's the harm?"

Then there are the moments when you're going about your day, and a man sparks up flirty conversation with you. That's not inherently annoying, and there are many ways to have a pleasant exchange even if you're not interested in anything beyond that moment. If he's a decent guy, it will probably end in an "Alright then, have a great rest of your day." Unfortunately I have fewer examples of such conclusions than I do of eyebrow-furrowing ones. Over the years I've lost my patience and my capacity to indulge the conversations when I am not interested. I've also learned that, if he is not a decent guy, there is really no right way to express your disinterest, as you will almost always be seen as either mean spirited or as acting like you're into it - by laughing awkwardly - and thus leading him on before rejecting. A bitch either way. I remember an instance where I decided to not waste my time with excessive niceties and to be clear about my disinterest from the get-go.

In the Conservatory (Édouard Manet, 1878-1879)

I am sitting on a bench outside of the train station, waiting for a friend who would arrive in exactly three minutes, when a man approaches me. To my best estimate he is at least in his early fifties. "Bonjour", he says. French? Interesting choice. I take out one of my earbuds and utter a confused "hello?". He asks me what I'm listening to, I answer, and he asks if it's any good. I say yes. He asks what my plans are that day. I tell him I'm meeting a friend - "who's arriving at the station right now" - to stroll around the city and to grab a bite to eat. "Well I just wanted to come over to say you look very cool and to say hello", he says. He stares at me, not moving, as if waiting for me to read the subtext. I squint my eyes. Of course he didn't just want to say hello. If he did, he would have also said goodbye by now. So I say:"I appreciate you saying hello, but like I mentioned, I have other plans today, so I want to leave it at that." "What?" I repeat myself word for word. "Well you're strict, aren't you?", he says in disbelief. Like I'm a school teacher disciplining her students. It makes me chuckle, or scoff, more accurately. I reply: "That's necessary sometimes. Have a nice day!"

But isn't it a bit strange to be called 'strict' after such an interaction? It suggests he was expecting me to be compliant. To be agreeable to his advances. And when I wasn't - politely so might I add - he could not comprehend it. I wonder why. Maybe he was not used to women saying 'no' to him. Maybe he felt some sort of entitlement to my time. Maybe he was just socially awkward. But then again, maybe I'm making excuses for him now.

One final story then, because this one left me absolutely boggled. I frequent a park where I love to lay in the grass, quietly, minding my own business. One day, a man approaches me, asking me if I'm from here. I take out an earbud and I say no. He asks me if I'm meditating. "In a way", I say. And then I wonder why he would bother me if he thought I was meditating. He starts talking about how he meditates, too, and that he goes to the gym really often. I politely nod at him and ask him if it's okay that I get back to my "meditation" now. I asked him for permission... I even apologized. Even though there was no reason for me to do so. Anyhow. He bids me a nice day. But the story is not over yet. Because about a week later, the same man comes up to me, asking me if I'm from here.

Are you getting deja-vu? I takes me a second to realize, but by then he has sat himself besides me while I lay on my back, facing the sun. I'm slightly offended that he seems to have no memory of hitting on me and disturbing my peace just a week prior. I keep my answers short. He is hellbent on guessing where I'm from. "The United States? England? Wales? Ireland? Iceland? Germany?" "No, no, no, no, no, no." I put him out of his misery and tell him I'm Dutch. "Oh yes I've been to Nijmegen once." He asks me how old I am and is baffled to hear the answer. "But you look so much healthier than most 26-year-old women", he proclaims. I don't think he recognizes the levels of insult that are hidden in that comment. He starts saying that he goes to the gym really often because it's so good for your mental health, your body, your spirituality, asking me if I like working out. He says he meditates a lot. That he doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't party. That he's 20 years old and that he's so proud of everything he's achieved. He'll be moving to Australia soon to start a business. "Well I hope you'll have fun there, that sounds great." "Oh no I'm not going there to have fun. I'm going to work on myself." I feel a bit... sad for him, I think.

But okay, I want to get out of this situation, so I decide to employ a phrase I've gotten comfortable with using lately: "I notice you're flirting with me, and I just want you to know I'm not open to that at the moment." I lied. I just wasn't open to it from him. He doesn't really seem to take the hint, though. He says: "I think girls like you are really my type. Nordic girls." I remind him I'm not Nordic; The Netherlands is not part of Scandinavia. "No, no, I mean northern European. Yeah, because you are all so white. I love that." I am completely taken aback by this comment. He even semi-jokingly calls me exotic at one point. Gross. "Because, you know, Spanish girls, they're not really women. They're too feministic for me, you know?" I start laughing. "Oh, you won't like me then", I say. A few traditionalist, slightly misogynistic comments later, he ends with the kicker: "I would really love it if you would subscribe to my YouTube channel." I cannot contain my laughter. It must be a joke. But no, he is serious. He tells me the name of his channel and I tell him I'll look it up when I'm home. I lied. I say I have to go. I lied. He asks me if I'm enjoying myself in Barcelona. I'm not sure what else I can do to signal to this man that I'm trying to get away from him, so I start packing up my stuff, providing a short answer, and backing away. He shakes my hand and he says "see you around". Something about that is a little ominous. But he'll be on the Gold Coast not having fun before I know it.