Pretty Fed Up

Olivia Rodrigo recently came out with a song about when pretty isn’t pretty enough, and it got me thinking about a different angle. The downsides of being sized up. When I was an awkward teenager in high school I badly wanted to be seen as pretty. I assumed if someone was looking in my direction it was because I was obstructing the view of someone beautiful behind me. I didn’t know I was supposed to tweeze my eyebrows, straighten my thick hair, or wear flattering clothes. Everyone was a little awkward in middle school, but by the time high school started it felt like everyone else had been given a manual of how to dress/act and I was left out of the loop. Over the years, I learned how to make myself appear more attractive and began to receive more attention. But it didn’t come without costs.

The other day, when several of my coworkers and I were serving a group of businessmen in their own private room, one of them said, “If only we could get our wives at home to do this, serve us with a smile.” All the other men readily agreed. My throat tightened but my face remained unchanged. They were paying guests, so there was nothing left to do but continue to smile and serve them.

But that is a 1950’s mindset, right? There’s no way men still think a woman’s place is in the home, taking care of the kids, and tending to their needs after they return from a hard day's work. Then being expected to smile? No, that sounds crazy. We’ve progressed greatly from these archaic ideas, right? Apparently not.

I see, hear, and experience views of this nature all the time. Like when a guy congratulated my ex on my “fat ass” when I wasn’t present, like it was a trophy he had won. Or the guy that squeezed my ass while I was dancing with a different man, like my body was a toy for anyone’s pleasure. The guy I was dancing with got more upset than I did, because I was already accustomed to this kind of behavior being directed at me. At this point, it’s too exhausting to get mad over.

However, though I’ve heard it countless times now, my blood still boils when I overhear men talking about women like they are just pieces of meat, sexual targets to corner and exploit. Because I know that every single woman these so-called men want to “rail,” or dismiss as a “bitch” is a feeling, intelligent person who deserves respect.

I often dress in tight clothing. Usually I just find it more comfortable, practical. I like to stretch, I need to for my body to feel good. Even if I’m in public. This draws attention. Male attention. The more comfortable I’ve become in my body, the more attention I’ve received. I wear bikinis now. I used to not, because as a young teen I wasn’t ready to be perceived as a woman yet. In college I became more comfortable with my my divine feminine power. I expressed that in both the ways I dressed and in my body language. I was becoming a woman, feeling freer in myself. But the more open and free I became, the more I found men would mistake it for flirtation.

If I'm coming from a run I'm gonna remove some layers. Wear summer clothes in the winter. I’m just being myself. Though my “yogi” side tends to fit precisely with what a lot of men want to see me, my heart lies in aggressive sports.

Ever since I was 5 years old, I loved playing soccer. I played on competitive all-girls teams growing up, and I was fairly good. I was quick, didn’t tire easily, and could get around defenders with my footwork. I enjoyed the game and the prestige of being on a good team. But it was time consuming. Too much so and I ended up getting worn out. When there wasn’t a game, there was a practice. When there wasn’t a practice, there was a game. Soccer started to become something I dreaded rather than enjoyed.

I took a break from it for a couple years, until someone suggested I try recreational soccer in eleventh grade. I thought I would never shame myself into playing rec, but it turned out to be really fun! It brought the joy of playing soccer back to me. I enjoyed playing with girls and guys. Rec was co-ed, and that was awesome. Everyone was friendly to each other, and actually passed the ball (if you proved you could handle it).

Years later, as a post-grad adult, living in a major city, I still loved playing soccer. So I decided to try the rec intramural leagues in Boston. They’re costly but I thought they would be worth the money. As it turned out, they weren’t. But not because of the sport. Because of the way women were treated, and spoken about. There was a 2-girls-on-the-field-at-all-times requirement, which was a well-intended rule, but meant that guys mainly saw female players as boxes to check off.

When I joined a team that was still low a couple players, I suggested a female friend to join, only to be met with, “We’ve capped out on girls already.” There were 4. On a 15 player team. What that really meant was that they’d “capped out” on 2-females + 1 sub player minimum. They didn’t want any more women on the team than was necessary. The men also never let women sub out for them, only for the other female players. So some games I played very little if all 4 allotted women were present, and in positions I enjoyed less. I’m a restless person that needs a lot of movement, so I’d often find myself running after a game to get enough exercise in.

I turned to creating my own pickups, where girls and guys could just play the whole time, but it was hard work always rallying people, and I wanted a break. I haven’t played all summer for this reason. I was tired of the organizational effort it took for me to play as a woman. I also began to get the sense that a lot of people would only show up if they knew enough guys already committed to going.

I've had positive experiences with pickup soccer since. I alternate from organizing my own pick ups to hopping into a Just Play game (sports app). I have always been treated well/respected in those. There is no female minimum crap.

There are many perks to having the body of a small, young-looking, conventionally attractive woman. I know I am privileged. This post is not intended for me to get on a soap box to share all the ways that life sucks in this body. I honestly wouldn’t trade it. I’m still just coming to terms with many things, even at the age of thirty. I am not trying to totally bash on men, but lay out the facts, as I’ve experienced them, as a feminine woman. There are a lot of great men out there. But this is still a man’s world. Throughout my twenties, I’ve been reminded of that every day.

People assume counseling is very tiring work, so it’s not hard to explain to people that I took a break from it due to burnout. But what I don't often divulge is that the primary reason I got burnt out at such a young age wasn’t due to the heavy topic matters, or even the tragedies I experienced counseling addicts who didn’t make it. No, what prevented me from going back to counseling after the company I worked for went bankrupt, were the dangers I experienced being in close, private proximity to men. At my job I worked both in a larger room leading group sessions, and held private sessions in my personal office.

It seemed ideal. But it wasn’t. I often felt very unsafe. I have too many experiences to write, but they include a client turned stalker who already had a warrant out for his arrest. He waited for me outside the building once he figured out my schedule so he could ride alone with me in the elevator and then follow me into my office.

Then, there was the guy who stood up in the middle of his individual session to walk over and stroke me. He was significantly bigger than me and we were behind closed doors. When he stood up suddenly and started moving towards me, I was paralyzed with fear. It was amazing to me how he could turn the tables to make me feel powerless in my own office. I told my bosses and he got removed as an individual client for me, but I still had to interact with him in the 3 hour group I led every morning. I couldn't help but be very harsh with him when he made ignorant comments after that. For the good of the group.

I’m pretty sure none of these men thought they were doing anything wrong, cause they were all just being “friendly” while seriously crossing my boundaries.

In restaurant work, you’re almost never at a table for more than 5 minutes at a time. You’re always in public spaces, surrounded by people who would come to your aid if need be. Usually, though, aid is not needed, because everything is so public and the men often come with their wives or girlfriends. These safeguards are something I appreciate every day.

I started out in the restaurant industry as a bartender, but eventually transitioned over to becoming a server. It happened due to circumstance, availability of work, but in hindsight I see that I also didn’t feel safe as a bartender. You’re not supposed to leave the bar, and men get less and less filtered the more drinks they’re served. It left me feeling trapped in a similar way that counseling had.

I do plan to go back to counseling one day, but when I do I want to try college counseling instead. I think I’d feel safer around that age group, as an older woman in a position of authority.

Isn’t it crazy that the way men behave is a factor in my career choices?

At the first restaurant I worked at, the guy who trained me as a bartender, Alejandro, also trained me in life lessons, like how nothing is truly free and that real respect means adhering to personal boundaries. He didn’t say these things out loud, or train me intentionally.

No, I learned these lessons from him because he did the opposite.

He quickly became infatuated with me, to an obsessive degree. He told me he loved me two weeks after knowing me. He gave me a lot of food and gifts, and sometimes kissed me (a little too enthusiastically) on the cheek when I arrived at work. He was more than 20 years my elder. I didn’t find out until later that I was the same age as his prior fiancé, who apparently died on her birthday because this man had tried to drive her home intoxicated.

Alejandro explained his version of the story when I was working alongside him. Tears in his eyes, he told me how he'd only had a couple drinks on his fiancé’s birthday, but then they crashed on the way home when overly-bright headlights suddenly blinded his vision. He said he lost the love of his life, but that I ignited sparks in him he hadn’t felt since then. Admittedly, I was a bit creeped out, and alarmed, but I also felt a lot of sadness for him and his situation. Somehow I felt even more beholden to him after that. His sob story worked. He was very emotionally persuasive.

You may wonder why I accepted gifts and minimal physical contact from a convicted man old enough to be my father. I was 28 then, not a naive teenager. I could’ve channeled my inner Lady Gaga and forcefully cried out “Don’t call my name, don’t call my name. Alejandro. I’m not your babe.” But, jokes aside, it was my first job as a bartender and he was very well liked amongst my bosses. He was part manager. I didn’t want to lose my job. I had hoped my boss would look out for me, stop him from going too far, so I wouldn’t have to. According to Alejandro, she got envious that he was “doing so much for me.” I learned quickly that protection wasn’t going to come from anyone but myself. That, and, in hindsight, I see that he groomed me.

It started with offering to take me to his other restaurant, where the food was apparently amazing, and he’d taken other coworkers before. Nothing to be concerned about, right? Just a coworker being kind, generous. I didn't think it was even a date until he professed his love for me, right before seeing me off. Then he upped the ante. A helicopter ride. A sunset cruise. Love-bombing. Full meals brought to me every day at work, either made at home, or bought from a bougie cafe. I didn’t know how to say no, I didn’t want to seem rude or ungrateful. And, unfortunately, I also wanted to eat the food. It was delicious.

He continued to take me to other restaurants and serenade me, at his place, while playing guitar. I had vehemently refused many of these outings at first, but he was incredibly persistent. He knew my weaknesses. I am a foodie and an adventure seeker. He used that to his advantage, getting to know me well enough to use what I love to manipulate me. To get me to go out with him, against my better judgment. After the 10th or 15th attempt of him asking, I’d cave. It just felt, spared me from further hassle at work.

He was a man who was hard to refuse. I hadn’t ever had a sugar daddy before and hadn’t wanted one, but he came to me and the perks were tempting. He said he wouldn’t demand anything more from me than my company. Was that so bad? I wondered at the time. We did have some interesting conversations, and he opened doors for me (literally and metaphorically). I thought I was in control since he was the one in love. I thought any gifts he gave me after the terms were established could be enjoyed without expectations…until he proposed to me. After he was sentenced back to prison. The actual number of drinks he had the night of the car crash had been presented to the judge. Eleven.

He presented me with a giant ring at a brunch, after telling me he wanted me to visit him often in prison. He had been re-sentenced because footage was presented that revealed the actual number of drinks he had the day of the car crash. Eleven. I refused the proposal and blocked him after that, but somehow still ran into him at a food event. He acted crushed by my “cold” rejection, and tried to convince me that the least I could do was meet up with him again before he “goes away.” I didn’t. But admittedly, I did feel bad enough to almost say yes at that moment. My resolve was so thin then.

After those experiences I realized, maybe I don’t want favors from men, not if they come at such a high cost. I like to think I can’t be bribed anymore. I consider myself a nice person but I’ve learned I sometimes have to be mean to get men off my back. Saying “no” isn’t always enough. Sometimes I have to yell, or physically push them off me, or block them. Even then, they sometimes find ways to come back around, or act like I unjustly hurt them.

Recently a young man who works in the same building as I do texted me saying that he “stole” my number- from a coworker. It creeped me out because I didn’t even know who he was, it was just a random number. He didn’t even tell me his name at first, I had to ask him for a photo before I understood who he was. Even then I wasn't entirely sure. Cause I never really talked to him! Only ever friendly hellos and smiles, when passing in the hallway on the job, as I would towards anyone. Once I figured out who he was, I texted “no mas. Mi numero de telefono no es un regalo para tu.” It was my attempt at conveying in his language to stop. My number was not a present for him.

That kept him from texting back, but he looked at me like I’d wounded him every time I passed him after that. Eventually my guilt got the best of me, as it always does, and I texted that I wasn’t trying to be mean but I didn’t like that he got my number without asking me. I also added that I am too old for him in case he viewed this as a new opening for him.

Apparently, he interpreted those words differently. He tried to convince me why me being older didn’t matter to him. He assumed I needed reassurance that he liked older women, and that he thought I was beautiful. Then he asked me out. I wanted to nip this whole thing in the bud so I simply texted back “no.” I thought that would be enough, but it wasn't. He kept insisting. Begged, even. After three more refusals in two different languages I blocked him. I recognized that every response was a green light to him, even if that response was a no.

Why do I have to be advanced upon without consent, and then argue why I don’t want anything? Why are rejections not strong enough to get people to stop? The beginning of my name can either mean sweet like honey, or evil. I try to be nice, but pushy men have been unleashing the latter.

I’m good at flirting and I know it, when I choose to turn it on. I’ve taught friends to flirt. I enjoy the camaraderie of it. The dance. But sometimes men think I’m flirting when I’m not. Why is this? Why can’t they tell the difference? Is it me or them? When I do say a clear “No, I'm not interested,” why don't they listen? Because I’m sometimes flirtatious? Does that mean when I say no it holds less power? It secretly means yes? That seems to be the message I've been getting.

As is the case with a guy who tried to get me to cheat with him, on his wife. Somewhere along the way of being friendly to him at work, he assumed that I wanted him. Though my friendliness can be misconstrued as flirtiness sometimes, I know I never actively said or did anything that would have showcased clear cut interest here. I never assumed he saw me as anything other than a friendly acquaintance. He had a wife. One night, after we both participated in an educational wine tasting at work, he hinted to me that I was the object of his fantasies.

I figured he only revealed that to me because he was so out of it, tipsy and irrational, so I didn’t want to shame him then. I also wasn’t sure I understood correctly, I didn’t want to make a mistake in accusing him. He didn’t specify it was me he was talking about, he just claimed, with a weird smile, that there was “a special someone” he fantasized about. I responded, “Unless it’s about your wife, these fantasies should just stay fantasies.” I thought we’d both put this interaction under the rug once he sobered up. But the next day he insisted multiple times that I go to his place so he could cook for me (while his wife was away). When I asked about how his wife would feel if he had me over his place without her, he said “She doesn’t have to know.” And when I said my morals prevent me from doing anything to upset his wife, he responded, “I don’t want to talk about my wife right now” and tried to spin the conversation back to bringing me home to cook for me. As much as I love a good meal, I knew what he would expect for dessert. I told him I didn’t choose to get married, he did. But I will abide by those vows even if he doesn’t.

I’m single and independent, but that doesn’t mean men can live a double life pretending to be un encumbered with me.

One evening, this past spring, a guy who was dating my friend tried to kiss me. I had known him first (I’d introduced them), so I still hung out with him occasionally on my own. He had asked for my support after having been yelled at by someone he cared about. Not long into the “support session” he leaned over to kiss me. It happened so fast that I had to yank him back by his curls to avoid his lips clobbering mine. I told him I would never get with someone dating my friend, to which he responded that I technically had rights to him first. When I said, “It doesn’t work that way” and “I’m not going to get with you” he said that he could “always tell when women really wanted him.” Then he proceeded to try kissing me again! Luckily I have fast reflexes and wasn’t afraid to put some force into pushing him off.

I told my friend what happened and our friendship remained intact. But how would it have looked if he did manage to kiss me, and I had to tell my good friend that her boyfriend and I kissed? If I had just said “he kissed me, I swear” would it have been believable? How many girls have been viewed as the perpetrators in this situation? The home wreckers?

Two years ago, a boyfriend of a different friend told her that I bit him. On his chest/ribs. Jeez that sounds awful right? What’s wrong with me? I’m an animal. But he conveniently left out the part where he had put me in a chokehold first. It was right after he had cautioned me on how strong men can be, when I had told him I’d won a consensual sparring session against a man who was a previous military sergeant.

I guess he didn’t believe me. He didn’t warn me he was going to test me, he just did it. Apparently, to prove his case, that I couldn’t always hold my own against men. Maybe so that I’d be more careful in the future. Or because he just wanted to do it, because he knew he could. He couldn’t resist. I didn’t know his motives, I just knew I needed to extricate myself from that chokehold immediately. So I bit him. Hard. And he let go, but not without whining the rest of the month that I seriously injured him. First I’m a defenseless woman, then I’m too vicious? He didn’t lay out any ground rules when he decided to attack me randomly, to prove some idiotic point.

Now he tells my friend that I asked him to come at me. Like hell.

I can’t paint myself as a totally helpless victim in a lot of these situations with men, as much as I’d like to. I sometimes put myself in situations I shouldn’t. I let things go on too long. I always want to see the best in people, to a naive degree. I’m drawn in by excitement, possibility, and new experiences. It wasn’t smart to accept gifts from a man obsessed with me. Nor was it wise to hang out with friend’s boyfriends alone at night.

I tried to write this piece as honestly as I could so others can come to their own conclusions. Sure, stronger and smarter women than me may have been able to stop some of these situations before they actualized. But I am human, and I’ve only just turned 30. I am still learning how to act. How to be a woman in this contradictory world. When to be mean, when to be nice, when to be firm. What I do know now though is the advice I received as a kid, “Just say no,” doesn’t often work. It’s seen as a joke, if not a hidden message to “try harder.” I also know that technically, anything still attempted after a no is conveyed is legally non consensual.

I once had to say no three times in a row, all while pulling away, and then shout again “I said NO!”, to get the hands of a boyfriend off me, when I just wanted to sleep.

I crumpled after that, having used all the strength I could muster on defense. I felt nothing but sadness in that moment. Utter despair. A person I thought loved me had tried to take advantage, all the while hearing me say no. He chose to ignore it until I finally got loud enough. Until it was clear I was not giving in.

So please, if you ever make a move on someone who does not consent, whether they are your partner or not:

Don’t make them say no twice.