I’m tired of hearing guys say they wouldn’t mind being catcalled, so what’s the big deal? I mean, who doesn’t want to be complemented on their looks, right? Who doesn’t want to be reminded that they still “have it”?

Wrong.

Flat out wrong wrong wrong.

For one thing, it’s not actually about complementing women. It’s really not. Last year, I wrote about an incident of street harassment I experienced where the compliments quickly changed to insults when I didn’t give the appropriate response—and this is fairly typical.

I was sitting outside a store eating ice cream with a friend when a car pulled up to a light on the street in front of us. The windows were rolled down, and there were two twenty something guys inside. They looked at us and started yelling at us. “Hey ladies! Come get in the car with us! Lets go get a beer!” Mortified, my friend and I refused to look in their way and tried to continue our conversation. We’d done nothing to invited these men’s attention beyond sitting outside while female. It didn’t help that we ignored them; the men continued yelling. “Come on, babes! Get in the car with us! Come on, what are you waiting for?” The light was taking forever to change and the men were not stopping. My friend and I stood and walked back to the store, and for the shelter and protection it would offer. The men yelled one last thing after us as we walked away: “That’s okay, you’re ugly anyway!”

Some complement, that.

And there are other stories:

Of course, a few stops later yesterday, a different gentleman (no baseball cap) looked at my grocery bags that say Trader Joe’s on the side and said brightly “Going grocery shopping, I see!” Me: … Him: “At the Trader Joe’s?“ Me: …. Him: “I only ask because I want to know what wine should I bring.“ Me: … Him: “For when you cook me something later.“ Me: … Him: “You don’t want to cook for me? Make me some pork chops or something?“ Him: “What, you got a boyfriend or something?“ Him: “Won’t even talk to a n——. Damn.“ Him: “You’re one cold bitch, you know that?“ Him: “I feel sorry for your boyfriend.“ Then it was his stop, so he went away.

If it were a compliment, it would stop there. If it were a compliment, it would not require a response and then turn to barbs when the proper response is not forthcoming. If it were a complement, it wouldn’t end in an insult. I have no idea what goes through guys heads when they engage in street harassment. But I will definitely say that, from the woman’s perspective, it feels like being treated like a piece of meat rather than as a human being.

A couple of weeks ago an old man approached me as I finished jogging at the Y.

“What has a bottom at the top?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, what?” I hadn’t heard him clearly. Was he asking for directions?

“What has a bottom at the top?” he asked again.

“I have no idea,” I said without enthusiasm. I had never heard this particular “joke” before (or whatever the hell it actually is), so I was simply confused. I’d never seen this man before. Why was this man talking to me? He clearly wasn’t asking me for directions. I needed to go lift weights and then get home, I had work to do.

“Your leg,” he said with a smirk, as though he had said something funny.

“Okay,” I muttered, and made a quick exit heading for the weights room. And then what he’d said sunk in and I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

Look, I realize that men will look at attractive women and appreciate them. I get that. I’m comfortable with the fact that men will look at me and appreciate my body. Being bisexual, I do the same thing to other women. But you know what I don’t do? I don’t randomly walk up to them and harass them. I am aware that they are human beings, not eye candy set out for me to enjoy.

Guys need to understand how street harassment can make women feel. Once I ascertained the man at the Y wasn’t asking for directions I unconsciously avoided eye contact and sort of shrunk in, my body preparing for flight. I didn’t like that this stranger had invaded my normal routine and was holding me up for no apparent reason, and I had a foreboding sense of what was coming. Look, asking for directions is fine. Walking up to a person and commandeering their attention as though you have a right to their time is not.

I have no idea what that old man intended with his “joke,” but I wish I could tell him how his “joke” affected me. I wish I could tell him how uncomfortable I felt after I got away from him, like I needed to shake something off of me. I felt icky, somehow, and it wasn’t my upbringing acting up. I also felt unsafe, as though I couldn’t be sure anymore that I could walk through the Y without another incident like this. If the man had walked into the weights room after me, I would have left in a hurry.

Later, I told Sean about what happened. Partly this was because this doesn’t happen to me all that often—I’m usually out with the kids—and partly because I wanted him to have some idea of what I’m talking about when I refer to “street harassment.” Sean told me the story made me want to punch the guy. I understand the reaction—guys are often socialized to see violence as a way of fixing things, and hey, I’m sure lots of women feel the same way. But for us, violence isn’t an option—this is our life, and we have to figure out how to navigate it.

Guys have to remember that the world we live in—our context—is not the same as the world they live in. We live in a world where women set up systems to “check in” with girlfriends to make sure they make it home safe from a date or a night at the bar. There was a time I almost called the police because I couldn’t make contact with a friend for twenty-four hours after her date with someone she met online. It turned out she’d slept over at his place and her phone had run out of battery, but I couldn’t know that at the time, and that was scary. The context women live in affects how they experience street harassment.

I think men often aren’t aware of women’s context. There used to be an abandoned building on my way home from work. I often had to walk by it after dark, alone. I mentioned it to my husband at some point, and I asked what building I was talking about. He had walked by it a million times himself but had never given it a thought. It really gave Sean something to think about.

But go ahead, knock yourself out arguing that these fears are over-exaggerated and that women are safer than they think they are. Have at it! But you know what? On some level it doesn’t matter. I am telling you what it feels like to be a woman in this world, and that really ought to matter to you. Don’t catcall a woman. Don’t tell her to smile, or act like you are entitled to her time or conversation. Just don’t. And stop minimizing it. I don’t care if you think being catcalled would be affirming. That’s completely irrelevant and very dismissive and it ignores the context these in which these things occur.

You’re probably wondering what you can do. I can’t speak for everyone, but I, at least, don’t mind a genuine complement—one that is not “fishing.” Oh, not a complement on my boobs, or my butt. A complement on something I control—my hair, for instance, or my shoes. Several years ago I dyed my hair blue, and I got complements from both men and women. You know, a quick “I love your hair” in passing. Or, “Nice shoes.” Or, “Your shirt is awesome.” (Guess who has like three different Doctor Who t-shirts? That would be me.) These comments are not the same thing as street harassment. But even when making comments like this, please be aware of the extent of harassment many women face on a daily basis. Don’t demand a woman’s attention, and if a woman is cold to you, even in passing, remember that that may be because she’s already had to fight off three other guys.

I’m going to finish with this French video, which not only switches men and women but also attempts to switch the context in which they live. Maybe this will help make the importance of context more obvious. (Just FYI, it’s not safe for work.)