I’m 25 and never experienced sexism until journalism in college. To me, it was something older generations had endured and overcome. Something I wouldn’t have to deal with. But I was wrong.

The first time I experienced it was when I walked into the county attorney’s office as a cub reporter in college. He shook the hand of the male photographer who walked in before me. But when I extended my hand, he just looked at it, puzzled, and asked me to sit down. Not the best start to an interview. And I’ve always been proud of my non-limp-fish handshake.

A couple of years later, I had asked my economics professor to write reference letter for a journalism internship that I wanted very badly. He gave it to me in a sealed envelope, which I needed to scan in to submit online. I hesitated about reading the letter, but decided I should. It sang my praises as a student and leader of the student newspaper, but only after the phrase “Her good looks notwithstanding…” I didn’t submit the letter. But I got the internship.

I’ve had sources call me the “cute little girl from the paper” and one source, as I patiently waited 30 minutes after our scheduled interview time, strolled into the lobby and said “Come on in here, baby doll.” I am not your baby doll. I’m nobody’s “baby doll.”

A local PR guy has asked me if I lost weight (I hadn’t). Others have said “Why aren’t you on TV? You don’t look like a newspaper reporter.” To which I always reply that I don’t feel comfortable on camera and real journalism requires more than a soundbite.

So the list goes on. And it will continue as we sit in quiet indignation. Because it’s apparently not acceptable to Journalism While Female.