Catcalling

[Today's Date Here]

Latin America is a place of machismo, or masculine pride, and Mexico is no different. It is pervasive and has affected many aspects of my life while living in Puebla.
Machismo comes from the desire to protect, from the patriarchal idea that it is a man's job to protect the women in his life. Men will open doors for you, will pay for your meals, will give up seats for you on the bus. I've had hosts offer me rides to ensure that I get home safely. These may seem harmless, and they are, but there are some major downsides to machismo as well.
Like cat-calling.

Cat-Calling

to make a whistle, shout, or comment of a sexual nature to a woman passing by

i.e.

to comment on the physicality of a female-presenting human being

this can be verbal, or an action like licking your lips, moving your whole head as you scan her body

This is something I have dealt with since puberty, since my hips started to fill out and my breasts started to grow. Men have been objectifying me and commenting on me for years. At first it was just glances, but then it turned into comments. Men were commenting and objectifying the body of a girl, of a minor.
When I was younger, I thought it was a complement. I waited for when I was catcalled, appreciating that the nice men took the time out of their day to call me beautiful or pretty. I believed this because I had been taught by society that my appearance was important, if not the most important, thing about me. I was taught to appreciate that men noticed me.

And but then as I got older the comments became more objectifying, more threatening. I became hyper-aware of who was around me, who was watching me, how people were responding to me as I went about my daily life. As I grew, I realized that cat-calling is not a compliment, and it never was.

Cat-calling is not for my benefit. It is not aimed for me to feel better about myself. I already know that I look beautiful, I don't need someone else telling me. I do not require an outside validation to appreciate my own appearance, even if it was the goal of the action.
But it's not.

Cat-calling is for the benefit of the man who commits it, and for his friends and the others around him. It has nothing to do with me. I get cat-called in jeans and a sweater, I get hollered at in dresses. I could be wearing a parka and men would comment on my appearance.

I'm sick  of being oogled because I'm a woman. I'm tired of being told I'm "overreacting" or that I should "take it as a compliment." It's exhausting. It's exhausting having to constantly monitor my surroundings because I never know when a look or comment will turn into a touch or worse. I come home every day and collapse onto my bed, finally free from the prying eyes of strangers who scour my body and turn me into an object for their enjoyment, an object that exists solely for them.