I consider myself to be a confident woman. I walk with my head held high and my eyes straight ahead. I was taught to be aware of my surroundings and scan my environment; when I pass a group of men, however, I now avert my gaze to the ground or feign interest in my cell phone. I intentionally avoid eye contact, careful not to accidentally invite comments.
I envy my male friends who can go for a stroll at night to clear their heads. I never know when my rejection of or resistance to a stranger will spark violence. Too many times I’ve heard about women followed home or physically attacked when they rebuff the “compliment” a man feels entitled to give them.
After a particularly threatening instance of street harassment this past summer—in which the police were no help—I decided I needed an outlet to work through my frustration, fear, and daily exploitation. I was tired of feeling helpless, so I created this blog to chronicle my daily encounters for 30 days: the location (by dropping a pin on my iPhone), a photo of the clothing I was wearing, and a description of the ordeal.
