Post- Mortem on a Leer
It happened yesterday afternoon.
It wasn't really an event of great importance other than the fact that I noticed it. The sun was shining and, for the first time in weeks, I had a decent amount of cash in my pocket. My intention was not to spend but the thought that I could spend if I wanted to seemed to add a bit of spring to my step as I turned the corner past the bank and headed toward the subway.
Two men were leaning against a wrought iron gate. A more incongruous pair I can't recall in my recent jaunts about the neighborhood. One man was a classic New York Italian stereotype in his 60's or 70's. He's the type that watches the neighborhood from his stoop in the summertime and takes his jowls to hibernate in Boca at the first cold snap. Next to him was a short, stocky Mexican in a wife beater and a backward baseball cap. He could not have been much older than 25 and had that quiet, solid, blue collar air that so many New York Mexicans have. As I approached I could see that they were chatting easily, amicably smoking their preferred tobacco conveyance (Stogie for the Italian, Marlboro for the Mexican) as they smiled and joked with one another. As I got closer they both seemed to quiet themselves and each mustered up his own, personal leer.
Was it me they were staring at? Or was it the subtle smell of pheremone mixed with the ink on my newly minted 20's? At any rate, their attention was unmistakable. I had to make a decision how to respond. Do I flash them my shy, polite smile? Do I give them my playful, admonishing glance that says, "Don't think I don't know what you're up to!". Or do I make a wide and uncomfortable turn without looking at them, signalling fear and weakness?
In the seconds before our actual encounter I was thinking about how other New York men have paid me such attention. Normally the older Italian men will smile, open a door for me, or greet me with a "Good Afternoon...". Sometimes they strike up a conversation with me and they can be particularly smooth about it- absolute geniuses at making flattering small talk. "How can such a beautiful lady live in my neighborhood for so long and I know nothing about it, eh?". This is always followed with a teasing smile, a wink and end with a sweet and warm "God bless you!".
The Mexican men, by and large, are a bit more shy. They rarely approach me outright but might occassionally give the up and down glance with the slightly pursed lips. When I catch them at it they will quickly smile, blush and give me a polite nod. On a few occassions I've got the up and down glance with pursed lips accompanied by a very filthy (and strangely exciting), "God Bless You!"
I decided to give them my polite but sexually oblivious, business smile. This treatment usually ends with a polite, but embarrassed smile on their part and the transaction is finished. These fellows, however, did not break the leer but continued to crane their necks around the corner after I had gone. I could feel their eyes travelling inside the back pockets of my blue jeans and I wondered what I had done wrong. Why didn't they break the stare? Had I sat in something? Was there an embarrassing rip in my clothing? Did my shirt suddenly become transparent in natural light? I actually worried that they had somehow stolen the money from my pocket with their stare power. I was not sure why they had broken this unspoken social contract. When a leer is acknowledged and rebuffed you back down. Right?
As I headed down to the subway I had to revisit my internal conflict about sexual attention from strangers. I don't really have too much trouble with it and some days it is really flattering. Other times, though, the attention can be very uncomfortable and disconcerting. The problem with yesterday is that I couldn't really tell which experience I had had. If they had acknowledged my acknowledgement and backed off, I probably would have felt pretty good about the whole episode. After all, I am ultimately a vain creature that needs an ego stroke every once in a while and there is no harm in being appreciated. But, they didn't back down and went out of their way to follow my movements around the corner. This meant they either did not wait for my approval to continue looking or they didn't care. Both are disturbing red flags and if it had been night time I would have doubled my efforts to slip out of sight.
I have trouble living life as a piece of meat, but it is terribly depressing when people stop looking. At the end of my pregnancy I had tipped the scales at 210 pounds and it took forever to lose any of it. (I've still got that last 20 to go) It was thrilling when I discovered that a guy I was working with actually had a crush on me even though I was not as hot as I had once been. Of course I encouraged this, because at the time, even the construction workers near the theatre were ignoring me when I walked by in low cut shirts- and I was nursing then! Va-va voom, people! Then again, after a few hours of not nursing, soft, jiggly breasts can turn into rock hard protuberances with corners! Maybe that isn't so hot?
I would like to point out, however, that nice, clean cut, middle class, mid-western boys do not leer unless they have a written fucking invitation.
What the hell did your mothers do to you?
It wasn't really an event of great importance other than the fact that I noticed it. The sun was shining and, for the first time in weeks, I had a decent amount of cash in my pocket. My intention was not to spend but the thought that I could spend if I wanted to seemed to add a bit of spring to my step as I turned the corner past the bank and headed toward the subway.
Two men were leaning against a wrought iron gate. A more incongruous pair I can't recall in my recent jaunts about the neighborhood. One man was a classic New York Italian stereotype in his 60's or 70's. He's the type that watches the neighborhood from his stoop in the summertime and takes his jowls to hibernate in Boca at the first cold snap. Next to him was a short, stocky Mexican in a wife beater and a backward baseball cap. He could not have been much older than 25 and had that quiet, solid, blue collar air that so many New York Mexicans have. As I approached I could see that they were chatting easily, amicably smoking their preferred tobacco conveyance (Stogie for the Italian, Marlboro for the Mexican) as they smiled and joked with one another. As I got closer they both seemed to quiet themselves and each mustered up his own, personal leer.
Was it me they were staring at? Or was it the subtle smell of pheremone mixed with the ink on my newly minted 20's? At any rate, their attention was unmistakable. I had to make a decision how to respond. Do I flash them my shy, polite smile? Do I give them my playful, admonishing glance that says, "Don't think I don't know what you're up to!". Or do I make a wide and uncomfortable turn without looking at them, signalling fear and weakness?
In the seconds before our actual encounter I was thinking about how other New York men have paid me such attention. Normally the older Italian men will smile, open a door for me, or greet me with a "Good Afternoon...". Sometimes they strike up a conversation with me and they can be particularly smooth about it- absolute geniuses at making flattering small talk. "How can such a beautiful lady live in my neighborhood for so long and I know nothing about it, eh?". This is always followed with a teasing smile, a wink and end with a sweet and warm "God bless you!".
The Mexican men, by and large, are a bit more shy. They rarely approach me outright but might occassionally give the up and down glance with the slightly pursed lips. When I catch them at it they will quickly smile, blush and give me a polite nod. On a few occassions I've got the up and down glance with pursed lips accompanied by a very filthy (and strangely exciting), "God Bless You!"
I decided to give them my polite but sexually oblivious, business smile. This treatment usually ends with a polite, but embarrassed smile on their part and the transaction is finished. These fellows, however, did not break the leer but continued to crane their necks around the corner after I had gone. I could feel their eyes travelling inside the back pockets of my blue jeans and I wondered what I had done wrong. Why didn't they break the stare? Had I sat in something? Was there an embarrassing rip in my clothing? Did my shirt suddenly become transparent in natural light? I actually worried that they had somehow stolen the money from my pocket with their stare power. I was not sure why they had broken this unspoken social contract. When a leer is acknowledged and rebuffed you back down. Right?
As I headed down to the subway I had to revisit my internal conflict about sexual attention from strangers. I don't really have too much trouble with it and some days it is really flattering. Other times, though, the attention can be very uncomfortable and disconcerting. The problem with yesterday is that I couldn't really tell which experience I had had. If they had acknowledged my acknowledgement and backed off, I probably would have felt pretty good about the whole episode. After all, I am ultimately a vain creature that needs an ego stroke every once in a while and there is no harm in being appreciated. But, they didn't back down and went out of their way to follow my movements around the corner. This meant they either did not wait for my approval to continue looking or they didn't care. Both are disturbing red flags and if it had been night time I would have doubled my efforts to slip out of sight.
I have trouble living life as a piece of meat, but it is terribly depressing when people stop looking. At the end of my pregnancy I had tipped the scales at 210 pounds and it took forever to lose any of it. (I've still got that last 20 to go) It was thrilling when I discovered that a guy I was working with actually had a crush on me even though I was not as hot as I had once been. Of course I encouraged this, because at the time, even the construction workers near the theatre were ignoring me when I walked by in low cut shirts- and I was nursing then! Va-va voom, people! Then again, after a few hours of not nursing, soft, jiggly breasts can turn into rock hard protuberances with corners! Maybe that isn't so hot?
I would like to point out, however, that nice, clean cut, middle class, mid-western boys do not leer unless they have a written fucking invitation.
What the hell did your mothers do to you?
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:15 AM
2 Comments:
We hide it better.
You all hide it so well that the full effect of your leer is not felt until 20 or so years later. That's like a leer in the bank!
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