Street Harassment

The Owl Harasser

If you’re someone who even slightly resembles female, you’ve probably discovered that there are many forms of street harassment. Turns out, men can get a lot more creative than just “Hey baby!” (Sometimes they even venture into “BITCH” and “COME BACK I’M TALKING TO YOU.”)

One of the most amusing forms (and by amusing, I mean rage-inducing) is what I’m calling the Owl Harasser. And yes I made up this name right now.

These harassers turn their heads ALL THE DAMN WAY AROUND just to get a glimpse at your luscious form.

They walk into poles, signs, and buildings because their eye balls are magnetically glued to your asshole. (Unfortunately I’ve never seen this karma happen in person, but I’m sure it happens and I’m sure it’s hilarious.)

And they’re nowhere near as cute as real owls.


I’ve had my fair share of owls, like the recent man who was mesmerized by watching me clumsily organize my CVS bags. Who knew watching a girl figure out how to carry home three boxes of cereal and laundry detergent was so arousing? I sure didn’t!

Or the man who craned his head out the back window of the car to watch me stand and wait at a crosswalk. (To be clear: He was sitting in the back seat, not driving the car. If he was driving and was able to stick his head out the back window, I would be fairly impressed and also wonder why a giraffe was driving a vehicle.)

For context, I was walking to church when this latter instance happened (yes, even angry bitches like me go to church. Namaste. Oh wait, that’s yoga). I was dressed conservatively (NOT THAT IT MATTERS WHAT YOU WEAR WHICH I’M SURE I WILL DISCUSS AD NAUSEUM ON THIS BLOG BECAUSE CREEPS DON’T DISCRIMINATE.) What’s the point of staring? What did this man think would happen? I would flash him right there? He might get a glimpse of my knee once I started walking and my hemline altered slightly? WHY?

It may not seem like a big deal. After all, they’re just looking, right?But walking down the street and feeling a million eye balls laser-beamed onto your chest, your legs, your face, all by men with wide eyes and hungry looks on their faces, really makes you feel… disgusted. Like they are predators and you are their prey. Like every second they continue staring drains you of another ounce of your humanity.

And I’m not outside to be drained.

I’m outside to live my damn life.



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