Daily Sexist Microaggressions

From 12-27-17

An adult male called another adult male a “pussy” as an insult.


From 12-14-17

A homeless man asked a few young women for money and then said, while leering, “Ah, but they’re pretty young. Still pretty, but maybe too young for me to talk to.”

From 12-14-17

There is a connection I’ve felt before with other women in public, when men are making one of us uncomfortable and we all know it except the men.

In a store this particular day, I witnessed an adult female inching away from an overly enthusiastic male completely oblivious to how uncomfortable she was. She had a fake smile plastered in place and kept implying she needed to leave, but the male followed her through the section of the store anyway for much longer than a comfortable interaction. Eventually she slipped away, and I felt bad for not doing anything to help alleviate the moment for her.

From 12-10-17

A female restaurant employee addressed a male delivery driver with the question, “Are you here for pick up?” To which he replied, “Yeah, for you!”

From 10-13-17

After seeing a young female in a crop-top, a 20-something female scoffed and said under her breath, “What a whore.”

From 10-13-17

An adult male said that the women coming forward with stories and accusations about Harvey Weinstein were “just doing it for the media.”

From 10-11-17

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but there’s a reason for that. This particular entry comes next chronologically, but it’s upsetting to write about and it’s far from a microaggression. I still feel uncomfortable thinking about this, but it’s only fair to share what happened to me last October. So here we go:

My grandmother passed away at the beginning of October 2017. I went back to where she and my family live for the funeral. My grandma had always told me that she wanted me to have any of her clothes that I wanted after she passed away—I’m the only one of my sisters and cousins who wears the same sizes as she did—so after the funeral, I went to her house to collect some of her clothes.

I have an uncle who has lived with my grandma for essentially his entire life. He’s in his 50s. He’s not a great person. We aren’t close.

My mother and I were in my grandmother’s room going through the closets, and my uncle came into the room to clear out some other things while we went through the clothes. My mom went to help him while I continued trying items on with the closet door shut, talking to them through the closed door and coming out to show my mom different outfits and get her opinion before deciding whether or not to take certain pieces.

At one point, my uncle started chiding me for shouting through the door while I changed. He said something like, “We can’t see into the closet from over here. Just leave the door open so we can hear you and you aren’t yelling.” I felt uncomfortable, but my mom was joking along, so I did as he said.

A few minutes later, my mom joined me in the closet and we were both trying on items we’d found—mom had located a pair of pants that seemed more like her size than Grandma’s and wondered if she’d left them there at some point; I was trying on dress pants that I’d found in the closet. The door was open, and my mom was talking to my uncle, who was, ostensibly, across the room going through a dresser.

But then he wasn’t.

Not five minutes after he’d told me to leave the door open while I changed—because he couldn’t see from where he was, and it would be easier to hear me—he walked to the door of the closet and stood there having his continued conversation with my mother.

At the time, I wasn’t wearing pants and I jumped to cover myself. My mother didn’t notice my discomfort or horror. My uncle didn’t leave immediately, didn’t indicate that he’d “accidentally” come to the door.

It’s been months, and I can think nothing other than that he set up a situation in which he could guarantee that the door would be open while I was changing when he walked in front of the closet minutes later.

He had no reason to be on that side of the room. He had no reason to pressure me into leaving the door open. He had no reason to stand in the doorway. I was humiliated and horrified, and my mother noticed nothing. And because I didn’t want to upset her so soon after her mother had passed away, I said nothing. I told other family members and my partner and it’s plagued me since.

This was not a microaggression, and I have no more words for it.