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Eight months or so ago, I discovered the work
of prominent feminist writer and activist, Jessica Valenti. She’s been doing
great work for several years (which, apparently, I’ve been oblivious to), including
writing and co-writing six books and founding the website Feministing. After reading some of her
stuff, I began eagerly anticipating the spring release of her memoir, Sex
Object.
When Sex Object first came on my radar, I began frequently checking the
library listings until I was able to put a hold on it. When it came in for me,
it was crisp, shiny, and new in its protective plastic sleeve. I wanted to eat
it.
The moment I got home, book in hand, I
cracked it open and began to read. I devoured it.
Valenti’s writing is raw and
unflinching. She draws you in and forces you to see the realities she presents.
You can’t look away.
In Sex Object, Valenti presents essay
after essay detailing her, often horrific, experiences. From a young age, there
was a piece of her identity that was thrust upon her: sex object. She
did nothing to garner this attention, but it was given nonetheless.
A
high school teacher once told me that identity is half what we tell ourselves
and half what we tell other people about ourselves. But the missing piece he
didn’t mention—the piece that holds so much weight, especially in the minds of
young women and girls—is the stories that other people tell us about ourselves.
Valenti explores this with grueling
honesty as she brings us back and forth in her timeline, detailing the ways
this has affected her life and continues to do so—in countless and different
forms.
When I reached around the halfway
point, I knew this wasn’t a book I could just finish and forget about. It wasn’t
a book that I could return to the library and never really look at again. So,
naturally, mid-read, I went out and bought myself a copy.
Don’t get me wrong—this isn’t a perfect
book. However, it is an honest and important read. Stories like Valenti’s are
key pieces in the broader conversation that we all need to be having about
sexism, objectification, and harassment. I may have read some fair critiques of
Sex Obect, but none of them take away
from its value.
One such critique is the seemingly
haphazard array of stories throughout Sex
Object. The transitions between chapters and sections are often quite
jarring. You go from one horrific tale to the beginning of a seemingly
innocuous anecdote several years later, and so on and so forth.
I don’t find this to be a detracting
factor. I think this pattern of storytelling embodies what Sex Object is all about. It is jarring and uncomfortable to
suddenly find yourself the center of unwanted, sometimes aggressive, sexual
behaviour and attention.
While reading Sex Object, I found that I don’t share much of Valenti’s personal experience.
I didn’t grow up in a large city. I didn’t use public transit (and still
don’t). I grew up in an upper-middle class family, in a small, insular community.
I wasn’t exposed to the same things Valenti was as she grew up and matured as a
woman. If I experienced such objectification, it was always rare, and almost
always treated with a laugh. It was never to such an extreme that I felt more
than a little uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, however, things have
changed. I’m still not in anywhere near the same circumstances as Valenti, but I
now find myself relating to her stories more than ever.
Over the last nine months, I’ve dropped
four dress sizes. For the most part, I am proud of myself and feel good and
healthy. However, when summer came, I was awash with attention I’d previously
rarely received.
When I changed to a summery wardrobe, I
wore dresses that exposed (gasp!) my legs, and tops that exposed (gasp!) my shoulders,
and things with waistlines that were (gasp!) fitted. And men have noticed. And
they have been vocal about it. This is insulting and uncomfortable on so many
levels.
I first noticed it at work. Customers gawking
at me as I walk by. Male customers repeatedly seeking my help with things they
don’t actually need help with. Older men calling me “sweetheart” and plying me
with “harmless” flirtatious conversation where they hadn’t before.
This doesn’t just happen at work.
I’ve recently moved into the city and
have taken to going for walks regularly. It never occurred to me that an
afternoon stroll alone (or even with another girl) might be an occasionally
uncomfortable experience. But it is.
I’m a library assistant. Before that, I
worked in retail. Smiling at strangers is second nature to me. I do it without
even thinking. However, on my walks, I’ve now started to think about it. And stop
myself. Just look straight ahead, I tell
myself when I pass people on the street.
I know that not everyone is a creep,
but at this point I’ve had too many men leer at me in response. I don’t want to
see it. I try not to. I try not hear the honks or shouts or whistles as cars
drive by.
These incidents may not all happen in
rapid succession, but they happen at least once a day. I had been so proud of
my weight loss. But now, somedays, I feel worse than ever. Outfits that had previously made me feel pretty give
me pause. What kind of attention do I
want to receive today? I have to scold myself.
If I let thoughts of these men
decide what I’m going to wear or do, I’m just giving them more power. And honestly,
that’s what they’re after. They seem to think that their thoughts and desires—and
the expression of such—are more important than my comfort or safety. They don’t see me as a person.
But I am a person. I am a person with thoughts, feelings, and my own
identity. We all are. I wish there was a magic wand I could wave to change this
about the world. But, sadly, there isn’t. All we can do is keep our heads up,
not accept this as “normal,” and keep talking about it. This kind of
attention is not a compliment. It’s harassment.
Valenti’s purpose in Sex Object is an important one. She will
not brush off these things. She will not pretend that they don’t happen. She
will not for one moment accept that they are in any way okay. Instead, she details
her experiences and shows how not okay
they are, how horrible they are. She
shows us that these are not one-offs. They are not harmless. These comments and
actions are expressions of the deep-seated beliefs that society holds about
women. They are a symptom of a greater problem. These attitudes lead to real
violence against women.
While
my daughter lives in a world that knows what happens to women is wrong, it has
also accepted this wrongness as inevitable.
Although I
am not a re-reader, I can see myself reading Sex Object again. It made me think about and reflect upon issues that I had
previously not personally experienced. Its raw, unflinching, brutal honesty
made me shudder at the realities women and girls face, every day. We, like
Valenti, need to keep talking about this and stop brushing it aside. We need to
stand up, reject this dehumanization, and not consider it “normal” or “inevitable.”
I don't know about you, but I'm going to take my cue from Valenti. Society may
try to make us out to be sex objects, but let us refuse to accept it.
