It's PC gone mad, the feminazis are winning...

I’ve found it fascinating watching the men and women around me and on social media discussing a high profile case this week.

Roger Sutton resigned from Cera after sexual harassment claims were made.

There has been an overwhelmingly male chorus singing from a familiar song book. I may be being unfair to men, in that in most cases they spoke over the top of, or instead of women, so the women may have shared their view – I just didn’t hear it. These voices were at work, on radio panels (I’m looking at you RNZ) and on social media. The songs were “it’s PC gone mad” and “he is a really nice guy” “He is really well respected” “he is just a touchy feely guy”.

Most people are.                

 Very few people have their friends and colleagues spouting off to the media about what an asshole they are. Most people have a place where they fit in and feel at home. Most people have mates who think they are a good bloke, a top guy, a bit of a hard case.

It doesn’t mean that for some people they aren’t a danger, an unsafe person, a creeper, that person at work that you avoid. And just because your mother/colleague/wife loves you, doesn’t mean you aren’t a total asshole to someone else.

I would really like people to remember two key things.

      1)     It’s REALLY important to remember that safe is a movable line, and it is set by the receiver of contact, not the giver.

      2 )     Creepy out of line behaviour doesn’t happen because people are always sneaky. It happens because people are entitled and the people around them let it happen.

Here is an easy example of that movable safe line…

People who catch crowded commuter trains in Japan will feel safer with someone standing close next to them on public transport than people that commute on NZ trains. Your personal bubble is what you are used to, and it is often the same among people of the same living environs/culture. But even within a one similar group, not everyone is the same, and direct physical contact beyond a basic handshake should be carefully evaluated. People who have their personal safety violated in the past will not feel safe with hugs from randoms that might be seen as totally okay by the other 60% of the workforce.

As a self-aware professional, it is part of my job to assess how I interact with my colleagues just as much as I do my clients. I can easily go a day without physical contact and come to work for the next twenty years. Missing out on physical touch is nothing compared to the feeling of someone encroaching on your personal space and feeling like you are in a constant state of defence. People need to stop seriously thinking that their right to touch others as they see “normal” is equally important as someone else’s right to NOT BE TOUCHED WITHOUT ASKING.

Any sense that your way is the best way and people should just accept your behaviour involving their space and body is a massively entitled view. This is an especially odd view when you consider that most of the men I was listening to today were deeply concerned at their rapidly vanishing super important right to act how they choose at work. So they DO UNDERSTAND THAT WE HAVE RIGHTS.

Our right to feel safe just isn’t as important as their right to do what they want.

Heads up lads. You will know when the feminazis are winning, and it won’t be because you can’t harass us at work. It will be when you are held accountable for those actions and the population stops seeing you as a nice guy for it. I'm gonna add in an extra wish that the media ceases it's witch hunts of women who dare to complain.

It doesn’t seem that extreme to me. But then, what would I know?

Please feel free to fill in this survey – it is asking about your experience on both sides of the equation, so by all means, if you are feeling hard done by because someone has complained at work, fill it in.

Tits and Teeth, or why perverts have a lower IQ.

There is a saying in show biz...
“Tits and Teeth ladies!”
Translation? Don’t forget to smile and stand straight.
For a very cheerful person with an 14 E-cup rack like me it’s not something I have to consciously try for, and quite often something I get judged on without even realising it has happened.
Hunting for work clothes involves keeping eyes open at all times for items that cover without looking like I’m wearing a mumu. If I do find something both flattering, that fits, and that covers the girls I buy two or more in different colours.
As long as I look tidy, and shoulders, cleavage and legs are covered I'm happy.

Last week I was away at a work conference.
There was a black tie gala night where I knew there would be a parade of wealthy women in designer outfits, and there was an expectation of high level dress.
I tried on every dress in NZ (or so it felt) and even tried making one in a bit of a last minute rush.
Eventually I grabbed a basic dress which I planned to wear a top under because the bust portion just didn’t provide enough coverage.
While in Melbourne I found a dress in my size just like I was hoping for. Black fabric with a hint of shine and a heavy weight to support a curvier figure it ended at just above the knee and was a V neck with wide straps. With a bust reducing bra, it was just within the boundary of sexy but not inappropriate.

I was going to include a photo here but honestly, having spent the night being “slut shamed” I cringe at every picture of me, and feel that typical kick of adrenaline and taste of vomit in my mouth.

The dress was supposed to be worn with a bust reducing bra which accidentally got left in Melbourne in my hotel room.

So on the night I panicked... what to do?
Wear the other dress with the t shirt under? No –what a waste of the new dress
Wear the new dress with a t shirt under? No. That’s going to look silly.
Wear the dress without a bra and risk breasts heading south, or worse north when I dance? Not a chance!

So I put on the most appropriate bra I could find and looked in HORROR at my image in the mirror.

I looked lovely.
Knock out lovely.

Attract too much attention lovely.

This neck line would have been frumpy on a C-cup but on an E my bust was under pressure and so formed two globes (not in season this year ladies – far better to have empty drooping bosoms with bony clavicle between.)
So the dress wasn’t low cut, but it sure did show off the area.

I gave myself a pep talk in the mirror about it being no worse than a strapless dress on a skinny girl. I reminded myself that there would be plenty of stunning necklines and I wouldn’t be the only one and even measured the distance between my nipple edge and the neckline above it to reassuring myself that the fabric came right up to a good height (12cm/5 inches to be precise).

I held my head high and walked out the door.
Within 3 minutes of arriving (after saying hello to my boss but before getting a drink) a male co-worker who works not only in a different office but a different country was posing in a hilarious fashion for photos staring at my tits.

Gosh that’s so funny. Nothing quite like having to laugh at some ass-hat’s idea of a joke, when you are actually feeling harassed.
I jokingly posed for another picture holding his head straight in front and laughed to diffuse what felt like one of the more awkward moments in my life.
After that it was comment, after comment, after comment.

“Great cleavage”
“Nice to know you can party with the best of them”
“WOW”
“You are letting your hair down.”
“Your tits are AMAZING.”And of course the visual jokes, ogling, pretending to motorboat etc.
A few of the women made comments – none ‘bitchy’ to give them a bit of credit.
“Great assets”
“I wish I had cleavage like that”
“Holy cow, you are going to have all the attention tonight”

The thing was, I stayed sober, was behaving myself and didn’t know half these people.

The country manager bless her; looked me up and down and said “That dress is gorgeous – I’d ask where you got it, but I wouldn’t look half as good on me”.
Flattering; but not about one specific part of my body.

I spent the night wishing I had a shrug or shawl, and eventually went and cut it up on the dance floor with the girls, rather than sitting and waiting for the next (what felt like) attack.

What amazed me was that another woman wore a dress that was literally down to her navel – one of those glamorous ones that have a split between the breasts.
Not one comment.
NOT ONE!
Other than the fact that her dress had less overall coverage the only main difference was that she was almost entirely flat chested.

So I wore something not hugely different to anyone else but because of my bust size (which I can't choose) I spent the night feeling like it was my fault if I attracted men like flies.
They couldn’t possibly help themselves from being creepy – they were “right there”.

Interestingly enough the most brilliant men and women in the room, the ones in the top of the company were pleasantness in itself and held long and interesting conversations without once mentioning or staring at my breasts.

It seems susceptibility to creepiness is linked with a low IQ.

If I was giving myself advice I would be yelling about the behaviour of my colleagues and giving me big hugs.
But from this perspective I just felt ashamed and embarrassed.

In fact, I still do.

I’ve been very careful to say I “felt like I was being harassed” not that I “was being harassed”, because I did, and do feel like I was to blame.
What is wrong with this picture?