Men and Women

Hombres y Mujeres. There is so much to say about this topic. Let`s face the facts - I am a twenty-something single female. I am almost always alone, wandering through the streets, restaurants, bars and nightclubs of South America. The men here aren`t exactly shy. To say that I attract attention from the opposite sex is a bit of an understatement. Attention is a look, a glance, a smile. No no no. I am talking about being caught in the eye of a tornado of machismo and repressed testosterone. I will literally be in my scruffiest, dirtiest clothes on my way to the kiosk to buy a phone card at 11AM, and my unshowered, unmakeuped, hungover, sorry ass state will illicit honks and catcalls from the side of the road. Obviously, it is flattering to get the right kind of male attention at the right time. But I have to say, there is a lot to be frustrated and annoyed about. And since, I have been told, my blog implies that I am experiencing nothing but sunshine and happiness, I guess that it`s time to get real for a moment. (This is a good moment to get real, actually - I am unwillingly stuck in a bus station for five hours.) I am not saying, by the way, that I am anything but constantly happy and infatuated by life. It is the thinking and reflection and search for truth that makes me constantly happy, even when the truth of the matter is uncomfortable or problematic.

So - I spent the past week in Buenos Aires, and then the past weekend in Montevideo, Uruguay. I have both observed and participated in countless social situations. I have been hit on over a hundred times. I have been grabbed by the arm or waist after politely trying to excuse myself from undesirable suitors - more times than I can count. I am not used to being touched, in any way, without at least having a friendly rapport with someone. Where I come from, it is impolite to even bump into someone, accidentally, without saying "excuse me." There is no such social guideline here - personal space doesn`t really exist. People touch you and bump into you constantly. Last Wednesday, I was having a conversation with my new friend Z, a well-educated, successful, thirty-something professional. We were talking about personal space, and he remembered that when he first met me, a week earlier, I sort of flinched when he put his hand on my arm. He explained that it is habit, sort-of, for a man to touch the woman with whom he is talking. This reflex must represent some sort of ownership-claiming - I don`t know - but it`s really annoying because it usually comes way before the female has expressed any interest or choice in the matter.

I was getting a LOT of attention from the after-work crowd at a bar last Wednesday night. I showed up at 10PM, which is the "get the party started" hour where I come from...but 10PM is happy hour in Buenos Aires, a city where they stay out until 6AM on worknights. Most of the people at this bar were still in suits, whereas I was wearing a brightly colored party dress and heals. I think that the outfit choice was a mistake. Z and I also discussed American girls´ clothing, which involved his amazement in Las Vegas (for Halloween) that not every girl dressed like a sexy Little Red Riding Hood was down to go home with him. The point is that I was being eaten alive in there and could not walk five feet without getting stopped and blocked by groups of men who thought that they had a shot at taking me home. The two people who I already knew, including Z, were doing a poor job at saving me from the vultures. The most annoying part is that I was only at this bar alone because I was to meet a guy who had taken me out on a date two days earlier...and so while every man in the place was trying to pick me up, I was also in the process of getting stood up. Aahh!

We have impossible choices as women. Images that we see tell us that beauty brings attention, and that attention is love, or something like that. And we want to feel sexy, and desirable, and of course loved, and so we get dolled up and hit the town only to feel like we are a commodity on the trading floor. There certainly is no love in that. Not many men seem to care about our agency in the matter - they don´t care about being chosen. They care about choosing. It is so frustrating when I can´t get an annoying guy to leave me alone without (a) lying about having a boyfriend, or (b) seeing another guy step in and say that I´m taken. So it is respect for the other guy that counts, not respect for me.

Everyone seems to have disbelief that I don´t have a boyfriend. "You - no boyfriend? Why?" or "You are so beautiful! Why no boyfriend?" What they mean is that they cannot believe that another man has not picked me up already. They cannot believe that another man does not want to be with me. They are missing a critical point: maybe I don´t want to be with just any man who wants to be with me. Ah! Lightbulb! Here´s an even more unbelievable notion: that maybe I don´t want to be exclusively with anyone right now. Complete blasphemy!

There is a dynamic to reckon with in tango that I need to discuss. I am completely infatuated by this dance, like I have said before. Tango is a gorgeous entanglement of shared yearning that is played out between man and woman. However, the dance originates from a place where immigrant men had no economic or political power, and they asserted control with a hypermasculinity that was played out in the brothels. Men completely control the dynamics of the entanglement in tango. It has become beautiful as it evolved over the years, but tango starts from a scary, dismal place for women. I think that my infatuation stems from an inherent complexity about what I, like many of my 21st century sisters, want from men. We want them to remain steady, focused, driven, and in-control over what makes us happy - but not in-control over us. And we want to have the same control over decisions that make them happy - if they let us. Tango lets us express that drive and control - but there is only room for one decision maker. I can completely surrender to the dance, get lost in the music, close my eyes and follow his lead...and then I am completely turned off when he tells me that it is not very "elegant" to flick my leg the way that I just did...or whatever. And then there´s the inevitable comment: "Honey, the man leads in tango." But what ebbs also flows, and before I know it I am lost in the dance again...feeling so desired, so much desire, and so alive.

It is so interesting how men can play different roles at different times. There was a prime example of this situation last Thursday as I was leaving the above-mentioned milonga. I was walking out - down the stairs - and two men who were talking in the doorway stopped their conversation and stared at me as I walked - wide-eyed, gaping stares. It´s really uncomfortable to feel like you are being stared at in such a hungry way - and it happens frequently because I am alone. I walked outside the building, and the two guys walked out after me, crossing the street to stand with their two friends who were trying to hail a taxi. I stood on the closer corner, planning on hailing a taxi as well. When the first taxi came, the men talked amongst themselves and then said something to me in Spanish - to which I responded, per usual, "No hablo Espanol." They laughed and were like, "You should take this cab - it is not safe for you out here alone - and wait, you don´t speak Spanish?! Why the hell are you alone?!" So they switched to being my protectors from being the men I need protection from. This transition always feels very strange.

I can´t tell you how many times I have been asked, incredulously, "Why are you traveling alone?" People think that I am crazy! I always thought that the hardest part of traveling alone was not having companionship - which is also, of course, the whole point. I am building companionship with the people around me out of necessity. To most people, however, the most incredible thing is that I am comfortable, as a woman, alone in South America. I feel like screaming, "OK, then just make it less uncomfortable for me dammit! Stop touching my arm, stop panting like a dog - whatever!"

Please don´t think that I am feeling this kind of frustration all of the time. I am absolutely loving Buenos Aires (and Montevideo). I ate steak four times last week. I am making friends and having wonderful, warm interactions with the people here all of the time. And no - not all of the men are creepy. Of course not. There are plenty around who leave me with nothing but smiles...

I am just dreaming for the day when the streets of this world are safe for all of us, and when there will be a dance as beautiful as tango where we take turns calling the shots.

Love to you all, muchos besos...xxxx, Katie