sexism — blog — Southern Belle Nomad

“You don’t look like you’re backpacking.”

For Tower Bridge's 7th edition of Art at the Bridge, 15 women were selected to display their art in honor of International Women's Day. Click the picture for a link to a few outtakes. — *For Tower Bridge's 7th edition of* Art at the Bridge, 15 women were selected to display their art in honor of International Women's Day. Click the picture for a link to a few outtakes.

I have gotten this most often, typically when wearing a dress. Fine, I get it, I’m not literally living out of a backpack with a tent and sleeping in the forest every night. I am, however, living out of a backpack for months on end.

I am lucky enough that the smallest piece of socially acceptable clothing I can wear on the street is a dress. Women are winning at something, eh?

Naturally, I pack mostly dresses in the summer because they keep my bag light, my body cool, and they’re a breeze to wash.

The fact that I’ve now taken 3 minutes out of my day to explain how and why I backpack wearing dresses is beyond me.

“You’re traveling alone?”

Sometimes this is said out of worry, but I don’t hear many solo male travelers tell me almost everyone they know has expressed concern for them being by their lonesome.

This comment carries doubt in my ability to take care of myself. With my safety level as a lone female traveler shifting depending on my location, I do understand and appreciate it in certain contexts. But like, a woman can chill totally fine on her own in London for god’s sake.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

This question and its inherent sexism has been thoroughly recorded in recent media thought catalogs, yay! To those who genuinely ask this question because you are interested in someone and you GOTTA KNOW RIGHT NOW if you can ride off into the sunset to “Thinking Out Loud,” I get it. But even still, you could both have this feeling and be otherwise committed. HUMAN BEINGS DO NOT OWN OTHER HUMAN BEINGS.

As a backpacker, I notice the underlying sentiment of “another man owning a woman means she’s off limits” takes on even deeper meanings.

They ask, where’s your boyfriend? As if he must be around here somewhere because a woman cannot travel without a man.

They ask, do you have a boyfriend at home? As if the person who “owns” me is so far away that I might go outside my relationship sentence either to lend a hand in playing out their affair fantasy or let them lend me a hand in my assumed lonely sex life because I have no body property owner near by.

“Oh yeah? I think you’re just trying to get a dick trophy in every country.”

Yes, my only purpose in life as a woman is to proudly and intentionally collect as many penises as I can with my vagina that inherently belongs to the men attached to those penises (and then turn around and be shamed for the number of ones I've had). This one takes the cake and the icing all in one giant bite.

I have done many forgiveness exercises for this man. When I recall this moment now, it evokes deep sadness and compassion for those whose superiority has cut off their true connection with the world. In one sentence, he effectively invalidated my love of travel, my love of culture, my gratitude for my body, my ownership of my body, the bodies of those I've been trusted to touch, and my voice, and he said it as if he were hungover making Sunday brunch plans.

Afterthoughts for the Unconsciously Misinformed (NOT the Dangerous)

I conclude by saying this: I am a bad feminist. I’ve gladly accepted men (and women!) buying me drinks and dinners and inviting me on boats and into homes. I’ve chosen to look at these offerings as humanistic rather than sexist, and I honestly don’t know which ones were which. I don’t want to take life too seriously and see no reason to berate a man or woman about whether they’re trying to flirt with me or simply be kind to me; this solves nothing.

In all the instances above except the final, I have continued talking to whomever made these comments. Like I said, I am a bad feminist, but I also have intentions in continuing these conversations.

I grew up in the Southern United States, which, despite best efforts by some, still has heavy, stubborn dregs of racism. Some of the side effects of this upbringing include genuinely unconscious racism. For example, looking at a painting of a hazy cotton field in rural Georgia passed down from my ancestors, I thought it was beautiful. It took someone with enough openness and kindness to explain to me that it was a boastful painting of a slaver owners’ possessions working in the fields.

What will make this world a better place? Connection. Choosing to set aside assumptions about someone's authentic nature based on simple comments, however hurtful. Instead of condemning and fighting and creating opposites of genders and/or sexualities, I try to be patient and kind. I try to connect.

*A brilliant night in Brussels, Belgium.*

I do not fight fire with fire. If I feel I am fully physically, mentally, and emotionally safe (crucial), I fight it with a giant ass fire hose. And when I do, something magical happens. We connect. We both cool down, I from my anger and the other from their pre-dispositions. My actions, ever so slightly, change the way they view me, and I secretly hope this revolutionary idea of equality begins to carve out new neural pathways.

This in no way applies to the dangerous and/or predatorial. In this case, I fight fire with silently running as far and fast away as I can. Full mental, physical, and emotional safety for myself always comes first. They are welcome to burn in the house they set on fire if they so choose.

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