The Double Standard


Imagine for a moment, you are a little girl. You must be taught to dress so that boys won’t look at you that way.

You must dress so no one will look at you that way.

Now imagine being a little boy, you are never told to not look at girl based on her clothes. To keep your eyes and hands and other parts to yourself unless she asks for them.

Imagine that little girl growing into an adult. She looks at her closet and thinks of all the things she cannot wear so as not to be perceived as promiscuous.

And we as a society accept this, and we as a society promote this. And we as a society do nothing to stop this.

Can you not see how very wrong it is that I must hide myself when I walk down the street?

How very wrong it is that alcohol is his excuse but my undoing.

Are you blind to the impossible-to-achieve social standards we put onto woman so that boys won’t assume they ‘want it’.

How is it that when a girl reports rape the first question is “well what were you wearing?” “how short was your skirt”

Never once is the boy asked if she said it was okay.
“well she was drunk it was hard to tell…”
Why don’t we teach boys that No means no, yes means yes and anything in between also means no.

Rape culture has become a thing. It is the monster under your bed, and the shadows in the ally.

It is the villain that is unstoppable but that wont stop us from trying.

The bat-light is out and we are looking for our hero, the saddest part is we never look inside ourselves.

We walk down the streets at night afraid. Afraid of the cat-calls, and the words howling on the wind.

And what if we interpret our clothing as a form of self-expression rather than a symbol of weather or not we’d like to have sex today.

When it was all the rage for boys to wear their pants around their ankles and have their butts hanging out not once did I think that because they are easier to take off, he must want to get laid.

And maybe he did want to get laid, but he did not use his pants to express this.

And maybe I don’t use my clothing to express it either.

After the corporate big-heads who all happen to have a penis tell you it was your fault that he slept with you,

Because you were drunk,

Because of the way you were dressed,

Because he’s a good kid so it was just a misunderstanding;

They are also saying you cannot get rid of the baby that resulted.

But if you didn’t ask for it, if it was forced upon you, hell if you did ask for it, it is your body not his. It is the next eighteen years of your life.

And when you scream for help but there is no one to hear or the people who do hear are too cowardly to do anything you feel helpless.
Because the super hero that is inside of you has taken the day off.

Because the person you thought had your back at this party is being screwed in the next room.

And maybe you are drunk,

But being drunk is a good excuse to not to a lot of things

Like drive,

Or operate machinery,

Or go home to your parents.

Or. Have. Sex.

Maybe you want to go out in your favorite crop top and short skirt and not have to worry about how much you drink because of what boys will think.

And please if you see a girl out in her favorite party dress with a beer in hand and she cant walk straight,

Take her to her room,

Put her in her bed,

Turn out the light,

And leave.
When you see her, imagine her as the little girl being taught how to behave so she will not be raped. And imagine yourself as the little boy never taught not to rape.

And when she asks to sleep with you but she is too drunk to function the next morning instead of being mad at you for saying no she’ll be grateful she didn’t make that mistake.

Not that you are a mistake but that maybe having sex would be.

And please remember the hero inside of you, go into your phone booth and become super man

And fly to your own rescue.
Because no one knows what you want better than you. 


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