Quick note before I begin my rant: I have not finished this sweater yet. My fear of effing it up has prevented me from started. I’ll do it this week.
A brief history: In the 16th century, a cat call was something audience members did to express their displeasure at a specific actor would often launch into a loud and jeering whistle said to resemble the plaintive wail of a cat (www.wisegeek.com).
A cat call is often paired in people’s minds with the wolf whistle, a two-toned whistling noise usually directed at attractive members of the opposite sex. A cat call may be a series of loud cries used as an attention getter, while the salacious wolf whistle essentially seals the deal. A cat call isn’t always meant to be derisive, but it is meant to be noticed (www.wisegeek.com).
Merriam-Webster’s definition: 1 : a loud or raucous cry made especially to express disapproval (as at a sports event) 2 : a derisive remark : criticism
My definition: An innocent, flattering call from someone from afar who finds another person attractive.
My point is…
There is nothing wrong with catcalling. It is not offensive by modern standards, and it is in no way, shape, or form threatening. Listen ladies, quit your bitching. You’re getting complimented on the most primitive level. When animals (and yes, we are animals) find other animals attractive, they react.
I am aware that some animals (rapists) react unfavorably (rape) and certainly, I do not condone this nor do I think it is okay. But a catcall?
But is anyone truly threatened by a “Hey Baby” or a whistle? Really? I know that words can “hurt,” but you’re taking it a little too far. Appreciate being catcalled. All it means is that someone finds you attractive. You don’t have to reciprocate those feelings, but that’s the beauty of a catcall–they’re not asking you to. All they want is for you to know that they find you attractive.
With that said, and Mike can attest to this, I will catcall the HELL out of men. Roofers, construction workers, you name it (yes, Jarvis, I target the sexy occupations). Hell, when I was in Indiana two weekends ago, I missed my exit because I was intent on catcalling a man in a 1969 Mustang. Although he may not have heard the catcall and just thought I was a crazy chick in a Subaru driving up next to him, I did hoot and holler–ask Kay.