I was standing on the corner of University Place and East 12th Street in downtown New York City this past February when it happened. I was on my way to a film festival at NYU. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and downtown New York was bustling with street vendors and pedestrians.
I know I should have been more aware of my surroundings.
But the sun was shining, and I was deep in conversation with my friend Jill on FaceTime. She was back in Boston, and we were laughing about the awful hair days that we were both having.
Snow was in the forecast, so I tucked my wild curls under a beanie. But, for the sake of our conversation, I stepped away from the crowds and removed my hat to reveal the messy curls underneath.
For a split second, I forgot I was in New York City. It felt like I was back in Boston, lost in conversation with a friend who was sitting across from me on the couch and not 200 miles away.
My guard was down for only a second, but that was long enough for a sudden force to jolt me back to reality.
My friend’s face disappeared from my sight. A large palm had brutally shoved my phone into my sweater. I staggered backward, trying to regain my balance and process what had just happened. Adrenaline coursed through my system. Although I couldn’t see his face, my peripheral captured a man disappearing into a sea of pedestrians.
My friend’s concerned voice was drowned out by the sounds of city sirens and the hum of passing strangers, while my startled eyes met the gaze of a shocked young man who stood only a few feet away from me. He clearly witnessed what had just happened.
A mix of confusion, surprise, anger, and emotion swirled inside me, but all I could choke out was the dumbfounded question, “Was I just punched?”
He confirmed my suspicions with a stunned but definitive “Yeah!” His eyes remained locked with mine. “You were!”
The walk sign flashed a moment later, and without giving the man next to me a second look, I scurried forward, desperate to escape Manhattan’s crowds. I told Jill I would call her back later. Glass tears began to well up in my eyes. All I wanted was to disappear into a dark theater.
This moment was jarring, yet it also made me reflect on something deeper that I’ve noticed in society: a certain, almost palpable animosity toward women who dare to take up space.
The truth is women have historically worked to claim their space in society.
Figures like Mary Wollstonecraft and Virginia Woolf recognized the disparities in how women were treated by society and voiced these concerns in their writings, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (Wollstonecraft) and A Room of One’s Own (Woolf). These women were criticized for their radical ideas on women’s rights and their rejection of traditional gender roles.
These women serve as historically notable examples of the criticism against women who challenge what the “status quo” was. However, the animosity toward autonomous women has seeped into the crevices of everyday society, and just the act of existing in public spaces seems to be enough to inspire physical retaliation.
I experienced the physical vitriol that women who just appear visually happy may encounter, and I am far from the only one.
This past fall, women in New York City were being randomly punched on the streets of Manhattan. Multiple local news outlets reported on the assaults, but it was social media that turned a local story into a national curiosity: “Why were women being punched?”
There was no confirmed answer. But my gut compels me to believe that the physical attacks were a product of the brewing frustration that select members of society have toward women who don’t “stay in their place.” Basically, women can’t be randomly punched on the street if they don’t leave their homes.
I’ve noticed a growing frustration toward women who happen to live public lives but conduct themselves in socially appropriate manners, given their circumstances. A few months ago, Taylor Swift, one of the most widely recognized women on earth, was heckled and booed at Super Bowl LIX. She was there to support her boyfriend, Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce. Swift was not the only celebrity in attendance who proudly repped their team. However, she was the only one to receive a vitriolic response to her face being broadcast on the big screen.
It should be noted that she wasn’t doing anything particularly engaging, entertaining, or inflammatory when she was broadcast. She was just sitting there, and it was reported that she asked, “What’s going on?” after she realized fans were booing her.
The animosity toward Taylor Swift in this moment has been scrutinized and debated. An article in Glamour magazine by Stephanie McNeal argued that the moment symbolized the “rapid increase in misogyny in our culture,” while a Op-Ed response from conservative writer Tim Murtaugh in the Washington Times argued that McNeal’s viewpoint was a “melt down” and ignorant to the fact that the Super Bowl is an inherently rowdy and playfully combative event.
I am not here to question someone’s right to author an op-ed. However, in the conservative Washington Times piece, Murtaugh writes that Swift has “made herself the living symbol of [the Kansas City Chiefs.]” I take issue with the idea that by existing, having a boyfriend, and choosing to support him at his games, Swift has, in some way, overstepped and, therefore, deserved a vitriolic and combative response from crowds at football games.
I almost didn’t write this. When I first thought of putting into words the incident that happened on the corner of University Place and East 12th Street in downtown New York, I asked myself, “Am I just complaining? Or being overly dramatic?”
But as I thought more about the shove and then what I witnessed at the Super Bowl LIX, I couldn’t help but recognize the unsettling reality that, even in our most innocent or joyful moments, women are still held to impossible standards. Even when we are standing still, minding our own business, the idea of women taking up space is enough to anger those who refuse to accept our right to take up space.
Julia Doyle is an NYC based journalist from Boston, Massachusetts. She writes about feminism, sports, culture, and the economy. Her work has been featured in The Fifty and CBS News. When she isn’t writing, she can be found training for her next road race, in the pool, or baking! She’s always on the hunt for a new story or brownie recipe!
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