The other day Winona and I were walking back from getting sandwiches (women always be eating sandwiches!) and a guy on the street told me that he liked my tights. It was a mellow cat call, or what I, and other ladies from Philly, like to call a “holler.” Sometimes, guys will straight up ask if they can “holler at you,” but often, a holler will occur on the street or in the bar without warning. We’ve provided this handy chart to help you discern whether the holler you’ve received is of the mild, non-offensive “streetpreciation” variety, or something more sinister and wanton.*
*All hollers referred to in the above chart actually happened to a member of the Frisky staff or one of our friends, lest you think this phenomenon doesn’t exist.
Yeah, I can’t really defend catcalls and I tried. I told myself that this uniquely male sport is harmless fun. That it’s flattering, almost charming. Who else would shout compliments to a woman but a hopeless romantic? Besides, having a construction worker shout “lookin’ good” must appeal to a woman’s vanity, right? It’s not like a catcall has ever resulted in an actual date. If a woman ever positively responded to a man whistling, it would be like a dog chasing a car and catching it. The dude’s brain would be unable to comprehend reality shattering. While trying to craft a defense of catcalls, I found myself blaming women. Why can’t they take a joke? Or deal with a man who just wants her to know she’s hot? Women are so uptight. Feminists must hate romance, because all these roadside Romeos are doing is shouting up at a woman’s balcony. This was my train of thought. Keep reading »