Tag: Penis

https://twitter.com/adamrg/status/931388092149153792

When I first read about that Naval officer who drew a penis in the sky with his plane last week, I thought it was kind of funny, probably because I’m culturally conditioned to laugh at men’s silly antics. Boys will be boys, right?

I also found the subsequent reports about how neighbors were outraged pretty funny too, especially the part about the upset mom who said she now has to explain that penis to her kids. “What a prude!” I thought, like a judgmental jerk.

But then I put myself in my sister’s shoes and wondered how she’d explain penis graffiti to my young nieces. That’s when it hit me—maybe this mom’s distress is more about having to tell her kids why someone would do this and not at all about the penis itself.

The more I thought about it, the more it pissed me off. Why do men feel the need to remind everyone of their penises, even in sacred public spaces like, say, the sky?

I used to think it’s because they’re horny and immature, which is partly true. But it wasn’t a tween boy flying that plane. It was a grown-ass man in the military. Women are horny too (and occasionally immature) but you don’t see us drawing genitalia all over the place, do you? This isn’t about sex. Because if it were, we’d be seeing boobs, butts and vaginas drawn on every subway platform in New York, not men’s own genitalia.

What it’s really about, I’m understanding, is power. Dominance, perhaps. Maybe neediness. Entitled boy-men trying to force women to acknowledge their all-important penises, whether we care to or not.

Now, before you go assuming I’m some prude, I assure you, I’m not. Far from it. I adore a good penis! But I’ve been assaulted by my fair share of them too, which—like a lot of other women—makes my relationship to them complicated. Because I’ve been forced to look at one too many against my will, whether it be on a subway platform, on a bus, or on a park bench. I’ve been masturbated next to by strangers and even a coworker, I’ve had countless boners shoved into my back while I’m trying to dance and I’ve been raped. I’m realizing now that even a stupid penis drawing is male anatomy being forced into my world.

I’m frustrated by the fact that any asshat with a black marker can take me out of whatever peaceful thought I’m having and force me to visualize his junk while I’m flipping through a textbook in high school, peeing in the stall at the bar, and now even looking up at the sky.

Toxic masculinity is the culprit, of course. I don’t blame men entirely for being the way they are. It must be frustrating to live in a world where traditional roles are being challenged and overthrown by women while also reinforced and encouraged by the advertising industry and other men. Especially now that women don’t need men as much—we have jobs, vibrators, sperm on demand. I’d probably be frustrated too. But channeling that frustration through the one organ that can do the most damage to women isn’t cool.

This may all sound like I’m being too sensitive, that I “can’t take a joke.” Well, I’m a comedian. I can not only take jokes, I write them. But even I’m finally starting to realize these jokes aren’t funny anymore.

I think I speak for many women when I say please stop. We don’t want to see your penis anymore, in any form, without our consent. Not even graffitied on a random brick wall or drawn somewhere over Washington state. Unless that penis is attached to a man I want to have sex with or a handsome fella in women-friendly porno, get that thing out of my face.

Melanie Hamlett is a writer, comedian, storyteller, and public speaker. She’s a three-time Moth winner, and a frequent contributor on the Risk! podcast

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