Wouldn't directional hot clothes be awesome?

I hate it when people open doors for me. The amount effort to get out of whatever head space I was in, acknowledge the other person, respond appropriately, and then pick up where I left off in head space is far higher than the effort to open a door.* In isolation, the fact that they're requiring so much energy out of me might make me angry or resentful. In practice, I know that we're both participating in a system set up by extroverts where door opening is a sign of kindness and consideration. The system doesn't do well for me personally, but I understand how it arose and why it persists. In fact, I'm perpetuating the system, because there's pretty clear standards for when you open doors at work, and I don't want people to think I'm rude or anti-social. It's a building with a lot of nerds, so it's entirely possible to have someone who hates having doors opened for them opening a door for someone else who hates having a door opened for them. Signaling sometimes drives us to weird equilibria.

Yesterday, I looked super awesome. It was a rare outfit that made me look unbelievably cute and sexy without any trace of slutty.** As I was getting off the bus, some old guy made a comment that I didn't quite hear (headphones) and don't quite remember, but the tone indicated very clearly that he thought me looking hot was an attack on him. And this attitude is pretty common. At first glance, it seems equal parts insane and misogynistic. And that first glance is totally correct. But I suspect there's a third component: that guy, and the others like him, are reacting to attractive women the way I react to people opening doors.

While technically being spared the burden of opening a door and seeing something attractive are small improvements to anyone's day, in practice I resent the effort required to express gratitude for someone who has opened a door. I suspect these men resent the brain power they lose when an attractive woman walks by. If they're the kind to do stupid things for pretty women, the anger may either be a defense mechanism, preemptive resentment, or redirection of anger at other women. They actually have it worse than me, because I can always decide to be rude and ignore door openers, but the reaction to attractive people is hard wired.

Which doesn't make it okay for men to yell at me for my existence, even if I'm spending that existence in something super cute. Even if directional short skirts existed, it's not my responsibility to avoid taxing his heart as I walk down a public street. But that doesn't mean we can't fully explore the roots of the stupidity.


*Technically, I hate it when people open doors for me when I'm alone. If I'm with people, door opening doesn't impose the "move out of headspace" cost, which is by far the biggest problem, so I don't mind.

**I have a theory that a lot of the things we code as "attractive" are in fact advertising sexual availability. For example, see Olivia Munn's entire career. There's nothing wrong with looking slutty/available. I have outfits that portray that and I enjoy wearing them. But this was not one of those outfits.

Computers: sparing people from responsibility since 1937

Headline: Computer snafu is behind at least 50 'raids' on Brooklyn couple's home

Story: Real address entered as default address in form for police raids. Several times a year (exactly number hard to determine, article clearly written by innumerate) police are too stupid to enter real address or recognize that the home they're raiding isn't the one they meant to raid.

(no subject)

Let's begin with an illustrative anecdote from a physical I had in high school. My doctor had a 100+ question checklist that included things like "Is that gum sugarless?", "Do you wear a helmet when you bike?", and "Do you ever fight with your siblings?". But here is the best one.

doctor: do you ever feel depressed or sad?
me: \ I'm 14.

doctor: so do you?
me: ...no.

And on we went.

More recent, as an adult woman I find myself in the occasional position of having to prove I'm not being abused. This was bad enough before I started sparring, and it's only going to get worse. Luckily my finger fracture was an offensive injury. I have a very large, muscular male friend who did karate with his girlfriend, and lived in fear of her getting injured in training and the cops just assuming he was at fault.

I found the whole "prove to us you're not being abused" thing insulting as a non-abuse victim (they think I'm so stupid I'd put up with that?), but I swallowed that, because I understood the goals. But the more I think about it, the more I think it's insulting to actual abuse victims as well. At this point, who doesn't know at least where to find more information on help for abuse?* Asking them is basically saying "we assume you're too stupid to get out on your own, but surely being asked about abuse as part of three dozen other questions by a doctor who isn't looking you in the eye and projects no empathy can save you. And judging from the medical questions of yours we ignored, we don't expect it to take any time either." There's an extremely narrow margin where the woman isn't ready to get herself out,** but will make good use of the resources the doctor gives her. And I doubt anyone stays there long: they'll move to save-themselves state in short order.

So in order to maybe get those few women out a tiny bit earlier, we're taking up a lot of valuable face time and insulting the other 99.9999% of patients. All because putting a question on a checklist satisfies a politicians need to do something without costing him anything. It's like the Dilbert quote on sexual harrassment: "a billion years of evolution have been corrected with a simple half hour video. Go ahead, do something sexy and watch me ignore it."

*Arguably some recent immigrants might not know. Put up a poster, we're waiting for 40 minutes anyway, it will get read.

**This is not entirely a psychological state. She may also need to do things like "secret away money" or "figure out what the hell to do with the kids" or any other of a million things the doctor cannot help with.