Fun & Famous

Men, why are you doing this?

A few weeks ago, I was waiting in my local pub for the friend I had arranged to meet. As always, she was fashionably late, about twenty minutes. I stood in ‘our’ corner, ordered a beer for myself and a wine for her, and grabbed my routine. my iPhone.

And then I realized that I am rarely somewhere in my own city without having something to do. When I travel alone and then go out to eat by myself, I never have a problem with that and even find it quite enjoyable. A little looking, a little staring, a little dreaming. But in Amsterdam, the city I call home, it feels very strange to stand somewhere without a clear purpose. The solution: my iPhone. Like a madman, I refresh Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter in the hope of a nice update that isn't there. Just to have something to do. How silly is that.

So I decided not to do that and to look around me. At the people who, like me, were drinking beer on a Friday night, with one leg in an evening that would undoubtedly end in a massive hangover and poor decisions. A group of men stood a few tables away, they must have been around 40, 50 years old. There were six of them, and you could tell that they were probably very handsome in their youth. One had even aged well, just like George Clooney, just like a good red wine.

”Like a madman, I refresh Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter in the hope of a nice update that isn't there”

Anyway, I was standing there, and so were they. And because I wasn't playing on my phone and was looking around, I saw them. And I saw that they saw me and were even staring at me shamelessly. Not just for a moment, but for a long time. A whole cigarette long. I started to feel increasingly uncomfortable, texted the friend I was waiting for where the hell she was, and desperately tried to avoid their piercing gazes. But that didn't happen; they kept looking and discussing things that were clearly about me, but stepping up to me – no way.

It doesn't happen often, because I generally care just a bit too little to worry about it, but I really felt completely exposed. To be so obviously judged and discussed, as if it didn't matter at all what I thought about it or whether I found it pleasant. To talk about me so shamelessly and then not even have the guts to say something to me.

The friend arrived, I told her what I'm writing down now, and together we toasted to all the dirty old men and how stupid they are. Of course, no one benefits from that, but hey, you have to do something. And the next time this happens, I'll just grab my phone again. To take a picture of them and post it on Twitter. They can also feel what it’s like to be looked at unwantedly.