The other day, riding my bike through Chelsea, I was slowly riding through a crosswalk when one of the guys waiting to cross felt the need to tell me I had nice tits. I turned my bike right around and started riding towards him, and he took off running down the street as fast as he could, like a little baby. I chased him for almost a full block, hoping to fully instill the fear of the hollaback girl in him. Not so tough now, huh asshole?
written by Emily.
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written by Angela.
Random guy standing on the corner: Nice lips.
Me (scowling): What the fuck?
What if I had been doing a very complex DNA computation in my head, because I was an AIDS researcher on the verge of discovering an amazing new wonderdrug, and as I was walking along I was mapping out my morning lab work when all of a sudden Mr. Dumbfuck blurted out, “nice lips” and distracted me? Then I would have lost my place and it would have been all for naught. That’s why guys should leave women alone. Because many of us DON’T CARE what you think and we might be WALKING AND WORKING TO CURE DISEASES, or at least sorting out our own mental illnesses, so SHUT YOUR GODDAMNED PIEHOLES, OKAY?
written by Lauri
however, concerned strangers seem to worry that i might forget, and for a moment define my sense of self from some other aspect of my person. so at least once,every single day, some street samaritan points it outto me.
i’ve heard an amazing range of reminders- from the stunningly uncreative ‘you got big titties‘ and its many many variants, to (twice) someone actually walking up and grabbing them- one of those a-businessman type, at 8:30 in the morning, on a busy 23rd and Lex. one of the grossest was an oldish man with a single dead-cat-like dread hanging off the back of his balding head, sitting on a folding chair on the sidewalk smoking a joint, who looked at me as i walked by and said, ‘heh, heh- got milk?’
a couple of times i’ve gotten really, really angry. when i have, i’ve fought fire with fire. i went up to him and yelled, loud as i could, right in his face, ‘THAT’S A REALLY GOOD WAY TO GET KICKED IN THE HEAD’. and maybe a little etc. i’m sure i looked like a lunatic on the street, but it worked- one guy actually ran away from me, saying ‘you crazy bitch’-and it felt great, and hilarious, every time.
Written by Rosemary
I was on the F train going to Brooklyn. This man next to me was staring, like boring holes into the side of my face staring. So I got up and moved to another seat. He got up and moved to sit across the aisle from me, STARING.
At this point I’m just ignoring him, not talking, not looking, knowing he was going to follow me. We get to Jay St and I wait to get off the train until right before the doors close, so he wouldn’t follow me. But old dirty man figured it out and just as I was walking out of the train doors, he stands next to me and says so no one else can hear: “I was waiting for you to open your legs.”
Written by Amina
So I was walking down the street in my Tribeca neighborhood, minding my own businees, listening to my ipod, pondering the beauty of this wonderful life and stuck in bewilderment as to why it was close to 70 degrees in November when I hear a faint “Hey.” I look around to see where the noise was coming from and find the voice echoing from a car stuck at a light. I take out one of my headphones to hear this man say again, “hey” and wave. I think, maybe I know this person so I wave back. At second glance, I realize the man is a total stranger so I put my headphone back in my ear and walk on… He drives up next to me and starts to shout again and I think “who is this guy?” He motions, “Come here.” So being the curious, yearning for as many experiences as possible person that I am, I walk up to his car. He opens the door and says, “get in.” I say, “No, you’re a stranger…that’s weird.” He says, “Come on, what’s the big deal.” I say, ” I don’t know you, I’m not going to get in your car…besides I have a boyfriend.” He says, “That doesn’t matter. I just want to talk to you.” I laugh and say, “Sorry, I have to go.” I walk off. He pulls his car over and parks and walks on after me. “Do you have something to do?” he says. “Yes, I have lots I have to do.” Meanwhile, I think showtime, finally I get to holla back (ever since this website started I’ve been waiting to be harassed, but people have only been kind, with their usual “Hey beautiful” – nothing that warrants a holla-ing- in my opinion). So I grab my phone and slyly try to take his picture. “Why are you trying to take my picture?” Busted. “I’m not trying to take your picture. Do you want me to take your picture?” “Do you want to take my picture?” he asks. “Sure,” I say. “What are you going to do with it?” “Just have it on my phone, I guess” (and then post it on a website so everyone can see you sucka!)…Anyway, he ended up walking me almost to my apartment and kept asking me for my number. I kept saying, “It’s nothing personal, but there is no point. If you call, I’m just going to either avoid your call or tell you that I don’t have time to hang out so I might as well save you the trouble now and tell you that I’m not interested.” Still, when i said goodbye, he asked, “When I’m going to see you again?” I said, “Maybe on the silver screen…” Then he gave me an uncomfortably long hug goodbye and said, “But I find you so attractive” to which I replied, “Well take one long last look” and walked away.
Basically, RSS will deliver any new post to your computer when it’s put up, so you can be the first to see the mug shots of the fugly jerks who make NYC slimy.
Walking in Chelsea on Saturday night with my hollaback friend. This group of men in a stretch-limo SUV yell, in one voice, at the two blond women walking in front of us. As the women pass by silently, the dudes turntheir attention to us: “Let’s party! Wanna come to New Jersey? Come inand ride with us! We’ll take you to New Jersey!” They grow quiet as I slow down to take out my phone and hollaBACK. As I’m taking a photo, theyare still imploring my friend to get in the car. As we walk away, she turns to me: “Did you get a photo?” Yes I did. Consider yourselves HOLLA’d at. I do mess with Jersey. -Johanna