When I was in graduate school at Columbia University in New York City there was big construction project on the building next door to my dormitory with the entire side covered with scaffolding and workmen climbing up and down it all day. One crisp September morning I left the dormitory with Paola, an attractive Italian student who had recently arrived in New York. We crossed over to the other side of the street so we wouldn’t have to pass under the scaffolding and trotted on, chatting cheerfully, past the construction workers. When we got the the corner Paola turned to me with a look of sheer aggravation and demanded, “What is the matter with the MEN in your country?? We just walked past a building crawling with construction workers and they didn’t even look at us, they didn’t call out, not one whistle. What do I have to do, wear a bikini if I want to be appreciated???”
I was floored. I grew up in the United States in the 70s and 80s where we wanted to be called “Ms.” instead of Miss and at college we said we were “women” and not “girls”. If a man in a summer job looked at us cross-eyed or stuck his tongue out at us, we thought it might be “sexual harassment.”
“Paola, this is what we want, this is liberation, this is freedom from harassment. You should be happy,” I explained, giggling a bit.
“Happy?” she stammered, “you’re happy when no man looks at you, when you get the same treatment as an ugly old lady. You don’t want your attractiveness to be appreciated?” she asked.
So what did I do? In response to Paola’s question I ended up marrying an Italian and moving to a land where a woman’s attractiveness is appreciated. Bring on the butt-squeezers and the wolf-whistles will ya?
Italian men have a reputation for butt-squeezes and wolf-whistles and knowing how to appreciate women whether they want it or not.
On my first visit to Rome when I was in my 20s, my future husband had to work at his summer job. He gave me a map of the city and I headed off to explore. Somewhere near Rome’s City Hall, as I studied my map, a handsome dark-haired man stepped out of a black Mercedes and asked me if he could help me find where I wanted to go. I said no. He explained that he was a pilot with Alitalia and he was very good with directions, but probably the best thing would be for him to drive me wherever I wanted to go. He was free to give me a personal tour. The guy was unbelievably unctuous and incredibly undeterred. It took me a while to liberate myself and continue my walking tour. Towards the end of the day I was making my way back to meet my future husband and I got a bit lost so I pulled out my map to figure out where it was. When I saw that I was on the right street, I slid the map into my bag and kept walking. There were three well-dressed men coming towards me on the sidewalk. As I passed, one of them reached around a gave me the big old butt-squeeze. I was irritated. If Paola was there I would have demanded, “What is wrong with Italian MEN?”
Moments later I met up with my future husband who was on his motorino (moped). I told him what had just happened and he was enraged. “Quick, get on the back,” he said, “Show me where you met those men, I am going to kill them.” Little did I know that his reaction was an absolutely appropriate Italian male reaction. Defend your wife and daughters from all predators. We screeched off and were quickly back at the scene of the crime. No well-dressed butt-squeezers to be seen anywhere. Thank God. What on earth would Gustavo and I have done with them? Tackled them? Punched them out?
Italians have a very different take on the whole question of the Butt-Squeeze. Back in January 2001, I was shocked when a court in Venice ruled that if a male boss gave a “isolated and quick” butt squeeze to a female employee, he was not guilty of sexual harassment. According to legal documents the accused boss had not intended to “carry out libidinous acts on the woman….” And his gesture did not constitute “sexual lust” (just a little passing horniness perhaps?). The case was eventually taken to the Italian Supreme Court which in 2003 reversed the decision, ruling that even if it was “quick”, squeezing an employee’s bottom was a crime. Well thank goodness.
A quick, unscientific survey among male and female friends and colleagues revealed that most of the butt-squeezing goes on in Italian buses or on the street, not in the office. There are different terms for different kinds of butt-squeezing. The “mano morta” or “dead hand” is what Italians say you get on the bus. A rather unexpressive grip on the rear. Then there is the “pacco sul sedere” which is a pat on the butt and is what you might get in the office.
A British Mamma friend of mine with a stunning mane of blond hair says she never gets on an Italian bus without a big umbrella, even on the most cloud-free days. And when she gets the inevitable butt-squeeze or “mano morta” she attempts to put a hole through the man’s foot with her umbrella.
My colleague Paolo Santalucia said he made the mistake when he was a teenager of reaching out and giving a big butt-squeeze to a good-looking girl as he rode by on the back of his friends moped going up a hill. Unfortunately, the moped’s motor died on the hill and Paolo and his friend ended up frantically running up the hill pushing the moped to escape the wrath of the offended girl.
Another colleague, Paolo Lucariello, has an amazing success rate with women but he doesn’t bother with the butt-squeeze, he goes for the “super-eyeball”. Once when we were covering a big demonstration in Rome for AP Television I kept noticing that he was giving the “I’m checking you out” eye-ball to a hell of a lot of women, even some really ugly ones. They all seemed to love it and many seemed to want to stop and flirt with him. When I asked him why he was doing that he explained, “almost every woman has something beautiful about her. Sometimes you have to hunt to find it. It might be her hair, her legs, her lips, her eyes, her nose, or her hands. I always find it and look at it. It makes women happy.” Then he stopped, put down the camera and looked at me and said, “C’mon are you jealous? You want me to look at you that way too? You need some appreciation?”
I have noticed that it doesn’t happen to me very much any more, but I figured it was because I was getting older. I mean how many men want to grab the rear of a mother of three? But perhaps the culture is changing in Italy. Elizabeth Gilbert has an interesting passage in her book “Eat, Pray, Love” on what seems to be a culture shift. Here it is:
“…Romans on the street aren’t really giving me any second looks. Or even many first looks, for that matter. I found this kind of alarming at first. I’d been to Italy once before, back when I was nineteen, and what I remember is being constantly harassed by men on the street. And in the pizzeries. And at the movies. And in the Vatican. It was endless and awful. It used to be a real liability about traveling in Italy, something that could almost even spoil your appetite. Now at the age of thirty-four, I am apparently invisible…..And while it’s certainly nice, of course, not to get pawed by a disgusting stranger on the bus, one does have one’s feminine pride, and one must wonder, What has changed here? Is it me? Or is it them? So I ask around, and everybody agrees that, yes, there’s been a true shift in Italy in the last ten to fifteen years. Maybe it’s a victory of feminism, or an evolution of culture, or the inevitable modernizing effects of having joined the European Union….”
So dear female blog readers, do tell me your opinion. Are you with the beautiful Italian Paola? Would you rather a butt-squeeze, a wolf-whistle and a super eye-balling? Or are you with me—the Puritan Bostonian- who claims she would prefer to be appreciated for her charm, brains and ability.
Wow, talk about ambivalent! I am rather conflicted about this, as I also wrote here: http://made-in-italy.tumblr.com/post/18785108482/something-to-confuse-the-feminist-in-me. I think touching someone else’s body without asking them is NEVER okay. I also feel like the constant stares you get from Italian men as a woman in public make you feel like a piece of meat and like your role as a woman in this society is purely to cater to the male gaze. And yet…I too have felt the change from what it was like nearly 20 years ago when I first came to Italy as a student. On the one hand I appreciate how refreshing and freeing it is not to feel so self-conscious all the time when I walk out the door. On the other hand, as a mamma, there is something rather lovely about being validated and made to feel like you still “got it” — as embarassing as it might be to admit!
Michelle, I am actually a little ambivalent myself. The other day I was walking on a narrow, one-way cobblestone street near my office. A truck was coming down the street and it was a tight squeeze. The driver had to stop to let me pass. As I went past his open window, the driver calmly said to me, “Signora, Lei e’ Bellissiima”. Translated that means, Madame, you are beautiful. He used the LEI form which is formal and respectful. He was not hitting on me because he was in a truck going the opposite direction from me. He was a complete stranger giving me a compliment. So, no thanks to the butt-squeezes and the wolf-whistles but some respectful appreciation goes a long way. I must admit he made my day.
who is the person in that photo, hope this is not your butt :)
butt squeezers are not only in Italy, more than 10 years ago a very professional looking women gave me a butt squeeze in subway, i have to admit i didn’t complain :)
no one is squeezing my butt anymore in public, those good old days are gone
Wow!! I have never heard of women squeezing men’s butts. There’s a whole new world of sexual harassment out there to explore!!
What, no comments??? I would have, and still do, predict an explosion of comments!!! Wish Gustavo had caught up with these guys when he was on his motorino. Would love to have seen how that encounter worked out.
PJ
Thank God Gustavo did not catch up with those well-dressed butt-squeezers. That would have been messy.
I think probably all men are the same, no matter the nationality. In Italy the men make their thoughts obvious with words & touch. American men keep their thoughts to themselves, so we women can only guess. My vote goes to the American men; more polite to keep those thoughts silent. But… I have stories to tell from 1969 when I was 21, going to Italy with my mother for the first time, to the land of my ancestors. I had no idea about Italian men! I was appalled, and yes all that you described also happened to me. Mom & I stayed at a modest pensione in Rome for 2 weeks, and every morning there was an indefatigable man waiting to pounce on us as we exited. He wanted me, and he promised to find a man for my mother too! Besides that, I was damn near raped by a romantic boy who stopped me while riding a bicycle in the northern Italian countryside, promising to “guide” me and “show me the sights!”
My Goodness Barbara, you sure do have some interesting stories to tell. That is hilarious about the guy trying to make some double-deal for you and your mother. And how funny that you got the guy on the bike and I got the self-described pilot from Alitalia in his black mercedes. Well, it is good to know that times are changing and Italian men are improving.
Well I shall not give you his name but somebody well known while driving when he spotted a nice looking girl in another car would carefully bump into the girl’s car. Then they were obliged to stop exchange all personal information for the insurance and then this would be a good excuse to call her again and fix a date. He did it quite often and finally he ended up getting married with one of the girls he had bumped into with his car !
It was an expensive way to pick up girls (in it. “rimorchiare”) but at the end the “predator” was trapped by the “victim”. There are different ways to use the umbrella!
Again : about butt-squeezers : a nice looking friend of mine with beatiful blond hair was visiting the crowded Cairo Bazaar and she experienced an endless butt sqeeze that went on and on. She suspected that the “stalker” was a big man coverewd with a large tunic as almost all other locals were wearing. But his hands were busy and could be seen so she could not address to him her reproaches.. After a while some time passed and she met the same man again and with her surprise she saw him dismantling a wooden artificial arm. He was doing his “job” with one of his arms consealed under the tunic but he could not be spotted because he was wearing on sight his well built artificial arm.
Shall we call it fertile imgination? But think it out well; nowdays young men seem more interested in their black berry or cultivating realationship with girls by twitter or mobiles.
It is a different way to use imagination : do you prefer real economy or finace (paper) economy ?
Dario– what a wonderful surprise to have you comment on my blog, and I love the Cairo Bazaar story with the man in the tunic and the artificial arm. Fabulous. Talk about “mano morta”.
You are absolutely right that men are more interested with blackberries, facebook and twitter these days. They’ve got their hands on the keyboards and have left the bottoms behind!!
Ahhh yes, my 20’s in Italy, lots of attention and even those gorgeous men in Firenze who blended into each other (what’s your name, where are you from , would you like me to take you back to your hotel??).
Married 15 years and with three children I wouldn’t mind a bit more appreciation…
x
Love this post, Trisha! Your pal from Slowly-by-Slowly sent me over to have a look at your blog and I was delighted to read about your adventures in Italy. I lived in Spain for eight years in the 1980s and, while I only had one unpleasant fondling incident while riding the metro in Madrid, I did get my share of “appreciative” comments from Spanish men. In fact, back in the day, there was a real art to giving “piropos” and some of them were quite poetic. I remember one group of guys in particular who would call out every day as I walked past them on my way to work. It was flattering for a while but the guys didn’t seem to realize that I was the same woman from one day to the next so they’d keep recycling the same silly comment…something like, “You’re a peach and I want to bite you”. So one day I shot back, “You know, I pass here every day. Can’t you come up with something more original?”
Justine — What a riot! I love that word “piropos”. And that peach line is hilarious. Too funny. Thank you for your comment, I really appreciate it.
Having fun jumping from one blog post to the next. All great, informative and entertaining… This is my belated input on this topic. As an English girl living in Rome the first time round, the harassment was pretty unpleasant. And I think Italians took particular delight in making comments to a foreigner who was clearly slightly more naive and unprepared to deal with the forwardness. Cutting my hair very short was one of the best things I did from that perspective… Not a solution for everyone, but it certainly cut the comments down by about 90%. Interestingly, I now live in Harlem (finishing up grad school at Columbia), have the same short hair, and ‘nice hair’ seems to be the most common comment I get in the street. Each culture to their own I guess. And that’s far from harassment. I do often think Rome taught me to walk around prepared for harassment on every corner – not necessarily a bad thing, although I may have become slightly more aggressive looking than desired… No wonder Harlem men only dare comment on my all but shaved hair ;)
Rose — it is great to hear from you. I had no idea you were at Columbia. You forgot to mention that you are very blond. Blond women get so much extra attention here. I can understand why you cut your hair short. I have a brown-haired daughter and a blond daughter and from the day she was born the blond has been getting comments from Italians “Ciao biondina” “che biondina cosi carina” etc etc. It worries me a bit. Maybe I should send her to study at Columbia.