Like many other women, I have grown accustomed to unwanted touch. There are the obvious, overt violations that permeate my life, but I’ve struggled to describe the subtler instances of these violations. Moments when I can’t point to any specific transgression, but I still feel violated. It wasn’t until I read the words “empty consent” in Melissa Febos’ 2021 essay “Thank You for Taking Care of Yourself,” featured in the collection Girlhood, that I finally was able to put a definition to that feeling.
Febos describes empty consent as agreeing to “touch that [someone] didn’t want or felt ambivalent about.” When I read that, I thought of all the times I’d tolerated unwanted acts: frat boys, drunk and smelling of weed, snaking a hand down my back. They smiled as they leaned in to me, closing the gap between our bodies. I thought of the charming, unassuming guys, wearing beanies and baggy jeans, who chatted with me for twenty minutes outside a bar, taking a drag off a cigarette in between laughter. They asked me to kiss and I relented because they’d been so nice, even though I hate the taste of cigarettes.
After these events occurred, I’d shrug it off with my friends, but that discomfort lingered. Often, it mutated into disgust with myself. Why did I continue smiling? Why did I let him kiss me? Why did I say yes? What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I say no?
Febos acknowledges that this feeling isn’t exclusive to me.
“The more I think about it, the more amazed I am that anyone realistically expects young women to easily say no to anything, least of all the sexual desires of men. If I struggle to say no to a lunch invitation, a work request, any number of less fraught entreaties, when I have some pressing personal reason, how can a teenager be expected to stop a man’s hand as it reaches under her clothes? Some do, of course, which seems miraculous.”
Melissa Febos, “Thank You For Taking Care of Yourself”
To me, one of the most horrifying aspects of this experience is where women often place the blame: on ourselves. I walk away from these encounters feeling ashamed of my naivete, because shouldn’t I have known? This shame drives my reluctant consent. Certainly I must’ve led them on; I must’ve indicated that the interaction would result in some sort of sexual encounter. I rationalize their actions, and instinctively place the guilt on myself.
How is that fair? Women and young girls should not be held responsible for the societal structures that encourage and reward this behavior. Yet we are often asked to make impossible choices in a moment’s time: accept the advances and risk being labeled a slut, or deny them and risk the possibility of physical harm and/or emotional distress. And when women make the difficult decision to say no, it is often accompanied by an apology.
I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry.
When will we get our apology?