If you´re a woman who has been in Buenos Aires longer than 10 min, you will be familiar with piropos. Los Piropos. Google translates it as compliments. Google is being generous. Piropos here are more like propisitions, cat calls, blatent staring... don´t make me spell it out-- you get it. And it happens to me all the time. This isn´t because I am particularly good looking, or because I wink at them, or wear anything provocative, it is just a habit that is engraned into their masculine culture. And it´s disgusting. I understand the need to acclamate to other cultures, but at some point, it is still my body and I would prefer it not be verbally oggeled every time I hike to class.
There are three main types of piropos
1. The public piropos- These are usually loud and spoken in a consentual group setting such as construction workers, or a group of guys walking together, even old men on a bench. As unnerving as it is to be called hermosa by multiple men at one time (especially at night), I have come to understand that these piropos are less about me and more about the men asserting their masculinity to one another. Often times they don´t address you directly, it´s almost as if they´re discussing how good lunch looks. Uncomfortable, though it is, these are not, in my opinion, the worst type of piropos.
2. The non verbal piropos- These consist on many types of noises, including horns, whistles, and the most common, what I refer to as ´the dog call.´ The dog call sounds a bit like you´re trying to keep Fido from running into a busy street. Something like tshhht tshht tshhht. This can be coupled with wistling and other verbal piropos as well, but is often deemed sufficient by it´s user.
3. The whispered piropos- The final and most unsettling piropos is the whispered piropos. This can happen at anytime, and anytime, has the capacity to render it´s victim instantly nauseous. It most often happens when passing someone on the street, when a ´gentleman´ (a term very lightly used) will lean just close enough to your ear to allow you to be the sole recipient of his affection. Que linda, Que hermosa, are mild forms of these ´compliments.´ It also happens on the train, often in crowded cars. The most unfortunate part of the man behind you whispering these things is that you must endure it for the duration of the train ride.
Argentina is world renown for it´s beautiful men. And this is not untrue. The men here are indeed beautiful. ¨They have good genes,¨ my host mother always says. Maybe there´s something in the water, maybe it is genetics, or maybe copious amounts of carbs aren´t as bad for us as nutritionists would have us believe, regardless the men (and the women but I will post about that later) are muy guapo. So what´s the problem? Why do I care if beautiful men throw their words at me? When it comes to the issue of piropos, I can´t help but feel that there is an attribute of respect missing. An understanding of gender and it´s arbitrary nature that is very much missing from the worldview. Argentina is a country with a woman president, rich in historically prominent women, and yet, they are still regarded carnally. As if becoming a prominent woman figure strips you of femininity. My main spot of bother is that the women here don´t seem to mind. They parade themselves proudly brushing off the piropos expectantly. They are objects of desire and they know it., but why do they consent. This is up to interpretation and has, I´m sure, many answers. But this post is about the men. Why has this become an accepted practice among the men. Men of all ages, social standings, and occupation (and trust me, there´s nothing more unsettling that a policeman hitting on you). Not every man does. In fact there are many men that don´t. But they fail to counter the massive number of men that do. What could motivate these men? What are they getting out of it? These women they hit on are not turning around, changing their plans and making out with them on the spot because of this. In fact they are rarely acknowledged. Neither do I acknowledge them. But just once I would like to stop in my tracks, turn around walk back and ask, ¨Why?¨
Heading to class again, wish me luck.
As always
Besos,
Hil
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