The Coat That Makes Guys Want To Talk To Me

I like to walk around a lot. Writing, you sit down all day, so it really helps to take a lot of walks and break things up.

A few years ago I picked up this secondhand jacket in Cobble Hill because I wanted something reflective when I go walking around at night. It’s an old Walls hunting jacket with a zippered, removable “game pouch” on the back. It cost twenty-eight dollars and I wear it almost every day.

I like the jacket for a few reasons. It’s got bright orange reflective patches, like I mentioned, so it makes it easier for cars to see me when I’m crossing the street at night, it’s pretty sturdy without being too warm, and I can use the game pouch to carry pretty much anything. I wouldn’t carry around my laptop in it, maybe, but it’s good for practically anything else: extra diapers for the baby, my lunch, a book or two, some groceries. If I need to pick something up while I’m out on a walk, I don’t have to worry about bringing a bag with me; I just stash it in the pouch and off I go.

One of the other things I like about taking walks is talking to strangers for a little bit. Not for too long. I don’t want to bother anybody. But I like a walk that’s studded with little bursts of chat. The other thing I like about walking around is taking the bus. I never used to take the bus before I lived in New York, but now I take it all the time.

Waiting for the bus at a bus stop is no good. It sometimes makes you feel tired and small. But being out for a walk, seeing that the bus is coming, and deciding to hop on board at the whim of the moment – that feels terrific. You feel big and important. “Here’s my giant car, pulling over just for me. So long, folks, I’m out of here.” It’s just terrific. Hopping on the bus is one of the greatest feelings. Waiting for the bus, that’s harder.

Back when I used to walk around as a woman, I often wished more people would talk to me on the street. I don’t mean that I hoped to get hassled. I knew a lot of women who get hassled on the street and it sounded terrible. But I had a sort of wistful, left-out feeling when I’d hear somebody talking about getting catcalled, like it happened to everybody. I sort of wanted it to happen to me. I don’t mean I thought it would have been politically good, or anything like that, I just like talking to people I don’t know, and I don’t like feeling left out, even if what I’m being left out of is something lousy.

Had I actually been getting catcalled on a regular basis, I don’t think I would have thought, “Hey, this is terrific; I feel both seen and known by these guys, what a terrific community to be a part of.” I just felt left out. Walking around back then, I most often used to feel a combination of safe and lonesome. I don’t know if that was an accurate assessment of my condition or not. It’s just how I felt. Strangers didn’t make me nervous; the people I already knew made me nervous.