diana cowgill

Oversized sweatshirts are a vital tool for girls who want to be invisible- so at some point or another, for pretty much all of us. I first purposefully wore them as camouflage in high school, when my delayed hormones finally started to creep in and change my body from that of a weird child to an ill-prepared woman.

I was stuck for years in a constant state of mortification. Hints of breast tissue started around the 8th grade, and I finally filled out early to mid 12th grade. My body was embarrassing enough before puberty- I had severe scoliosis, I was very nearsighted, along with being zitty and painfully thin- but the years long process of Becoming A Woman brought on an entirely new level of horror at my own appearance. Thanks to my remarkable stats and the encouragement of my brothers, I understood just how awful I looked. I hoped I wouldn’t always be, but I very clearly knew that for now, I was an absolute wreck.

At all of 5’2” and maybe 80 pounds, I swam in Men’s Large sweatshirts. Grateful to them for keeping me safely hidden away.

My body image was clearly abysmal throughout adolescence. I was saved a lot of terror by having a mother who told me constantly that I was beautiful, but much more importantly, interesting, so in spite of everything I pretty much survived.

But because I believed that I was so invisible, I missed, blocked out, really, a very important fact: men want sex. Young, old, old enough to be your father- they all want sex, and given the opportunity to f**k you, they absolutely, 100% would.

It took me a lot of years, way longer than it should have, to realize this. As I’ve explained, I was not a pretty kid. I was not beautiful when boys are guileless, which left me with a naivete, an innocence, that wasn’t really a good thing.

Because I didn’t have the awkward experiences of hooking up with and learning to read other kids, I believed that boys, eventually men, genuinely wanted to be my friend. I thought, why wouldn’t they want to get to know me? And anyway, they wouldn’t be interested in me of all people. I thought, if I don’t like them, they surely won’t like me. And if I don’t want to, and don’t encourage it, they won’t try anything. They wouldn’t dare.

And unfortunately, on a number of occasions, I was entirely wrong. I don’t have any true horror stories. I’m blessed not to claim the title of Survivor. But I have been driven back into sweatshirts on a number of occasions- been made to feel dirty and vulnerable and just unbelievably stupid. It would have been better to have stayed hidden.

The man pushing fifty who claimed I had potential? Actually saw promise in about the middle third of my body. The guy I met on set who really enjoyed my sense of humor? He grabbed me and asked if I really didn’t want to f**k him then why had I asked him to grab dinner. The married boss I spoke to at length about his wife and kids? Suggested I join him in his hotel room for a nice massage and then told me they no longer needed my services a week after I turned him down.

These men are pigs. There are others in my life, in every woman’s life, and to the one I will tell you what turns them this way: entitlement. To pleasure, to favors, to fun, to tight bodies. They feel that because they want to f**k you, they should be able to. A lot of powerful men think of f***ing you as an excellent form of currency. You do this, do me, and you’ll be handsomely rewarded. Open your legs and I’ll open the world.

But the exchange rate of this sexual currency is badly off. It’s arbitrary, it’s hidden, it’s non-negotiable and the terms are never agreed to. The way that so many men treat women, like animals stalking and devouring prey, needs to stop being an option. It’s not boys being boys, it’s grown men being predators. It’s women being violated and beaten down and made to feel unsafe and crazy and powerless.

The whole thing is vile, and enough with it. Women have nothing to feel bad about when these men descend on them. We didn’t ask for it, we should not have known better. Men should know better. Men should be better, should have more expected of them no matter how good the interchangable “her” looks.

Harvey Weinstein’s downfall is wonderful, as is the sinking of a pig my husband used to work with. But look at who’s still in the Oval Office. Look at all of the ridiculous men who don’t come from positions of great power that pull this type of thing. The ones who will never be caught and will enthusiastically teach their sons how to treat women. The cycle will just continue on as ever before.

The whole thing makes me want to put on a damn sweatshirt and curl up with a good book.