Given that the setting was at an upscale hotel bar with a dress code, that the lady involved is a doctor, and that doctor’s female companions were similarly upstanding citizens with the sole purpose of having a nightcap after a birthday dinner, the following encounter was a splash of ice water in the face.
While chitchatting at a table over digestifs, a male friend of the lady doctor (let’s call him Mr. Potty Mouth), who just happened to be at the same place at the same time, approached for what everyone thought was “pleasantries.” But what came out of his mouth was anything but.
The initial salvo directed at the lady doctor was, “So when are we finally having sex?” followed by a string of similarly flavored pronouncements — all sexual innuendos — escalating in crassness until it was enough to scandalize any educated female. Lady Doctor, quite familiar with her friend’s attention-getting repertoire of Tourettes-like verbal vomit, couldn’t be bothered.
But another friend, Candy, one of the most highly-evolved women I know, quipped nonchalantly to the potty-mouthed man, “What kind of car do you drive? Volvo, perhaps? Because if it’s not, don’t even dream about it.”
And with that, Mr. Potty Mouth skulked away.
I was stunned by this story and, frankly, quite aggravated. Didn’t Mr. Potty Mouth’s mother teach him some manners? Or maybe his mother spoke that way — who knows? Clearly, I’m not evolved enough to have taken it as calmly and with as much poise and grace as Candy of the Volvo quip. She’s a class act.
I am told that quite a number of men of the same caliber do roam the earth freely. In fact, I’ve met a few, though not as crass in speech, but coming pretty close. What Mr. Potty Mouth unleashed that night is talk that belongs within the confines of a locker room, where only like-minded men are allowed and as tightly insulated as possible from the earshot of proper ladies.
Urbandictionary.com defines locker-room talk as: “the crude, vulgar, offensive and often sexual tirade that guys throw at each other, usually in high school locker rooms, which exists solely for the purpose of male comedy and is not meant to be taken seriously.”
I’ve never experienced being inside a men’s locker room but I know enough of it as seen on primetime TV sports broadcasts, books and movies. Plus, I grew up with brothers who are athletes in a house, where on any given day, teammates hang out pre- or post-game and spew such talk in unguarded moments. It’s all familiar and all harmless because one’s frame of mind is preconditioned to such an environment — no offense is taken.
The locker room is a weird hybrid room, a public space where private things happen — crowded, steamy, stinking, littered with soiled socks and jerseys, and packed with sweaty bodies in various states of dress and undress, some of them picking their feet and spraying clouds of deodorants in their armpits. The locker room is enshrined in sports mythology as a bastion of privilege and a center for fraternal bonding. The stereotyped view of such a room is that it is a retreat from the outside world where athletes prepare themselves for competition, celebrate a victory, or suffer a defeat.
Fraternal bonding, according to Timothy Curry, faculty member of the Ohio State University, “is considered to be a force, link, or affectionate tie that unites men. It is characterized by low levels of disclosure and intimacy. Men associate different meanings with friendships than women do. Men tend to derive friendships from doing things together while women are able to maintain friendships through disclosure. Sport is an arena well suited for the enactment and perpetuation of the male bond. It affords separation and identity building as individual athletes seek status through making the team and winning games and it provides group activity essential for male bonding, while not requiring much in the way of intimate disclosure.”
Peer culture inside the locker room is something that women may never get — not that men care whether they do or don’t. The locker room is their postmodern-day campfire and the talk that goes on around it may often objectify women, delivered with braggadocio or in a teasing manner. The fact that women are viewed as objects is also evident in the tendency of men to dissect women’s bodies into parts — legs, butt, boobs — which are discussed separately from the whole person. Women’s identities as people are of no consequence in these displays.
It’s all harmless. And any woman who doesn’t have the stomach for it shouldn’t venture into the “locker room zone,” expecting men in their own lair to suddenly sanitize themselves and edit their speech for her sake.
I remember the international uproar sometime in September 2010 when sports journalist Ines Sainz caused a stir inside the New York Jets’ locker room during a post-game interview. She went into the Jets’ facility to interview the quarterback, and while she was there, some players apparently acted like 14-year-olds and lost it, because she is a former Ms. Universe contestant and she was wearing tight jeans (she’s also a married mother of three with a master’s degree). None of the comments were overtly rude and Sainz herself told TV Azteca that she did not feel insulted or harassed. “It was definitely a joking tone, very amicable,” she said. “I wasn’t offended.” Interestingly, it was another journalist who complained on her behalf.
In light of this, people started questioning whether women belong in locker rooms at all. The matter was settled legally: it is the law. Equal access in the workplace was mandated in 1979 in the US by a federal judge. But that doesn’t make it comfortable for anyone. If a locker room is a workplace, it’s an inherently awkward one for a woman, socially. Unless she has the “balls” for it, she shouldn’t be in it. It requires a high level of professionalism — from everyone, athletes and journalists alike.
I’ve never had an unpleasant experience with athletes. They have been nothing but extremely polite and respectful. To be honest, I’ve met more sexists in couture men’s wear at dinner parties seated beside their partners, not half-clothed players with a mission to win.
So, locker-room talk is a fact of life and confined to its proper venue should be no trouble at all. There may be a few exceptions such as in intimate social situations. I’m sure many women have overheard men whisper to each other discreetly while out to dinner or at a party with friends that so-and-so woman across the room has a remarkable set of “jugs” or a squeezable behind, while stealing glances at her said “assets.” I actually find it amusing. If looked at in a certain light, it comes across as plain and simple admiration, or a means for men to entertain themselves.
I ask myself whether I should ever be offended when men talk about female body parts. I have finally figured it out: it depends on the character of the man displaying such behavior. If the man is of decent character and if the comments are made in a decent tone, then it could be, in fact, amusing. But if the man in question is a known Lothario, then it very quickly becomes sleazy.
Back to Mr. Potty Mouth. He has no business taking his locker-room talk out of the locker room and directing it at ladies. C’mon, what was he thinking? But maybe instead of enjoying and milking my disgust, I should fast-track my evolution and channel our friend Candy, who — without any drama — engaged Mr. Potty Mouth in his own game and beat the crap out of him with her Volvo volley (we all know a man’s ego is attached to his car).
But perhaps I might not even stop there. I would probably raise the stakes and play even harder. We’re talking Ferrari here.
* * *
Thank you for your letters. You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com.