SlutWalk Portland was a trial by fire
Around 4pm on Sunday, I decided to head back to the Terry Shrunk Plaza where this last Sunday’s SlutWalk began, to pick up my bicycle,and head home. Before I left, and I was struck by an (only seemingly) innocuous question: Should I put my clothes back on? Where does acting demonstratively end? United we stand, divided we fall, I decided on a compromise: keeping the short shorts, but adding a shirt (I was also concerned about sunburn at this point.) I picked up my bicycle and was immediately spotted by an older man and woman who couldn’t stop staring at me as I passed them by. The man couldn’t take his eyes off my semi-unbuttoned shirt, shook his head and whispered under his breath. And I’m hardly what you would call feminine. As if this wasn’t the confirmation we needed.
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