How To Take a Catcall Like a Champ - 2026 Street Tranny Edition
an essay by Daphne
Editor’s Note: Sexual street harassment is not a thing to joke about. The feelings of privileged white cisgender women who dress up to make people understand their socio-cultural dominance are. That is the important distinction to note here. Still, proceed with caution.
We’ve all been there. Well, most of us have been.
Women get catcalled. At the very least, those of us who walk the streets with our tits and ass presented, in some form or fashion, because of the clothing choices which we aptly make for ourselves alone.
For a moment, let us divorce ourselves from the sexually and violently threatening occasions; I will talk about those later.
So, there we are, just minding our business; strutting along with our earbuds in and socially privileged status as attractive women on display. Then some street trash, most likely a homeless Black man (eww), says words we do not enjoy hearing through the music streaming from our iPhone.
As mentioned before, there are times when the term ‘street harassment’ is most accurately applied; communications sometimes cross the boundary from a commentary on our displayed public appearance towards the rest of humanity and into presenting safety concerns through demeaning and violently threatening language. The nuance doesn’t matter though. Safety concerns are what cisgender women make them. Men need to shut up, especially the street trash who we are walking past that have no place interacting with us on a human level. Am I right?
Wanton advances on the feminine the form by masculine-embodied individuals are nothing new to the human condition.
Often, these attempts at flattery or socially outdated male expression are innocuous. Still, and however, this is only welcome when we’re drunk and/or they are exactly our type and suavely disguise the words as common banter forced by circumstance—or when they are exceptionally hot and wealthy-looking—or we’re the rare breed who knows how to take a compliment and isn’t simply looking for something to whine about.
Usually the comments are so obtuse, troubling, bothersome, benign, and ignorant that they ruin our day; especially if we’re the sort who has made every effort to give off an energy of being beyond approach by lower class males.
When it happens, get ready, it’s time to hate the world for a day and lament misogyny for the rest of your life—at least time to catch an uber home and write a think piece about it. A rare breed of grawl grits her teeth and puts on a nice Limp Bizkit track, resolving to dress even more like a bull dyke forever more, perhaps hanging the chain farther from her pocket the next day.
You see, privileged-cisgendered-white-women-are-ultimate-victims culture has disempowered women from utilizing the lost art of using the power offered to us and wielding it back against the man who is placing himself in a most vulnerable position.
Many women who carry tasers and guns still manage to walk with an air of confidence, or those standing beside groups of friends, feeling brazen enough to emasculate and shout at the unwanted offender. Rarely, however, does this happen if the man is Black, though. In that case it’s time to proceed back to the run, whine, write a think piece, lament misogyny for the rest of your life, hate the world, and text your girlfriend plan of action.
Calls to mommy are not out of the question; she’ll protect your feelings and make you feel safe in the cruel world of old homeless Black men who call it like they see it, and/or couldn’t give a flying fuck because they are literally living on the street and you are clearly a spoiled brat.
Today, as a street tranny who literally needs all the compliments I can get and knows how to take the gift of a power imbalance given to me, I present you with a better solution for the common and innocuous variety of comments on feminine beauty.
Eye contact will freeze them; they aren’t used to it. A smile will confuse them; women of this age fail to confront these men with any grace. Responding empathetically without slowing your pace while doing the previous two will place the man in a state of shock and leave you feeling strangely empowered.
Example 1: I was walking the street in Tacoma, Washington—the dreaded ‘Hilltop’ neighborhood (Blacks)—and received one of the ignorant, benign, feckless types of catcalling that began with a question.
“How tall are you?” he asked. I turned to see the Black man leaning there against a wall outside of a convenience mart, and I was slightly confused by the inane nature of the question. “Six foot one,” is how I responded, and it left the man quite dazed. Still, he was not done with his line of inquiry. Next, he told me that he liked my long legs, proceeding to inform me a bit more of his general attraction to my form. While I cannot remember the exact words he used, I remember my response distinctly. I smiled and told him, “Thanks,” then I kept walking. He was shaken.
That man responded no further as I continued walking, empowered, realizing I’d taken the compliment in a way that made us both feel better. He, a man who wanted to get owned in some way by a tall white tranny. Me, a woman who consciously chooses to pick out pants that detail the whole shape of my ass and legs because I like showing off what is working for me. It was a win-win.
Example 2: The classic, “Damn girl,” has only been received by this humble narrator a handful of times. There is no appropriate verbal response to that. A smile and nod will suffice to disable the man.
Example 3: Say you’re crossing the gaze of the puzzling sort who leads with a greeting then taints it with a comment on your stirring of his belly; a man who says, “Hey, nice what have you,” then the best answer is always the same and leaves the deliverer of said words stunned into silence. “Hey,” is all you need to say. Unless you’re really in the mood to break their brain. Then you can say, “Hey, thanks.”
You see, the key is to smile, make eye contact, then keep walking. It’s completely disarming to the man looking to express his libido-driven vocalizations towards a woman who is effectively strutting her ass past his homeless positioning. In this day and age, it’s not only unexpected, but also leaves the confused modern homeless man grasping at straws trying to determine what exactly that next step was supposed to be.
To walk away from an interaction after firing off any of the previous responses has left me consistently upbeat.
Now, there is the less common but more important variety of what was once referred to as catcalling. This is verbal sexual assault of a genuine attempt to make a woman feel dehumanized, scared, or expresses an ill will of a violent and perpetrating nature. If a man is saying something while following behind you, genuinely threatening your safety, or getting explicit with sexual language, in a just world he would be put down as the rapist he is clearly representing himself as.
It signifies an unsafe, troubled man who is looking to establish a power imbalance which makes a woman feel vulnerable and unsafe. It’s also worth noting that I genuinely received that kind of harassment when presenting as male.
When language goes as far as being tinged with a threatening stance of presumed sexual violence, or is a part of stalking behavior, I would not hesitate to put a man like that down with a shot to the head in a world which wasn’t insane.
While some might doubt my vindication on this—assuming big words, bravado, and all that—I’m going to say this for the back. I would pull the trigger and sleep well because I’m not a coward.
Justice is dead in America, and most of the world, when it comes to protecting women and vulnerable people from rapists.
Rapists should be executed on-site by good people.
As a trans woman, the scary commentary I get is particularly threatening and often less about the threat of sexual violence; more of a genuine murder threat. I got one at the library the other day for smiling at a young man who made eye contact with me. He walked behind me and said something I have since repressed from memory. It included the words '“fucking” and “hate” and made me feel the need to stay in the library for some time after he left.
Occasionally, I get catcalled by someone with the sexual street harassment flavor who doesn’t realize I’m trans until I glance their way. While that is a very occasional happening, nothing in the street harassment realm is more frightening to me. Still, I err on the side of empathetic, quick-moving caution to mitigate the situation. People usually need reasons to cross lines with others. Showing yourself in a mean posture, on top of holding the privilege of your well-formed ass, over a homeless man who has a flair for sexual violence is the one thing people should avoid at all costs. These aren’t wild cougars—they’re monsters. Showing fear isn’t really helpful either, to be frank.
Still, showing the empathy you have for their lost humanity and being vulnerable with the hurt those words emplace into your heart and mind can help them see the human in you.
Homeless folks gently chiding your privilege and showing their disregard for your hot white tits on their street, along with the rare old man who still holds tightly to the idea of complimenting a woman’s appearance because he knows some women enjoy it, should not be given the power to ruin your day or be lumped in with the rapists which need a culling.
Regardless, the solutions to claim your power do not lie in hopelessness or ideas of perpetual victimization in a misogynistic world. They lie in empathy, humanity, and looking these people in the face to see the eyes of the man saying it to you. It disarms both sides, nearly every time.
If it doesn’t… maybe run.
