freeamfva: I Posted a Photo in a Bikini — Here’s What Happened Next

freeamfva

It’s the final week in January, one of the last days of the summer holidays, the last I will spend at the beach with my children before a new school year begins. There’s a slight offshore breeze blowing; a wave peels gently along the shore break. It’s overcast but warm — the Southern Ocean piercing as usual, but glass-like. I swim for what feels like hours, limbs gliding effortlessly through the cool turquoise saltiness; here, I am in my happy place.To get more news about 亚洲国产精品自产在线播放, you can visit our official website.

Eventually, a growing chill defeats me. My feet touch back down on sand and I walk back to shore, wrap a towel around myself, throw on my hat and sunnies and check my phone for any missed calls or messages.

Basking in post-swim endorphins, I take a selfie for my Instagram page. Saltwater still stings my eyes. My sunglasses are smeary. My phone screen is dimmed by the glare of bright daylight. I can’t see exactly what my happy snap looks like but I’m not too particular; I throw it up on my Instagram story and think nothing more of it.

Later that night, home and showered, I do the usual end-of-day-on-the-couch social-media scroll. Some guy who follows me but has not engaged with me before has replied to my story. There are no words, just emojis — love heart eyes, flames. A second similar reply from another guy I have no connection with, more flames. A third reply from a random man whose name I’ve never seen before, telling me how hawt I am looking. I wonder if anyone has used that word since 2010. I wonder why I am even getting these messages.

Then, I look back again at the story I posted earlier that day and realise that in the photo the bikini top I’m wearing shows a significant amount of cleavage — far more than I would normally or purposely show in a photo.

Over the following few hours, my inbox becomes crowded with more messages: Damn, woman. Looking good. Hot AF. Wish I was there. Sexy bitch. Give a guy a heart attack. Flame emojis. More flame emojis. Did I mention the flame emojis? Most from Guys I Do Not Know; some from Guys I Do Know. I’m not sure which I find more problematic.More messages come through; I fluctuate between annoyance, anger, indignation, and mirth over the fact that I’m a 41-year-old mother of four and the majority of these men wouldn’t look twice at me in real life if they knew that. But they don’t, because they do not know me, nor do they want to know me.

These men aren’t interested in the fullness of me as a woman, or human being. They are not interested in who I am or what I am or how I am. I have been diminished and silenced, reduced to a single body part that exists only for the viewing and consumption of the male gaze.

It’s 2022 and we have journeyed through the MeToo movement and the Time’s Up movement and call-out culture and Grace Tame as Australian of the Year and I find myself wondering if it has all been for nothing.

I have shared my own story; the trauma of being objectified as a child for the sexual gratification of men. Once again, anyone who knows me knows my advocacy against the objectification of women. Yet my inbox is filled with the exact thing I have spent the last decade writing and speaking words in opposition to — but all for nothing, it would seem.

There are, of course, the voices that seek to tell me that I’m taking this too seriously. That I should be flattered if anything. That it’s no big deal. That if I’m going to post a photo of myself in a bikini, I should expect this kind of response.