This morning I woke up in a rush. I failed to go to sleep a proper time the night before—partially my fault. I then proceeded to give myself more time to sleep by setting another alarm—somewhat my fault. This made me late for class because I took a long shower—definitely my fault. Running into the bathroom, I grabbed a pair of underwear to wear for the day. At no point in that process did I think about my choice of underwear or what it could mean to the public. No, I was just trying to get to class.
Looking into my underwear drawer, it’s filled with lace and cotton. Underwear for different occasions, some for comfort and some to make me feel pretty. Not a single one of them is anything more than underwear for me to wear.
At what point did it become an invitation and stop being what it was? Underwear. At what point does “no” become “yes” and “stop” become “continue?” At what point did the words that come out of a person’s mouth mean less than the clothing that is on a girl’s body?
At what time does the confidence a girl has in choosing an outfit that makes her feel good about herself becomes something that can endanger her?
I was taught to fear guns, wild animals, and drunk drivers but, never that my choice of underwear is the deciding factor to whether I want to have sex.
The ongoing conversation of consent seems to be omitted from the story when convenient for the victimizer. It saddens my heart that something so small and simple as a thong is what becomes the very thing that determines a girl’s intent. That a grown man can get away, and they continue to get away, with rape because the responsibility and respect is misplaced. When is it ever okay to force people to do anything? At what point did it become okay for men to do what they want? At what point did girls become responsible for the urges of predators?
Getting up late because I chose to go back to sleep is my fault. But rape is never the fault of the victim.