Grappling with omnipresent sexual harassment, both in her research and also her personal life through her own experiences and those of friends, Mira Fey wrote down some reflections. This text is published on L’Encrier, a space of free stylistic expression.

I don’t care about sex anymore.

I don’t think about having sex anymore.

(I only dream about it sometimes.)

I don’t want to look sexy anymore.

I don’t look for anyone sexy anymore.

I haven’t flirted with anyone for a good three months.

I haven’t even thought about flirting with anyone for much longer than that.

My smiles have become rare.

I only openly smile at women now.

My eyes don’t focus on men’s faces anymore on the street.

I only stare straight ahead of me when I walk by briskly.

With each accusation another disappointment and anger.

With each story another memory.

“If this is sexual assault, then all women have been assaulted.”

“If this is harassment, then every man has harassed a woman.”

I don’t think about sex anymore.

I don’t have the capacity to imagine sex differently anymore.

What is left between two people if every move is part of some unequal power dynamic?

Is desire even real or does female desire just mean being desired by men?

Can I desire women without objectifying them just as men do?

Only questions, no answers; no room for thoughts about sex.

Just sometimes in my dreams. There everything

is consensual and passionate.

There I kiss men and women alike without any restrictions.

Sometimes I want to live in my dreams.