The woman walking past me in the cross walk is the only thing I see for five seconds. Her hair is perfect. Her dress is perfect. Her posture is perfect. Her makeup is perfect. She's beautiful and she's looking at the ground.
I can't blame her; this whole city stinks of the breath of a million dying people, each as ready to stab you and take your things as they are to shake your hand. She won't make eye contact from whatever self-preservation instinct is left after the requisite desensitization of every city dweller. She's no different from her neighbor.
But that's what makes me wonder. She passes me and I'm finally free to look somewhere else. The German couple staring at their map, the Asian businessman checking his watch, the Mediterranian transvestite checking the Knicks scores all have this in common: they won't meet my eyes. The postman. The off-duty cop. The street vendor. They won't look at me. They won't look at anyone.
So why, for God's sake, did this women get so dressed up to go out on the town and be ignored?
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Well, honestly, this makes me want to say things like, "Is it a crime to want to look good for oneself?" and "How does this man (for the narrator just plain sounds like one to me) know that she dressed intending to be noticed on the street?"
ReplyDeleteBut once that initial gag-reflex of nonsense goes away, I have to admit that this is an interesting observation. A part of me thinks it's not just self-preservation but also courtesy.
I'm used to having people look at me once in a while. I'm 6'2". That's tall. I'm noticeable in a crowd. But in New York, everyone seemed to look everywhere else.
ReplyDeleteYou like to see and be seen, then?
ReplyDeleteI don't know; being stared at by strangers is always off-putting to me. Being stared at by people I KNOW is off-putting enough.
Not even staring. These people wouldn't accidentally make any kind of glance your way.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure that I believe that's a bad thing.
ReplyDelete