I’m participating in a boycott, organized by me, poorly enforced by me, and not really a boycott, because I’ve even broken it myself. It’s more that I’m avoiding returning to a place where I suffered a huge disillusionment, a loss of faith perhaps, and an emotionally traumatic experience.
Having just recently moved back to Portland, my home and love, and having just recently decided to live carfree, my family took a bike ride to check out Portland’s most-beloved bike shop slash gathering space. A space imported from Southern California, it turns out. We visited the morning after a big event at the space, an after party for the Portland Disaster Relief Trials, and event my family attended. I’ll quote from an email I sent to my friend, but not to the bike shop, VeloCult, about the experience.
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This is a letter I'm very sad to be writing. I was in your shop today, excited to be visiting the first time with my family. Excited because a huge part of the reason we moved back to Portland after 3.5 years in the SF Bay Area was that we were sick of car culture, and wanted to be involved in bike culture. We sold one car before moving here, my husband bought his awesome Bullitt the next day, then after two weeks of me using it every day to take our daughter around town, I ordered my own cargo bike, a Winther Wallaroo. You may have seen me around town. We sold our other car soon afterwards. It's amazing. I love my bike. I love the looks on the faces of other parents as we ride by, as a family, on two wheels, the glowing looks of the glimmering realization that there is another way, and that way is fun and awesome.
Today, though, after being greeted (kind of gruffly I'll be really honest, but it was a Sunday morning after a big party, and I’d probably be gruff too), and browsing, and playing around on Emily Finch's bike that'd she'd left there from the DRT party, and picking out some (expensive but cool) rain pants for my husband, and some water/coffee holders for our bikes, I started to peruse the prominently displayed Velo Cult book.
And the pictures were as follows: Man riding bike, man who builds bikes, man, man, man all doing something very cool or just sitting for a portrait (fully clothed), hot chick with sexy open mouth modeling with bike, half naked hot chick's ass on a Brooks saddle, regularly dressed man, cute dog, man with top hat on bike, etc.
My thoughts were this: Oh, another typical cycling book without any women at all--holy crap all the women are sex objects--that's a cute dog.
I got really upset. I couldn't be in your shop any more. I was un-welcomed. That book was a big sign to me that said "Women are for F!*&ING ONLY." That book, Velo Cult, showed me that women are not cyclists, not mechanics, not builders.
I don't need to tell you that I don't mind sexy pictures. But there were no sexy dude pictures, and no pictures of women actually doing anything other than being sexy.
I calmed down enough to walk in and tell a nice man who works there how I felt. He was very nice. He had also noticed the stereotypical depictions of women in the book. And I also told him that I would not be shopping there again.
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(I never sent the email to VeloCult, but I did send a few tweets to them about my experience.)
Now, this was in July of 2013. What I didn’t say in the email was that this book of artsy black and white photographs effected me to the core. As Art is supposed to do, it allowed me to see the world through another person’s eyes. This world that I saw, it made me cry. I felt burnt through to the core. I felt like by virtue of identifying as a woman, I was less than. I was eye candy, at best. I left the store shaking, crying, and I’m not a crier. This was the day after a really fun community event, the Disaster Relief Trials, where I felt surrounded by people who shared my values and respected me as a relatively new member of the community. So it was a shock, an ice bath after a sauna. But not in a refreshing way.
I took some pictures of the pictures I found disconcerting, posted them on Instagram, and to Twitter and Facebook. Mostly to crickets. I had some sympathetic support from some other women in the family bike community. I’m a grown up, I know that there is sexism in the world, I know that it’s traditional to depict naked women in Art, it’s a Thing. I stand by my assessment and criticism and reaction to the book. The book described itself as a representation of what the photographer loved about the bicycle culture (men doing cool stuff), and models (women looking hot).
I made it clear that I would not financially support a space that felt unwelcoming to me. But I never once asked anyone to join my boycott, and if an event was going to held at Velocult, I chose not to attend--except once I went to see Elly Blue, Mychal Tetteh, and Michael Anderson speak there about issues surrounding Equity in the bike community. It was a rare night off from taking care of my daughter so I bought a pint of cider and it was delicious. Je ne regrette rien!
The point is, I recognize how valuable a space VeloCult is for the community of people who ride bikes in and around Portland. I researched the book online, discovered it dated back to the pre-Portland days. After my initial outrage and hurt, I simmered down, figured that I had other things to do that would be more productive than run any sort of campaign boycotting a place I saw as doing a lot of good. So when I say I’m boycotting VeloCult, I’m doing it because I don’t want to spend time where I had my idealism shattered.
The best analogy I’ve come up with so far is this: In college, I broke up with my first love. The difficulty of the breakup was compounded by the fact that I had recently lost my father and hadn’t properly mourned him. My ex sent me a mixtape (I’m old). On that mixtape were lots of sad songs, but the one that hurt the most was Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice.” So for years and years (I’m old), any Dylan song, but especially “Don’t Think Twice” brought me right back to those months where I didn’t really eat, or sleep, or do much except work and cry while listening to that mixtape. It’s not Bob Dylan’s fault.
Yesterday, in the spirit of inclusiveness, a woman who knows about my personal one person boycott mentioned it in the context of choosing an event space for a Kickstarter about cargobikes (Less Car More Go http://www.lizcanning.com/Liz_Canning_Creative/Cargo_Bike_Documentary.html). A man whom I’ve never met defended Velocult (not knowing why I felt the way I did) and offered (as “hyperbole,” he later commented) to buy the staff a drink at a local Strip club to thank them for all the work they do for the community. This was before I’d said anything at all. I would’ve been willing to let it go, but it’s become sort of an issue, my personal one person boycott.
On a related note, I recently read about the distinction between “gallows” humor and “executioner’s” humor, in the context of some recent internet things.
Here’s a wonderfully written explanation from http://modelviewculture.com/pieces/gawking-at-rape-culture:
“In a chapter on “Auschwitz Jokes,” Dundes points out a distinction between “gallows humor” and “executioner’s humor.” “Gallows humor” is told “about and by the victims of oppression.” It helps to relieve tension, and also serves as a way to express fears and address terror through humor. “Executioner’s humor” is a way in which members outside of the gender, ability, sexuality, ethnicity, nationality, or religious group being joked about use the popular form in order to express aggression towards that group.”
When a man is all, “You have a problem with some sexism? Ha ha that’s ridiculous, I’ve never experienced sexism, so much so that I’ll say something sexist as a joke to prove it.” That sexist joke, in response to a complaint about sexism, is not “hyperbole,” it is reasserting the acceptance of the status quo. It’s a doubling down of the Patriarchy.
Facebook being Facebook, things were said. A different woman elegantly argued for my right to express my discomfort, and the owner of the shop said he didn’t want people calling him a “pervert” (a word no one ever typed or uttered until he did). The event was organized and is going to be held at his shop. And that’s good.
In conclusion, I got sexismed (not a word) by a VeloCult book while patronizing Velocult, it made me really upset, I talked about it a bit, then I decided not to go there except for the one time. Then someone brought it up in a comment on a Facebook post, and then it became a thing, and I got more sexism! So I thought I should clarify my position. To be extra clear: My personal one person boycott is doesn’t mean that VeloCult is a terrible, sexist place, it just means that I personally had a bad experience there and do not feel comfortable spending money there (except for that one time I bought a delicious cider).
