BackNegotiating the Male Spread
A missive on the fundamental differences on how the sexes perceive their rights to physical space in public transport
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Sometimes I can put on a show and be analytical and intellectual about the gender politics of sharing public space. I can have a discourse on historically constructed oppressive paradigms of masculinity and femininity. But this is not one of those times. Today, I’m just a harried commuter who would like my rightful 17 inches of space on this subway seat for which I paid $2.50 (around ₹ 150), dammit. Yes, 17—I took a measuring tape and measured it in the interests of accuracy in journalism.
From the ST buses in Maharashtra to the tube in London to the F Line under the streets of Manhattan, you can spot them: the legs of the human male, spread far and wide, as their owner mashes his sweaty thighs into the shrinking woman sitting next to him, who is edging away and feeling weirdly embarrassed, as if she is the one committing the social solecism.
It’s such a common phenomenon that we’ve all learned to laugh and joke about it, how we squeeze into the smallest possible space, and how we assert ourselves, or not. Too often we remain standing rather than confront someone shamelessly sprawling across three seats. It all becomes a complicated calculus of much more than gender: in the underground cauldron of the New York City subway, race, class, age and size are all in the mix. I know a white woman, for instance, who will shove a white man if he’s in her space, but not a black woman. We all make judgement calls as the dreaded Maw of the Male opens up next to us and flattens us against the wall. Should I hint by putting pressure on his legs? Should I push my bag between us? Should I say something? Poke him? Does he seem deranged enough that I should get up and move because if he sees me looking at him he’ll whip out a knife and stab me?
Sometimes, while I’m silently steaming about the insensitive, clueless guy taking up half my seat, I indulge in pleasant homicidal fantasies involving superpowers and dramatic dismemberments. Sometimes I make up snide remarks in my head. I want to say: “Excuse me, sir. I’m sorry whatever you have in your trousers is so small and delicate that you’re afraid to crush it. Don’t worry, size isn’t everything." But what I do say, like the wimp I am, is, “Excuse me, could you move, please?"
Am I a coward or am I polite? I believe in manners, but sometimes I wonder if we substitute them for integrity.
My one moment of triumph was the time the man next to me, who was not particularly large and could easily have fit into his own seat, was practically in my lap, and I turned to him and whispered fiercely, “There’s ringworm in my daughter’s school!" I got my seat back mighty fast. But usually I just try a few discreet (Why? Why discreet? I still don’t understand why the “impingee" feels awkward while the “impinger" just spreads wide and gets comfortable) shoves, delicately balanced so he feels it but doesn’t think I’m making a pass at him.
Americans are getting bigger. Railway and bus companies are considering bigger seats for our bigger bottoms. We’re getting bigger, and in the winter, we’re bigger than ever in our puffy parkas and snow boots. But even if the seats are too small, why is it that when I look around me, I see many more men taking up more space than they’re allotted, and way too many women inching disgustedly away on one side and trying not to spill over on to the other?
I know I’m whining but I’m not the only one. There’s even a Tumblr blog called Mentakingup2muchspaceonthe-train, which, while a delightful idea, is actually a bit unfair: many of the pictures on it are of men who really aren’t impinging on anyone’s space. I’m all for some righteous indignation but let’s keep some focus here, ladies…no point getting carried away and loathing every man in every seat in every train or bus just for existing.
Because men, too, suffer from Male Spread. Male friends have told me that when they’re on the subway and another man sits next to them and opens the Jaws of Life, they are often too intimidated to say anything for fear of an unpleasant testosterone-fest. I asked my brother what he does when the guy next to him on the train moves into his real estate and his answer was succinct: “It depends on how big he is and how scary he looks." Words to live by.
Last week, on the downtown M train, I was interested to see the two men across from me. One opened his legs wide, giving me a charming view of his crotch, and crowded out the other, who clearly noticed but didn’t say anything. I gave the crowded one a sympathetic look—one New Yorker bonding with another. He promptly got up, crossed the aisle, sat next to me, and spread his legs so that I had to move mine. Will the outrage never end?
I know men aren’t the only ones with Seat Invasion issues. Yes, women can be totally obnoxious. But there are fundamental differences in how the sexes perceive their rights to physical space. This is where I could go into the discourse about gender politics and paradigms. But I don’t feel like it. I’d rather stew and think up brilliant witticisms that I’ll never actually say. Maybe I’ll talk about women taking up too much space another time, and maybe I won’t. If that’s what gets you going, feel free to write your own column. Get out of my space!
Sohaila Abdulali is a New York-based writer. She writes a fortnightly column on women in the 21st century.
Also Read | Sohaila’s previous Lounge columns
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