The door opens and there you are again. Standing in front of me as if nothing had happened. How unerringly you reach for my coat hanger! So, you do know where to find me. I no longer believed it. You haven not looked at me for weeks. Always just your office clothes, white blouses, pants with creases, long sleeves, boring, not a single cut-out, nothing knee-length.

But today you need me, I can see it in your face, you're so overdue! You have worked hard, done your best, made an effort to finance your little life - and now you want to celebrate. The only problem: you do not dare go anywhere without me. Your everyday life is off limits to me. You would not even wear me to the gym, I am not even good enough to soak up your sweat. But tonight, I must go again. Actually, I should be offended.

It was not love at first sight between us. You don’t really like me, do you? Even the beginning of our story: your ex forgot me at your place. You did not spend a penny on me. “The old rag will do for a Subway shirt.” Your words, remember?

What I feel for you is far more complicated: when I look at you, my mouth waters. Everything shines and glistens, smells and crackles, from the ends of your hair to your eyelids and cheekbones, your silver fingernails, all your shiny skin, your belly button piercing, your glowing mouth, your half-naked thighs and upper arms, your long neck, your cleavage, your hair, your legs. You have made yourself beautiful and want to show off every inch of you, in an off-the-shoulder top, mini skirt and micro shorts. You and your kind always claim that you are only doing it for yourselves. I do not believe you, you little thing. You're after it, you want to know, you want to spin on the dance floor in the clubs, half-naked, standing at the bar, strolling through the warm summer streets with your girlfriends, being seen.

My job is to accompany you safely to these locations. You put me on, a frock, a bag, as soon as you go to the underground, the tube, the subway, the metro. I am not allowed to make you shine. To become invisible through me, to hide everything that makes you you, that is your goal - your festive mood, your independence, your happiness, your body that wants nothing more than to dance, drink and party. You will get from A to B with me, as unmolested as possible, too inconspicuous, too ugly to be approached.

Once you have reached your destination, I become a piece of trash to be used and thrown on the floor. You show me where my place is. When I think of all the places you've already left me... When was the last time I was washed? Ironed? Stuffed the hole in my armpit? You want to cover yourself up because you can't stand them, the looks, the words, the gestures, the moving in on you, the grabbing and stalking, preferably in a horde as they encircle you, line up around you, whisper in your ear.

Your way out of this misery is me. You think you are creative and clever because you have come up with this idea of wearing a shirt that's far too big over your going-out clothes, because you no longer dare to go out on the street as you are, in all your beauty. In all your nakedness. In all your cheekiness. You are afraid, maybe even a little ashamed. You do not want strangers to touch you and stare at you, to tell you what they think of your appearance. That's why you chose me, for your protection.

You probably have a sense of who I really am, deep down inside. That is why you treat me so badly. Who do you think you have brought into your closet with me? You think I mean well, help you get to safety? But you have slipped into the wrong tent, put yourself under the umbrella of the wrong person, crawled into the wrong hole. Do you actually know what we call you? I can recite our alphabet to you:

Alte Sau 

Bitch 

Corpsmatratze 

Dreilochstute 

Emanze 

Feminazi 

Geile Maus 

Hure 

Irre 

Kackschlampe 

Luder 

Möse 

Nutte 

Ökoschlunze 

Pissnelke 

Qualle 

Rabenaas 

Schnalle 

Tussi 

Urschel 

Vogelscheuche 

Wanderpokal 

Xanthippe 

Zimtzicke

Just who do you think you are? One of us?

I am not your protector. To be honest, I want to do other things to you than cover you up.

I would prefer to be your Nessus robe. I want your oiled flesh to decompose under my poisoned fibres like the flesh of Heracles you have never heard of. I want to see you in tatters. Hanging in pieces. Strip them off you like an old sticker.  

Peel you like a hot potato. I want you to burn like the women at the stake, I want to finish you off, cover you like earth covers a coffin, so that you become invisible and silent, full of fear, headless and obedient, because that is exactly how we want you.

 

My protection is not real.

On the phenomenon of the subway shirt, see Wikipedia on this keyword and Jasmin Gnu on YouTube “Subway Girls gegen Belästigung sind kein Empowerment!”