Hey, Baby? You’re Not A Victim.
HeyBabyGame.com asks, “Ladies, are you sick and tired of catcalling, hollering, obnoxious one-liners and creepy street encounters? Tired of changing your route home to avoid uncomfortable situations? “
Hey Baby is a PC game about unleashing all your pent-up anger and hatred on men that use annoying, out-played, and what some may call inappropriate pick-up lines. Properly made by LadyKillasINC, Hey Baby let’s you run around a neighborhood and AK men in the face, in hopes you won’t be angry anymore.
I have a few things I’d like to get off my breasts. Forgive me, I just wanted to write “breasts.”
Sally is, by common standards, attractive, while Mary-Sue is homely. While Sally says she’s grown tiresome of male attention, Mary-Sue says she’s flattered. Both Sally and Mary-Sue post sexy pictures on Myspace, Facebook, etc., except Mary-Sue is far more appreciative of inappropriate comments. Mary-Sue is compelled to post more. Mary-Sue has never had a boyfriend and Mary-Sue can’t saturate her face with a flattering light in real-life, so Mary-Sue feels in-control this way because Mary-Sue craves the power to reject something she desires.
But your guise is linked more closely to Sally, so you sink further into annoyance. You despise your freedom being encroached upon. The freedom to walk your dog in your neighborhood as non-erogenous as possible. You despise the obligation of returning eye-contact to unknown men parading all over your city. “I get it all the time,” you say. You don’t want the attention, as others more than likely assume you find gratification in mentioning so. It’s an inescapable part of your daily life. You feel dictated by the audacity of a few or more men. They make you feel powerless, impeded.
Remember, you’re Sally. As Sally, being hit-on is realistically a put-down. His comments make you feel insecure, so you unconsciously pull your spaghetti strap just a bit further up your bare shoulder. You pull your sweater down a little longer. As Sally, you feel obligated to create a game called Hey Baby. As Sally, you crave the chance to tip the virtual power scale by unloading a rifle into the face of an inconvenient male. You’d like to think it’s funny and harmless. Your reward? A tombstone with a bigoted pick-up line Sally has encountered over and over. As Sally, you crave the power to reject something you despise.
Then again, maybe you’re Betty–incomparably sexy, outwardly confident, with only a smidgen of self-respect, and a self-proclaimed attentionmonger.
Maybe you’re a less attractive Sally or a more attractive Mary-Sue. Sally and Mary-Sue are nearly interchangeable. Both Sally and Mary-Sue inherently expect and desire a commitment from men they’ve never met before. They expect decency. They expect to be heard. Sometimes, they only expect to be left alone.
I’ll admit it. I consider myself a fairly attractive female. I have long, dark hair. I have big, hazel eyes—props to my Middle-Eastern heritage. I’m fairly voluptuous. It’s nearly impossible for me to get somewhere quietly. Still, I’ve honestly never imagined I’d take the opportunity that Hey Baby provided to me because I’ve never been that angry. Someone else being angry enough to create Hey Baby? Scares me.
I’d never even opt to kid about it. Either way, I disagree with the self-victimization that plagues this game. Why?
Catcalling, usually performed in a moving vehicle or in groups of two or more, is a popular form of ineffective “flirting.” Lucky you. As you somehow manage to garner the attention of a man who cannot surmount the difficulty of creating a proper, introductory statement, you’re probably too uncomfortable or insecure to realize how you possess the ability to smash his poor demonstration of bravado to teeny-weeny pieces. Lucky you. In the very least, he’s saying he’d totally have sex with you. Instead, you ignore him because, hell, it’s more convenient. You rummage through your pockets, pret
ending to look for something. You reach for your cellphone, pretending to text someone. You question if what you’re wearing is too provocative, even if it’s a sweater paired with slacks. You, you, you, you, you. It’s always about poor you.
It’s a hard-knock life for both Sally and Mary-Sue. Except, not really.
The truth is, on some days you’ll catch me as Mary-Sue and other days you’ll swear I was Sally. Tuesday I went to dinner with my skirt reasonably hiked-up and Thursday I browsed the mall in sweatpants. Betty regrettably kicked-in on Saturday because it happened to be the weekend. The only key difference between Betty versus Mary-Sue and Sally is that Betty welcomes the cause and effect relationship between a male stranger and herself. She’s an exaggerated display of a woman who, for better or for worse, is fully aware of the fact that men are capable of being wolves. Instead of feeling uncomfortable like Mary-Sue or Sally, she folds her dress a little higher and smiles.
I’ve seen women moon men in public restaurant windows. I’ve seen women wigwag sexual innuendo from across the street. I’ve seen women catcall men. It isn’t a rarity on a Friday night on Hollywood Boulevard. The thing is, I won’t get angry at a man on Sunday because I’ve decided to adopt the pessimism of Sally on Sunday. Hell, at least this particular brand of man is constant in his behavior. At least you know what to expect.
With that being said, It ultimately doesn’t matter what persona you tend to adopt. This is what separates the normal, horny male species from a man on a power-trip. This is what separates the social implications of a game like Hey, Baby from a game like Rapelay. You are not the victim. He is. He is and he knows it. He’s waiting for you to accept his “foot in the door.” When a man “flirts” with you, hes giving you the power to accept or reject him. You’re just complaining you have this power.
Instead, you create a game like Hey, Baby. Instead, you complain about an inconvenience of social normalcy. Get over yourself. As they say, boys will be boys and men have a better gameplan. As for me, I have more important things to attend to. Like, uh, flossing my cat.