I get a lot of DMs. If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram (or, heaven forbid, both), you probably know this, because I post screenshots of them fairly often. Laughing with friends and followers at these messages is a key way I cope with receiving them.
That sounds bad out of context. Normally I would ask for consent before posting someone’s private communiqué to my public social media channels… but I make exceptions for people who choose to disrespect me by crossing stated boundaries, crudely complimenting my tits unprompted, sending me dick pics, etc. My rationale: if they didn’t want to be outed as harassers, they shouldn’t have harassed me. Or anyone. Ever.
But we are in the midst of a global crisis, and crises are like an altered state or an alternate reality. The rules are different; the parameters change. I’ve found myself signing sassy emails to lowballing advertisers with “Hope you’re well!” I’ve politely let telemarketers down instead of tersely hanging up on them. And yes, I have contemplated being nicer to the shitty men – and yes, it is always men – in my DMs.
Not all of them. That’s important to note. The dick pic senders, rape apologists, and misogynist harassers still deserve every inch of ire they get from me.