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I have seen multiple confessions on my school's confessions page victim-blaming and slut-shaming women who have been sexually assaulted. These attacks are often 'justified' by the 'promiscuous clothing' the victims wore. Seeing these posts has made me incredibly disappointed in the people writing these confessions and the people liking them (some of which are my friends).
When I was 14 I met a guy in my class that I ended up liking. A shared friend of ours told me that he wanted to hang out with me more and gave me his number. We talked for a while and we were planning on smoking weed together (my first time) and I suggested going to a park. He was insistent on going to my house, and eventually, I said okay. I was just so desperate to like him. I accidentally fell asleep and woke up to sixteen missed calls from him, but he angrily agreed to still meet. When he got to my house, he claimed that he already smoked an entire joint and told me to smoke the one he handed me. I had never gotten high before and trusted him when I smoked the entire thing. I had stolen some of my parent's liquor and I had my very first sip of alcohol. It was disgusting and I told him that I didn't want to have anymore but he kept egging me on. I don't recall how much I had, but I don't remember him having any. I heard my dad wake up and told him to leave and he did. I was completely crossed and remember flashes of him asking if he should come back and me saying yes. The next thing I remember is he and I making out and it tasting like a fucking microwave burrito. After that, all I remember is A LOT of pain *down there* and then him leaving when he accidentally turned a light on. He told all of his friends and random people that I didn't know that we had had sex. My parents eventually found out and blamed me for it. I know I shouldn't have invited a boy over when they didn't know, but the slut-shaming didn't cease for several months. I started wearing more revealing clothes as a way to try to change who I was. When I came here, I've had my FAIR share of hookups and my friends, the guys especially, have repeatedly teased me about this. I always thought that my school was an accepting place, and while I love a lot of the people I've met here, those comments really hurt. Those same friends like posts similar to the ones I mentioned above. To this day, I physically can't have penetrative sex and I can't help but feel broken, especially when I tell the guys that and see the reaction on their faces. I'm not sure if it has to do with that night, but I just wanted to say it sucks. It sucks that assault still happens and it sucks that women have to deal with derogatory comments and it sucks that people are more focused on "what she was wearing." I'm just tired. While being in this support group has helped me process the incident, I’d be lying if I said I’ve completely processed it. Part of me still blames myself and believes I should have known better. Between what that boy told everyone in school, my parent’s values, and the posts that I saw, I can't help but feel disgusted. -- Anonymous in Berkeley, California It started my first year of middle school. I dressed differently than others and I had different interests. People branded me as "emo" and "goth". After that started, people would make fun of me, ask to see my cuts (I wasn't even cutting), told me I was a psycho. It was annoying and aggravating. I was sent to the counselor to 'talk about my problems' because people would say I was suicidal. If it wasn't the counselor it was the principal. I got called to the office once because someone said they saw me with a blade (I didn't have one) and my principal didn't believe me. He let me go though, saying if I got caught with one it'd be considered a weapon. Things lasted all year, then I got a boyfriend. Things dialed down a little bit after that. He later told me he only got with me to see if he could change that way I was, he failed to do so and broke up with me. That summer my parents found a page I had made on suicide and self harm. That was a long talk, then they saw it on my wrist. I said it was the dog and they believed me. Told me that they could send me to a hospital to get help. I didn't wanna go, I answered no to all of their questions. The next year, I started losing everyone. My best friend had a new group of best friends, I felt secluded from my volleyball team (I play a lot of sports at school), my parents started living separately again, I felt alone. I've never been good at telling people my feelings. So, I didn't like to tell my parents what was going on. That same year I would still get called the labels, but they just kept seeming to add up. They'd call me a slut, whore, bitch, asshole, basically every name you can think of. People would carve mean things in the bathroom stalls like "[my name] is a emo fag that should die," "[my name] is a asshole," "[my name] should just kill herself." I would hate it so much. I didn't know what to do, so I reported it cause it was so much, they told my parents. It seemed to never end. After that people would pass rumors about me and guys at school would try to touch me. I gave up on reporting any of it cause it didn't stop anyone. It was here, in middle school when I started self harm and planned an attempt. I felt so lost with no idea what to do. School staff didn't do much, I was always in the counselor office cause people kept saying I was crazy and suicidal. They never found out about my scars or cuts, I hid them or lied. My new friend talked me out of all my bad thoughts. This year I'm in eighth grade. Nothing has changed. I still have the labels and names, and school just barely started a month ago. They never got my name off the bathroom door. I still do what I do even though I shouldn't. I keep everything hidden, I'm my own secret. People need to know, their words can hurt someone. Maybe they don't realize it, but they do. Not everyone survives, not everyone finds a cure. Do not let people label you, you are not defined by what people think you are. Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit Door of Hope 4 Teens and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
When I was in high school I was called a slut because I told my boyfriend at the time "no." That Monday, I was a "slut" and had slept with the entire football team. I was a virgin at the time. A guy I went to school with found out where I lived and broke into my house and raped me when I was 15 years old. After that, I would carve the word "slut" into my arm. My family also calls me a slut because I want to wear short skirts, swim suits, or shorts. I try to laugh it off but it is impossible. I have such self esteem issues it's not funny. I cut myself because my own family calls me a slut and a whore. They have gone so far as to ask what corner I was working. I am 21 years old with a son and I am still getting called a slut. - Candace Stoneking
I am no stranger to the word "slut". People have called me it before when the word never bothered me, not knowing what it meant. My sister has called me a slut before and causally blames "sluts" for everyday problems. But the reason why I am writing this isn't about me, but about people making "silly" jokes about this term. In 7th grade I had already been dealing with problems of my own, making me shy, henceforth nobody listening to me. Which I thought was fine in the beginning. It was only whispers from the guys across the room so I thought it would blow over. Boy was I wrong! Only a little time passed before this boy (who shall remain nameless) decided to push me over the fence, and into the water below when he told a good friend of mine as he pointed to a girl wearing a skirt, "If she wears a short skirt, she is asking for it!" That sentence will forever be in my memory as the day I started to take it all seriously. I tried to speak up from that day on about everything that happened, but as always I am the the shy one, the one nobody listens to so I am never heard at all. There was one thing I could have done and I suggest to anyone reading this, tell an adult and make sure they are aware of everything going on. Once I told my teacher the kids who made the jokes got in trouble and I was moved from the boy that made the comment's class. I am now making friends and I am feeling better about who I am. - Raven
Nearly every day of my life, I was a freak. I am/was super tall, I tower over everybody and scare people without meaning to. They say I don't scare them, but then they distance themselves and suddenly I'm alone. That also gained me some enemies, because I used to be used as a shield, someone people could go to if they had a problem with somebody. I dealt with them as nicely as I could, but even then they took everything I said the wrong way. I even angered my used-to-be-best friend, and that's when it started. She had more than half of the whole grade as her groupies, and she spread rumours. They reached my friends, and suddenly they didn't want to be around the clumsy monster. She called me a slut and a few other choice words one day. It's stuck with me ever since. Every time I wear a dress, skirt, tank top, etc. I hear the girl's voice in my head whispering that one word. I wear huge sweaters and jeans, even in the summer, because if I don't I feel like I'm naked, like I have no more armour. Because of that one, small word. My life had been downhill from there, but this year I've noticed I'm climbing back up the slope. I've worn a T-shirt without a sweater for the first time in nearly two years. Small, I know. Laughable, okay. But it's huge for me. Slut shaming needs to stop. It doesn't matter what clothes someone wears, how much makeup they put on, their sexuality, or how many people they sleep with. Because that one little word can ruin a good portion of someone's life.
In 10th grade four girls all beat me up at the same time because of a boy. Apparently, he liked me because I was nothing but a slut. This torment went on for most of the year with them calling me names. Every time I would wear anything they considered "slutty" they would taunt me to the point that I would go home crying. By the end of the year I was so ashamed of myself and worried about being a slut that I started skipping school and my classwork stopped being important. I was so focused on whether or not other people thought I was a slut that everything else came in second. I have tons of stories about this. I try to write about them honestly on my blog, and I find that I still struggle with this self image. - Rhonda Hartman
When I was 11, I started to experiment with make-up at school due to the images of females I grew up with by watching movies, TV and reading in magazines. It started with a little dab of eye shadow, some lip gloss and wearing a tank top (in the summer). I was quickly called a slut and a whore; yet I had never even kissed a boy! Let me tell you, it was confusing and hurtful for my 11 year old self to put together. Kids can be incredibly mean, nasty and terrorizing. I was simply a preteen wearing things I saw on TV and in magazines, yet I was shamed, humiliated and degraded by my peers. It was also my first taste to cyber-bullying back in 2000 with nasty, and threatening e-mails from an e-mail '[email protected]', I still remember how scared, shocked and hurt I was and how the 'lead' bully called me a 'horr' because she could not properly spell whore. These experiences have turned me into an advocate against bullying. In university I volunteered for a on-campus group and taught an in-school children's conflict resolution and anti-bullying group and I also mentored a group of at risk preteens in an after-school program. - Laura Scott
Does the world really see me, the girl who hasn't even had a first kiss at 14, as a slut?10/17/2019
At my school a lot of the girls wear shorts and tank tops. Some people I know would call them sluts including my best friend. I personally didn't care, so I never gave it much thought till eighth grade summer, me and my friends were all going to different high schools, and I started wearing spaghetti strap shirts, and thought corset shirts were cool as long as they didn't show your breast line. I always hated shorts, but I started liking boots with heels. My best friend considers girls with heels and corset tops sluts, which is why I'm afraid of wearing heels and corset tops, because I don't want to be called a slut. I also tried shorts and they were quite comfortable. The reason I like these clothes is because they're comfortable, not to show my body. As a matter of fact I feel uncomfortable showing skin, and have worn jeans 90% of my life. I have very little self confidence, and am trying to become confident. And whenever I wear tank tops my friends' eyes widen like if it's wrong. Are they being too uptight, or does the world really see me, the girl who hasn't even had a first kiss at 14, as a slut? Like seriously I haven't even had my first boyfriend.
In 6th grade, I was bullied. I was bullied because I was quiet, nice, my pants and shirt weren't tight enough, and because I wasn't like the other girls. The 7th graders were big and mean and very sexually active. I got into the cheer squad and I was the flyer because I was smaller. The 8th graders were mad. At one point I had to quit because practices ran late. The girls spread a rumor that I quit because I got pregnant. Eventually the rumor died two days later, because some 8th grade girl had sex and her little brother, who is in my grade, video taped them. The video was spread from social studies, when he got caught and the teacher took away the phone and she accidentally sent it to the first 10 recipients in the contact list. By the first lunch, every 6th grader had the sex video on their phone. And by the end of the day every student had it playing on their phone. They made fun of the girl until she left the school. The next year a few of my peers who were in the same grade as me, who were making fun of the girl, got pregnant. Half of the cheer squad got pregnant because they were trying to support their friend and it became a trend. In my 8th grade year, I wasn't in the school anymore, but this girl liked to wear crop tops and revealing clothing. The whole grade made fun of her but she never knew, including her friends. I felt bad for her until she made fun of me and my friends so we joined the group of people that made fun of her and continued the trend. We added the word "whore" to her last name - since it was Harrison, we called her "Whorison". But now there is a new trend, you're a "THOT" if you let him go to second base, or if you have too many boyfriends. I see another victim because there is always going to be another victim, but I feel TERRIBLE for making fun of that girl and giving her that nickname. Even though she doesn't know, it was wrong of me and everyone else and I got my friends to stop. Bottom line, bullying is not cool even if you feel the person deserves it.
I fancied this guy despite the fact I hardly knew him (let's call him Lee). Okay, so me and Lee dated 3 times within a month. Lee was a charming guy who was decent enough looking. A month after we first went out, he started taking a sexual interest in me, but we weren't together at this point. I thought we loved each other, but months later I notice it was an unrequited love. Lee started asking me for sex and nudes, and he told a lot of his mates. I told my other guy friend (let's call him Jon). I had previously dated Jon twice before Lee. Jon then started taking an interest in me. We dated for a short while and I dumped him. A month later, me and Lee had fallen out. Whilst I was walking alone, Jon greeted me with a hug. He then squeezed my breast, I was disgusted by his behaviour. So I walked off and told him to f*ck off. He didn't. He then ran up behind me and did it again. I repeated my words and started walking faster, he then hit my arse. He did this in front of his friends. A couple days after the incident, he then asked me for sex and pictures. He said, "It'll just be two best friends losing their virginity to each other" - we're both 12. He also said "I'll be a good shag". I then dated another guy (he shall be called Joe). Joe was in the year above me. 2 hours into the relationship, he asked me for sex. I dumped him. At the minute, I am dating one of Lee's best mates (let's call him Declan). I hardly talked to Declan before we got together, unless I was dating Lee. Declan is now asking for sex. My parents found my messages with Lee and they are threatening to send me back to my home country. I really don't want to move, and it isn't my fault these guys took an interest in me. But the boys will say it was all my fault; my clothing provoked them, I've got a nice 'pair', I mentioned sex. I told my closest friend (say she's called Rosie). Rosie said that guys would start calling me a slag/slut/whore/hoe/etc. and maybe girls as well because of my actions. I used to self harm whenever stuff like this happened, and I've been clean for 31 days, but it all seems worthless. I don't know what to do, and I feel as if I've disappointed my parents and that I'm just a low life slut. Sometimes I think it's my fault, because I didn't stop Lee from talking about sex, I didn't stop Jon from touching me under the table during lessons and that started the things with Declan and Joe. Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately, regarding your concerns about self-harm. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
Eventually they caused me so much hurt it wasn't worth continuing the friendship anymore.10/11/2019
When I was around 15, I used to wear this little tartan skirt that I really adored and I wore it on many occasions out in public without any comments from anyone. Until I went out with my two best friends who deemed it too "inappropriate" to be seen in public and said that I wasn't allowed to wear it again with them around, because they were too ashamed to be friends with a girl in a "slut" skirt. This behaviour continued on many occasions with different clothing and attitudes that I had towards sexuality. Eventually they caused me so much hurt it wasn't worth continuing the friendship anymore.
High school sucks. That sounds so cliche, I know and I apologise for that, but it's so true. I could rephrase that to say it sucks to be a teenage girl. Everything about you is sexualised. You're either a slut or a prude and there's no in between. I'm 17 years old and a senior in high school. Although like a lot of girls, I am interested in men, I can't stand this objectification thing that every teenage girl is forced to go through. I was lucky enough to be blessed with really nice boobs. I know that sounds weird, but hey, I think they're pretty great. But until this year, I was so insecure about my body, particularly my breasts, because I was so paranoid about men staring at me and giving me super sexual looks. No girl, whether young or old, should be insecure about her body because she is afraid that a man might try to take advantage of her. I decide to wear a baggy shirt and I'm a frigid bitch. If I wear a tight tank top because hey, I should be able to, I'm a slut and need to cover up. Why is it okay for my classmates to call me a slut because I decide to wear shorts and a tight T-shirt? If I talk about wanting to have sex with someone, why is that a sin, but if any guy talks about it it's normal? Or here's my favourite... When a guy shows he's interested but he grosses you out or you just don't want to go out with him, he can call you a bitch or a slut and it's totally okay. What is wrong with a woman's choice to say yes or no? She says yes and she's a tramp who sleeps with everyone and should be stopped. But if she says no, she's a horrible bitch who hates dudes. I keep hoping that once I leave high school people will stop calling me a slut for what I wear or what I don't wear, but I know they won't because that's how the world is. That's why I need The UnSlut Project. I want to be able to say yes or no and not have that decision picked apart or judged by people whose opinions don't matter. I don't know. It sucks.
I'm just like any other girl in this world. I liked boys and loved wearing various kinds of dresses. But when many boys in my school started proposing to me to be their girl friends, I did, as I was just 13 years old and thought that having a boyfriend would make me popular. Boy after boy dumped me. Every girl in my school was jealous because of my popularity (as far as I thought). I don't know, maybe because of that, I changed. My dressing style, the way I walked and all. Girls started calling me a 'prostitute' and a 'slut'. Most of them spread rumours about me. They always commented about how I used to act. It's been two years since then and now I'm out from it. They still think of me as a 'slut' even if I never kissed anybody, let alone had sexual intercourse with any boy. The rumours have come down. People respect me now. I've got new friends. Maybe they don't support me but they still stay with me and respect me. I really appreciate your effort of starting a project against slut shaming.
This project is so inspiring, and very important. Thank you!! I’d like to contribute by sharing my story. I’ve also had to deal with slut shaming culture for a very long time now. Like so many other shared stories I’ve read, it started in the 6th grade. I was going through a lot then… my grandfather, who was a father figure to me, had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I was struggling with my sexual identity. Kids relentlessly and sometimes violently bullied me for being the “weird kid” because I was a poor, non-Christian of an ambiguous racial background whose clothes were home-made or hand-me-downs, and who was interested in unpopular things like books, art and history. Unsurprisingly, I became severely depressed.
Within the school culture I had to endure, girls’ entire self-worth came from how popular they were, how nice their clothing was, how pretty they were, and whether or not they had a boyfriend. That’s all anyone talked or cared about. No one thought I was pretty (at least, most kids told me I was ugly or bullied me about my looks). I was not popular. My clothes as I’ve mentioned were home-made monstrosities, and despite pretending to be boy-crazy, dating secretly terrified me. My self esteem was so low I briefly started dating a boy though I found him completely revolting, and even kissed him (my first kiss! Oh the horror!) because I thought I could never do better and that I was lucky to have a boy be interested in me at all. Ironically once word had spread that I actually kissed him, instead of becoming more popular I became the slutty freak who actually made out with [the boy]! The next year my grandfather died. I was the pariah of the 7th grade… very few except a handful of other social outcasts like me ever acknowledged my existence, unless it was to insult me. But with his death came perspective. Suddenly none if them mattered. I started to rebel against the stifling and impossible expectations of my peers. Thanks to the internet, I found goth, punk, and metal, which were all grouped together in my mind as being anti-conformist avenues of personal expression that gave me a sense of belonging and support through very dark times. Finding alternative subculture quite literally saved my life, but as I got into high school it sometimes became a weapon aimed at my own dignity. My family and I moved after my grandfather’s death, and I transferred to a new school system. High school was a bit kinder to me than middle school had been, at least on the surface. I had started dressing goth, which often includes very provocative pieces like corsets, fishnet, and vampy dresses (mostly home-made or re-vamped with my improved tailoring skills, thank you very much!), so I went from being the “weird girl” to the “hot weird girl” who everyone was afraid would put a spell on them. I was no longer shoved around and kids no longer chanted horrible names. By that time I was no longer desperate to give the impression I liked boys, but that didn’t stop boys from trying to befriend me in hopes of getting lucky. At the time I smoked pot, and I had a “friend”, we’ll call him M.J., who would come over and we’d smoke, have a laugh, but nothing more. He started telling other guys he had slept with me. When I found out, I was livid. Not everyone believed my refutes, and rumors about what a “freak” i was in bed as well as in garb started to circulate. I remember distinctly a school clique in which the girls were very rude to me, and the guys very friendly at first. But one day one of the guys actually flashed me. I was horrified. I found out through the grapevine that the guys, who said extremely disrespectful things about me behind my back, had tried being friendly because they thought “goth girls are freaks in bed”. Apparently, they also thought flashing their genitals at me was a great way of “being friendly” and would send me running in their direction. Or maybe flashing their little bits was actually man-speak for “gosh, I think you’re swell”, I don’t know. Of course their girlfriends were both resentful of and disgusted by their boyfriends. But instead of directing their disapproval at the guys for being pigs, I was their target! I wasn’t even safe from the bullsh*t at home. I lived with my grandmother, aunt, her boyfriend, and their two children. My aunt’s boyfriend came on to me one night. His pick up line revolved around the way I dressed, and started with, “All those outfits you wear, you must be really popular with the guys, huh?” After I gave him a resounding “F*ck no”, I asked him, “What makes you think it’s ok to even ask?!” and he responded: “Well I just thought, with…” which came with a palm-up, up-and-down hand gesture aimed at me before he stopped himself and asked, with a sigh of frustration, “You’re not going to tell [my aunt] about this, are you?” The irony in all this is that I’m a lesbian. Not a lesbian as in kinky-lesbian-vampire that is the object of guys erotic fantasies, but lesbian as in super-queer, hell-no-you-cannot-watch, L-word-reruns-on-Saturday-night-with-my-partner-and-our-cat type of dyke. My clothes were the bandages that healed the wounds of my grandfather’s death, and the armor that shielded me from the pain of social rejection. They certainly were not invitations for sex with men, and even if I was dressing to get the attention of men, the complete disrespect I was subjected to by both genders is inexcusable. When I was beaten up and bullied, I never said anything. When I was flashed and sexually harassed, I never said anything. I also never said anything to my aunt about her creep boyfriend’s advances for fear of hurting her and causing trouble at home (he ended up assaulting her, and she kicked him out. Real piece of work, that guy). My greatest regret in life is my silence through all of this. I should have spoken out, but I was just a terrified girl who had gone through hell and back. But I’m not going to be silent any more. I hope sharing this story will contribute to fighting this disease of slut shaming and sexual violence/harassment that is most young girls’ realities. I was slut shamed in high school by my principal. I was forced to miss classes for the day because my bra straps were visible through my (long-sleeved, ruffle-front) shirt. He made me leave the building and go home even though I didn’t have a ride since both of my parents work. I had to walk home, alone, in the rain, and miss classes for the day all because my bra straps could be seen through my shirt. Meanwhile, all the guys could go shirtless if they chose because it was “gym attire.”
I love reading your diary because it makes me really grateful of the safe environment I am in at my school. Where I used to go, I was being sexually harassed all the time. Everyone was calling me a slut and assumed I wanted things that I really didn’t just because of the way I dressed. It got so bad that I transferred to a school that didn’t tolerate any slut-shaming, and I am so happy that I can once again be a kid and not have to worry about things I shouldn’t.
I was promiscuous in searching for positive attention, which of course led to more bullying.10/9/2019
In middle school I was harassed for wearing a strapless bra that slid down, so I was called “saggy tits.” Boys also used degrading phrases such as “beef curtains” and “stinky pinky,” and the girls were even worse with the “slut” comments. After being degraded and made to feel insecure about my appearance and whole new sexuality, in retrospect it makes perfect sense why I actually was a little promiscuous in searching for positive attention in this area, which of course led to more “slut/whore” bullying.
In my school, girls are constantly belittled for wearing revealing clothing. My history teacher actually keeps a collection of old T-shirts that she will force her students to wear if they do not adhere to the dress code. She often jokes about her 10th grade students looking like strippers, which they don’t. (Even if they did, it’s not her decision what they put on [or don’t put on] their bodies.) It’s time for me to stand up against this sexist crap.
In 6th grade, I struggled with math. My teacher wasn’t someone I could feel comfortable talking to. He had a substitute in very often, Mr. B. Mr. B would go around to all of the girls while we were working and press himself against us, put his hand on our bra straps, and look down our shirts if he had the chance. We told our teacher, and he snapped at us and said we all dressed like sluts and how dare we say that about Mr. B. Mr. B was arrested 4 years later for molesting a 12 year old boy.
My first slut experience was when my best guy friend told me that my best girlfriend was now calling me a slut. He had left school permanently because of emotional trauma but still kept in touch with us every week. And then she had stayed a back a year because of physical health issues. I started experimenting with clothing, short dresses and style and my love of Delia’s led her to call me a slut. And she ignored me for the rest of high-school.
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