The most vocal city I have ever been to was Appleton. In Appleton, people did not understand the separation between your life and their life. They did not understand that not everything that was your business was their business. They thought it was their right, probably actually their duty, to comment on every single thing about you that they could see, like your hair, your clothes, your general appearance, your bike - everything. Generally, they did this by whistling or making other repulsive noises at you. Once a police officer yelled at me to get off my bike, which caused me to fall off of it, so mission accomplished. The good thing about Appleton was that eventually I got to go back to Lawrence, where people didn't say things to me unless they knew me, and even though most of them did, they all understood that I didn't care. In Milwaukee, the there seems to be an endless stream of people who must think that there is some sort of sign taped to my back asking their opinion of me.
Since I have moved to Milwaukee, I have had three people ask me variations of a question about the authenticity of my hair. I mean, they have asked me if my hair is real. Or if it is a weave. Or where I "got it." Or what I am going to "do with all of it." I don't really know what compels people to feel the need to ask this question, or to believe that it is appropriate in any way. I can't really imagine feeling the need to confirm the authenticity of anyone else's body parts, unless our relationship was in stages to become more intimate, and the knowledge could become beneficial or at least useful. I suppose it could be worse - there are a host of body parts they could call in to question, and I guess some that aren't so real at this point. But STILL. My hair is like the nicest part of me; are you saying you don't really believe it's possible for me to have something this nice? Probably not because you are homeless. (To be fair, only one of the people who asked me this was homeless. The other was on his way to the courthouse, and not to work, and the other probably didn't mean it.)
I also have heard a fair number of people loudly refer to me as "Lil Mama" as I bike past, which is something I have very consciously done my best to prevent becoming in recent years, and as a result, I would really appreciate if they refrained from calling me that.
