I used to wake up early on Sunday mornings to play pickup basketball with a group of 30-something men in Pittsburgh. This ‘over-thirty’ game comprised a collection of largely successful men still young enough to move without creaking, but old enough to show up to a gym knowing teenage phenoms and college-age athletes were not welcome.
For months, as a 39-year-old, short Jewish guy, nothing about me really stood out. That is, until I brought my wife’s pink water bottle after misplacing my own. Suddenly, I was noticed.
Taking a swig before our first game, one guy sarcastically said, “Nice bottle,” while lacing up his neon-green Nikes. It was the first word he’d ever spoken to me. I wasn’t amused.
“Where’d you get that thing?” asked another man as teams were being chosen, tipped off by the sudden conversation.
“At the store,” I replied, surprised by such clear and overt machismo in response to nothing more than a color from this group of 30-something business men.
When, after several games, a third man during a break in the action said, “You need to get rid of that thing,” I knew that I would not be returning to play with these guys.
–§–
After the game, I told my wife about what had occurred, and she encouraged me to keep the bottle, to carry it with me at all times as a defiant, yet subtle, display of opposition to our culture of male domination and machismo.
But there was another reason for her suggestion: I teach elementary and middle school. She thought that carrying the bottle could create occasions to, as an educator, combat those male stereotypes with which my students are being bombarded on a daily basis.
These cultural pressures for males to be dominant, aggressive and tough not only place destructive pressures on young boys, but have tragic implications for women: One out of every six American women have been the victim of an attempted or completed rape, and someone in this country is sexually assaulted every two minutes.
I agreed. The bottle was now mine.
–§–
I made sure to place the bottle prominently on my desk each morning, and to carry it around with me, along with my coffee mug, when traveling around the building.
Remarkably, it didn’t take long for the first conversation to be sparked. On Monday morning, only 30 minutes into the school day, a 5th grade boy looked at the bottle in homeroom and asked, “Why do you have a pink water bottle?”
I smiled. “Why shouldn’t I have a pink water bottle?”
“Because pink is for girls,” he replied, laughing.
“No it’s not. I love pink.”
“You like pink?”
“Yeah – it’s a cool color. Stands out. Looks good with black.”
He paused, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away, then walked back. “With black?” he asked.
“And brown.”
He thought about this as I held the bottle up against the black backdrop of the bulletin board behind me. “Would make good colors for a football team, eh?”
He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t say no.
–§–
I’ve been carrying this bottle around with me for so long now that I myself have come to forget that it’s (remarkably) an unusual site. Which is why I’m always surprised when someone makes a comment about it in public, as happens on occasion. In fact, it happened this morning, hiking through our local park to the coffee shop where I’m now sitting, writing this piece. Carrying it in an outside pocket of my backpack, a group of high school students ran by, likely associated with a sports team. As they passed, one yelled out, “Nice fucking bottle” as the others laughed in the distance.
I cupped my hands and yelled back, “Thanks!”
One of the boys turned his head briefly as he passed to give me a look of surprise. I nodded, and he smiled.
It wasn’t a smile of amusement, nor a smile of disdain. It seemed to be a smile of both recognition and thanks. For what, I cannot say. But in that smile, I felt an inkling of rebellion, of not accepting what we’re told to believe.
A smile that said, Forget those other guys.
Only, it’s those other guys who we must remember as we combat, each in our own ways, those male expectations of machismo that cause so much pain.
For me, it’s carrying a pink water bottle.
–§–
David Harris-Gershon is author of the memoirWhat Do You Buy the Children of the Terrorist Who Tried to Kill Your Wife?, now out from Oneworld Publications.
Follow him on Twitter@David_EHG.
Oh David, you’re so heroic! Your stoic story brings tears to my eyes! I’m trembling!
Please, buy some toys for the children of these mean men, and then write a book about the existential crisis involved!
No matter what else happens, please know that you’ll always have Greta Berlin behind you!
I bought a nylon rain jacket with a purple underlining because it was reduced 50 percent. When I wore it with the purple exposed I encountered the same derision. I wondered if there was a way to reduce the derision but didn’t have the time or commitment to explore it. We need to encounter these superficial judgments, not ignore them. Thanks.
I love this piece. It inspired me to write a response. Hope you enjoy.
http://sandiegofreepress.org/2013/10/i-will-never-use-a-pink-water-bottle/
The next book, perhaps? What do you get for the dudebro who tried to make fun of your water bottle?
Ironically, here’s an interesting question: where would you rather be caught as a man with a hot pink water bottle – Israel or among those paragons of the left Hamas (according to Judith Butler)?
Actually, this piece inspired me. The next time I’m down at the local watering hole I’m going to sanuter up to the bar and proudly order that appletini. In face, appletinis all around.
Thankyou for doing your part in this male stereotyping nonsense… I work with abusive men and they always have difficulty with the stereotype of the sensitive new age guy who wears pink shirts, and blue ties…It is also so important that you as a male keep this protest like straight people who wear rainbows… a great piece and thanks for the support.
I have a pink phone cover, it illicit’s the same response. Street fashion here has become predominantly sports casual very dark n dull so I’ve also acquired a more challenging wardrobe, not cross dressing per se but Breeks or shemagh. my objective is to constantly challenge the embedded views in the northern working class town I now live in. That and be a more interesting piece of street furniture. I recently became a dinner lady, the kind that stands in the Yard keeping order, it’s a great place to continue the fight for the acceptance of diversity. “you’re phone’s for girls” “well maybe I want to be like a girl, I think you’ll find I have every right to do so.”
My father absolutely refused to use a pink plate. If I’d make dinner and present it to him on a pink plate (we have three pinks and three blues), he would request the other one.
Any guy whose sexuality/masculinity is challenged by the color pink doesn’t have much to begin with.