Catcalls don’t work, so why do them?

It took me a really, really long time to work out why guys catcalled. It’s a common question among women, and I’ve had the ‘‘do they really think propositioning me from a speeding car is going to make me tap that!?’’ chat with many similarly incredulous girlfriends.

I was about 14 when I started getting catcalled, and just accepted the standard ‘‘Oh they’re just complimenting you’’ line.

When I was about 17, I naturally interpreted catcalling as a response to the fact that I was the most attractive woman on Earth. They clearly noticed the four hours of prep I’d put into my hair-do that day. Who didn’t?

And then I got a bit older, and less convinced the world revolved around me, and realised it wasn’t my hair. In fact, I would get catcalled or propositioned while in track pants and with the flu. At 6pm on a Tuesday buying broccoli at a fruit shop. Or when I was walking home from the gym gushing sweat like a leaking dishwasher.

That was when I really started thinking about why men catcalled.

It obviously wasn’t because I looked especially beautiful or ‘‘provocative’’. And it wasn’t about trying to pick me up either.

No-one is dumb enough to think that yelling ‘‘My mate wants you’’ out of a car window is going to get me to stop, turn around, sprint after the car while stripping off my clothing and shouting, ‘‘Take me now, sire!’’

What I did know was that it almost always happened in the same situation. Namely, when I was walking home and a group of dudes drove past me.

Have you noticed how it is hardly ever from a single guy in a car?

(If it is, then they’re the really bad ones. The ones you’re warned about. The ones with the moustaches, panel vans and alsatians whose very presence brings a rush of blistering hot fear to your stomach.)

But mostly it’s just four dudes in a van who are driving home from work. There is one alpha one who will be trying to show his mates that he’s the boss, and will yell something out the window at you.

They’ll all burst into peals of laughter and shove each other while you stand there jabbing the pedestrian crossing button in irritation. They know it embarrasses us – it’s not hard to pick up from our blushing, eye-rolling or finger-pulling that we’re not impressed.

It’s a cross between male bonding and male ‘‘out-macho-ing’’ each other. It’s almost nothing to do with me. Except for the fact that I’m the one made to feel embarrassed, irritated, or on occasion mildly amused at how absurd this tableau of fragile egos is.

It’s a very specific form of male bonding done by a specific type of man. Which explains why most of the ‘‘nice guys’’ that you’re mates with don’t realise it even happens in the first place.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to explain to guy mates that catcalling is a thing. They just don’t get it because it never happens to them, and they aren’t the type of man who bonds with dudes by embarrassing women.

But unfortunately there are rather a lot of them out there. At the moment it’s about one van a fortnight for me.

What’s weird is that it’s not just catcalling, and it’s not just against women. You only have to read stories from guys talking about growing up in New Zealand to know that boys humiliate other boys, too, as a form of bonding with their mates.

What do teenager boys do to other teenage boys who pass out drunk at parties? Well, not what girls do, that’s for sure. Girls normally put another drunk girl to bed, or at least in the recovery position. By all accounts, what guys do involves a lot more public urination.

I’m at a loss to explain why it happens, and any other solution except the platitude of ‘‘teach men not to humiliate people’’. So perhaps the best suggestion is that we all take a leaf out of the girl bonding book.

Come over to mine for a wine, we can all get white-girl drunk together on $10 rose and swap stories about farting in front of our boss. Sure, it’s not as macho-macho, but there is far more excellent finger food.

And who can say no to a pot of excellent, eyewateringly overpriced stuffed olives?

It’s a very specific form of male bonding done by a specific type of man. Which explains why most of the ‘‘nice guys’’ don’t realise it happens.