sitting between two manspreaders on the district line

how much space do you allow yourself to take ?

It’s Summer in London, so every once in a while it feels as though the city’s intent on making up for years of grey and muted warmth. Today was one of those days, the kind that has you cherishing the wind of all things and waiting patiently for time spent in places with A.C, the District Line (DT) being one of them.

by Willy Spiller from his collection documenting the NYC subway between the 70s and 80s

Now, did I have to sit between these two manspreaders? No, but I had just finished packing in anticipation of another move. The cramps were rife and threatening to stay, I was hot, and you’d think after twenty years of existing as a woman, I would have known better. What it was about today that made me believe or hope consideration would be an abundant character trait, I don’t know. I tried at first to see if it was simply ignorance—maybe if they could feel that I was there, they would adjust accordingly so I wouldn’t have to sense both their sweaty knees making dents in my jeans while I sat without a gap between mine. I let myself sit there, all the way back, and take up space just like they did. Nothing came of it. It’s an annoying thing to have to adapt your behaviour and shrink because someone else refuses. Eventually, I yielded for my own comfort—or at least the idea —and for the next ten minutes, I leaned forward and rested on my knees.

Of course, this is not the first time I’ve encountered manspreading. I’m familiar with the experience, and I’m aware of the rebuttals. If you’re itching to say something about the anatomical differences between the sexes, trust me, I’ve heard it. This, fortunately, is not really about the manspreading; it’s about space. Because what really intrigued me was that, hours later, I thought to myself, I wonder if, physically or conceptually, I take up as much space as those two men allow themselves to.

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I used to walk around in these heeled platform boots that added 3.5 inches to my 175cm height. They’ve been retired now because, after three years of loyal service, there's a rip in the front seam. I’ve never seen being a taller woman as something to be insecure about and as a child, I stood on my dad's feet and made him dance so I could experience the world from a higher vantage point. When I started taking ballet seriously, my height became motivational. Having longer legs, and longer arms, and maintaining clean, controlled movements required more precision. You learn how to move in those spaces so I walk with purpose. Shrinking is not in my nature nor do I frequently feel the need to.

So yes, physically, I take up space.

The more I thought about my little (irritating) experience with the manspreaders, the more I considered the collective histories at play. I’m reminded of the countless times I’ve witnessed women scoot over or cradle their overflowing tote bags in their arms, balanced on their knees just so others could have a seat. The cheap and easier answer would be to blame it all on that old saying, “Women must be seen and not heard,” a remix of the Old English proverb “children must be seen and not heard.” It speaks to one of the ways women were made small, by stripping their voices of any power. In truth, it goes deeper than that. Think of it like this: “Were you silent, or were you silenced?”

When it comes to literally taking up space, it would be irresponsible to claim that it has always been safe for women to do so, when in fact, it’s very much the opposite. Most women in your life can tell you the first time they received unwarranted attention. In a world that feels entitled to women’s bodies—whether in the courtroom, the bedroom, marketing agencies, or even doctor’s offices—it may feel easier to hide. I specifically remember finding comfort in all-black outfits and the safety of keeping my gaze behind tinted sunglasses because it felt as though the world couldn’t see me that way. The less visible I was, the easier the day became. But of course, that’s a lie, because their entitlement doesn’t rely on access to you, your appearance, or even the physicality of it all—it’s about power.

I’m aware, of course, that in a slightly different context, if we were to broaden this conversation, the same can be said for people of colour in predominantly white spaces. A well-documented example would be discussing how Black men are conditioned to present themselves, especially in areas notorious for police brutality. It’s not just that their physical appearance is under constant scrutiny, but their liberties to express “difficult” emotions like anger and frustration are immediately curtailed. In some cases it’s a matter of life and death. This leads me on to the emotional or psychological side of things, because taking up space is rarely just about your body.

There was an article published in the Huffington Post last year in which the author described her labour experience. She writes about being "at [her] most carnal and animalistic, relying on [her] basic, natural instincts" and then "reverting back to the quiet, reserved, fearful woman who was afraid to be noticed." In her own words, she would have felt "selfish" to take up space and make as much noise as she wanted. Here lies another case of how this tortuous conditioning we’ve all been subjected to can prove to be a threat. I would argue that in moments like childbirth, you should take up as much space as possible. We’ve all heard the stories—countless cases of health professionals discarding the mother’s needs or wants, sometimes their inadvertent cries for help, resulting in devastating consequences. It’s why they recommend having another person in the room to advocate for you if all else fails, to literally add another body to the room to make your physical presence larger. Danielle (the writer) concludes that it is not that women are afraid to be heard, but that they are so scared of being misunderstood, and I wholeheartedly agree with her.

It wasn’t long ago that I was explaining (complaining) to my sister about how misunderstood I felt by certain people around me. I felt like they weren’t listening to me because they were purposefully trying to look for a hidden meaning or impose their own biases and inherent truths when, in reality, I almost always say exactly what I mean. It’s almost as if people are waiting for me to convince them of what I’m saying or that I mean well. I fear this may be why some people find it more difficult to take up space. Once you do start voicing your opinion, standing your ground, or making yourself known, so to speak, it’s a lot easier for your peace to be corrupted. Can you give up space once you’ve taken it ? Women, in general, often can’t afford to be misunderstood, but we are, through no fault of our own. Spend two minutes trying to convince a man you did, in fact, reject him when he heard a "hell yes" and tell me that isn’t enough to make you wish you were invisible. Adopt a slightly more assertive tone and count the seconds until someone asks what’s wrong. If I were being pessimistic, I would say perhaps it’s because, to some, there can only be so many kinds of women so any deviation from the norm strikes them as odd. I’m choosing to retire pessimism tonight, we don’t have time for that rabbit hole.

As always, I’ve been hyper-observant of myself , especially after this manspreading incident, and I picked up on something I think may be loosely related. My friend and I were at the cinema, and as you do when someone helps you, we thanked the staff member. I told her afterwards, “You know something simple I think I love? The chorus of girls saying thank you.” You know what I mean—that almost melodic way of expressing gratitude. We, at least my friends and I, do it without thinking, and every thank you sounds the same: bright, cheery, and always in unison. We laughed and thought about how guys never seem to replicate something similar. She said, “Perhaps they don’t feel the same need to convince strangers of their gratitude; a simple thank you would suffice,” she’s probably right.

I’m not sure how to round this off in an elegant way because this really was just a random stream of consciousness triggered by two men with no spatial awareness. It would also be disingenuous to end in any way other than open-ended or incomplete because I am still thinking about this. I wanted to let you guys in on the thought process regardless. As I usually find out after writing one of these, as self-aware and confident as I am, there are definitely still some things playing out that I could unlearn. (Or not; maybe being aware of it is enough.)

Anyway, don’t be afraid to take up space, and stay away from manspreaders if you value comfort.