Daniel Arnold

Daniel Arnold

29.00

Women's March (Colette McIntyre), Washington, D.C., 2017

on reverse: To Men, a poem by Colette McIntyre (in full below)

Daniel Arnold is a Brooklyn based photographer who likes to take pictures of people. His work has been featured in The New York Times, Vogue, Wired, Nowness, Juxtapoz Magazine, Vice, and The New Yorker. Forbes Magazine also wrote about Arnold’s Instagram experiment where he offered to sell any print on his feed for $400. Both Vogue and Nowness also made short videos with Arnold.

We asked Daniel to save us a photo from the Women's March in DC, which we knew he was going to shoot. We decided to run this one and wondered what to run on the back. We managed to reach out to the subject via Instagram and as it turns out, she's a writer, and was more than happy to contribute an original poem for the poster's back. Here it is in full:

TO: Men
FROM: Colette McIntyre, writer
SUBJECT: RE What Women Do Not Owe You

  • Unfettered access to our bodies
  • Any sexual act regardless of whether you bought us dinner, we went up to your apartment, we’ve had sex with you before, you’re our husband, we were flirting with you all night, you were nice to us, you just went down on us, you think it’s
  • “only fair.” A relationship between two adults isn’t modeled on an old-timey general store on the Oregon Trail:
  • there is no bartering, trading, or keeping tabs.
  • A chance
  • Gratitude for your unsolicited compliments
  • Acknowledgment of your unreciprocated advances
  • Extra space on the subway
  • Our laughter
  • Tolerance of your sexist jokes
  • “Lightening up”
  • Immediate acquiescence when you say it’s “just a bit of fun” and we’re making a “big deal over nothing”
  • Watching Westworld when we don’t give a shit about Westworld
  • An hour so you can condescendingly explain your theories about Westworld to us
  • Flattery
  • Forgiveness
  • Caregiving
  • The benefit of the doubt
  • A sweet and demure reaction to your interrupting us for the tenth time
  • The power to determine how we dress, speak, fuck, interact with the world, or love ourselves
  • The power to create the metrics which we measure ourselves against
  • The right to police our bodies
  • The number of people we’ve slept with — unlike a suburban mom’s garage collection of Beanie Babies,
  • women aren’t commodities whose value is determined by how relatively untouched we are
  • Politeness
  • A smile
  • Attention
  • An enthusiastic audience for your acoustic cover of “Karma Police”
  • Love
  • Affection
  • A nude
  • Conversation, even if you’re just “being nice”
  • Our time
  • Our self-effacement
  • Shamefully hiding our tampons and pads or refraining from using the words “period,” “menstruation,” and “cramps”
  • around you — if you can’t handle a vagina at its worst, you sure as hell don’t deserve it at its best
  • The reassurance that you’re one of the good ones and “not like Other Guys”
  • A calm response after you tell us to calm down when we were already perfectly calm and speaking in dulcet tones
  • Our real phone number
  • “Clearer signals” when thousands of women have been murdered for bluntly turning men down
  • An explanation of why we’re not interested in going out with you
  • An apology for not wanting to date you or talk to you or appease you or entertain you or do anything other than
  • return to the activity we were enjoying before you aggressively elbowed your way into our line of sight/life
  • Negotiations when we said “no”
  • A gentler, more palatable version of our anger
  • A lesson on feminism and/or how to be a better ally
  • Our free labor
  • Our compliance
  • Our chill
  • Our silence
  • Our submission
  • Your comfort at the risk of our safety, self-worth, and/or humanity
  • A fucking sandwich
  • Anything
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