Gendered Spaces, Public Places

It's 2:00 pm on a Thursday afternoon at USC. Classes are in full swing. Trousdale Parkway is bustling with students. Besides these surface-level observations, what would you see if you just sat and watched the crowd pass by? How would gender function in the space? As I sat on a concrete bench and recorded my observations, this is what I saw:

The fountain in front of the Hancock building selfishly covers the sound of the bustling campus center, leaving the people to move around silently--lips moving, but no voices heard.

Here, clothing speaks louder than words. It's either school pride or high fashion on this street. For those who choose the latter, Trousdale becomes USC's own fashion runway. Girls in skinny jeans, high boots, tight shirts, and designer sunglasses strut by, their wanna-be celebrity personas eminating from them like the bright California sun.

For guys, it's either California "cool," comfy-casual, or Trojan-inspired. No stillettos for these guys.

iPods play soundtracks that only they can hear. Cell phones to ear lobes, their mouths move but nothing is audible over the hundreds of others going through the same motions.

Bicycles and skateboards whiz by. A girl attempts to readjust the part in her hair, and the handle bars wobble dangerously from side to side. She recovers, every hair in place, and zig-zags her way through the crowd.

A clothing and accessory vendor has a tent set up, drawing a flock of girls who admire themselves in small hand mirrors as they try on a new pair of earrings or a new, even larger pair of sunglasses. "Those look great on you!" the vendor mouths to her newest customer. The girl smiles, pulling out her leather wallet.

In the shadow of the Gwynn Wilson Student Union, a couple kisses passionately. She struggles to balance on her skateboard as he kisses her more intensely. Balance is a hard feat to accomplish with closed eyes. They pull back from each other, smiling.

A girl sits forlornly at the foot of the statue of Tommy the Trojan, her head in her hands. A book is in her lap, but she is paying more attention to the people as they pass than the words on the page. She is alone.

Three girls sit on a bench close by. A mish-mash of brunette and blonde, tall and short, together they are anything but quiet. Over the bubbling of the fountain, the song "I Love Rock n' Roll" penetrates into the atmosphere. The tall blonde is playing the air guitar as her friend plays the "drums." Their pretense of uncaring is see-through. Attention is what they crave.

As two guys pass by, they stare and smile, giving rise to a stage-worthy performance. The louder, the better--or at least that appears to be the girls' philosophy. Gyrating her hips, the tall blonde, makes sure her iPod ear bud is in place before she continues. The girls giggle at her increasingly energetic performace. Two thumbs up for showmanship.

As her friends leave, the blonde girl is left alone. With her audience's back turned, she sits, more quietly now. Only head-bobbing and foot-tapping are left. She lights a cigarette and flicks it with the thumb of her left hand like a movie star. Show is over.

The thoroughfare begins to clear now. Classes are soon to begin, lunchtime hours are soon to pass, and, soon enough, it will all happen again tomorrow.