‘Please Rape Me,’ my performance art piece at the MoMA was one of the colder experiences of my life, mostly because it was 20 degrees and windy, but also because I was wearing cellophane. But more importantly, it was cold because the art world guests attending the Armory Show Opening Night Benefit Party were so anxious to down a glass of champagne and schmooze that they couldn’t be bothered to examine what was going on with my blasting pop music and seasonally inappropriate outfit. But at least I made the herds of Prada-clad gallery girls, Wall Street collectors, and pseudo-British art dealers dreadfully uncomfortable for a few seconds as they hurried to the glass doors of the museum.

The most disappointing thing about the experience was that the overall female reaction to my piece was dismissive and derogatory. Perhaps it’s because the site of a semi-naked dancing girl in front of a museum was just too indecorous for their refined art-themed evening. Since the message of my piece was subversive and not immediately apparent, they wrote it off and moved on with their evening. Or maybe it’s just too taboo to bring up the word “rape” (unless it’s framed in a serious way).

There were obviously some creepers who peered into the mirror underneath my skirt, along with one fellow who placed a Sugarfree Red Bull in my rape evidence box, and another man who gave me a five-dollar bill. One guy responded to the piece via Twitter with an expectedly immature comment: “hey I thought your performance last night was really hot, or did I miss the point?”

Even though many men took the time to read my artist’s statement and contemplate the performance, almost all the women simply turned their noses and walked away. It reaffirmed my earlier impression that the majority of women would rather suppress any degrading sexual experiences than talk openly about them.

Was the word “rape” just too offensive for them to stare in the face?

- Haley Hogan

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