At our local Harley Run where bikers rumble from thousands of miles away, men carry chains of pretty beads-cheap but sparkly. Some politely, but a number with raunchy leers ask passing women some version of “show me your tits.”
Surprisingly, about half the women comply and, in return, the men hand over glittering chains in payment. Crude, yes…but there is an odd sweetness about the whole thing. The men ask every woman–no matter how old, or fat, or out of shape. Perhaps they are rabid breast aficionados but their manner almost seems to suggest that all the women are attractive—some more than others but, nonetheless, all the women are desirable. Decorated with shimmering strands, plain or pretty, the recipients strut off feeling sexy.
The men range from doctors and lawyers pretending to be badass for a weekend to Hell’s Angels with coarse prison tattoos decorating their bodies. The women vary from muscled biker chicks to sweet grandmotherly types. The participation from both genders draws from across class and age groups. The jewelry has no monetary value but I imagine most are not tossed away quickly but, instead, hung across a bedpost or beside a mirror for several months to remind the woman that she is delightful to look upon–and thus the beads are priceless.