Sitting on the Northern line of the Underground, I suddenly find myself feeling claustrophobic.
The pressure on my thigh reminds me of a dog trying to get its owner’s attention – heavy and unwanted.
Only this is no fluffy creature with a wagging tail, it’s the leg of a manspreading commuter.
Manspreading, for those fortunate few who haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing it, is the practice of men sitting with their legs wide apart on all forms of public transportation.
It’s often done in a way that encroaches on the space of others, particularly women, forcing us to crush ourselves into corners or neatly fold our legs to avoid the invading thighs of men.
Sometimes it feels intentional, others it’s likely a subconscious act – a physical manifestation of patriarchal attitudes all wrapped up in a sexist microaggression that women face daily.
Either way, there’s no excuse for it, which is why I’ve spent the last few months performing my own kind of manspreading (womanspreading, if you like) as a way of reclaiming my space.
My first act of unplanned defiance came in late 2024 when I was on the Northern line travelling to meet a friend for dinner when that stranger’s thigh began rubbing up against mine.
Usually, I’d acquiesce in this situation – being squashed in a corner is a small price to pay to avoid touching a weird stranger – but on this occasion, something in me wouldn’t allow me to give up what was technically my space on the Tube.
I fought back, planted my foot firmly on the floor and pushed my thigh harder against his.
Sensing my resistance, his leg aggression escalated to increasingly insistent shoves, and I could feel the rage emanating from him as he glared at my leg that dared to resist him. Still, I stayed strong and silent in my resistance.
He then stopped abruptly, levelled a filthy glare at me, huffed dramatically, and switched seats. And I silently let out a little cheer.
The manspreader surrendered! I won. I felt a small rush of pride, wiggled comfortably into my seat and wondered, can I do this again?
Since then, as well as spreading out on tightly packed trains, I’ve spread out on planes – refusing to give up my armrest to an overreaching man trying to dominate the three seats – and buses, and let me tell you, it’s been liberating.
There have been a couple of occasions where I’ve had to retreat however.
One such time was when a man on a long-haul flight tried to sit legs akimbo in our three seat row. I refused to let him into my precious legroom for what would be seven hours, so he responded by creepily rubbing his leg up and down on mine. Gross.
But I’m pleased to say, I’ve so far won more battles than I’ve lost.
Some men take the defeat graciously: they calmly get up and move seats. But others, and I’m sad to say that the vast majority of men react this way, have aggressively shoved me with their legs or huffed and puffed with dramatic flair.
Perhaps more interestingly, though, not a single one has spoken up afterwards – almost like they know they don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to requesting me to take up less space – or apologised.
And it’s these very reactions that feed my motivation to continue.
I doubt any of them know that I am specifically rebelling against manspreading – if they were capable of considering how their behaviour affects others, they might put the pieces together.
Women, on the other hand, have clocked me doing this.
One time, again, while on the Tube, a woman sitting opposite me went to war with a manspreader at the same time as I did.
We supported each other with kind eyes throughout our battles and eventually both won.
Funnily enough, in that scenario, after both of our invaders moved away from us, they ended up sitting next to each other and, what a surprise, actually respected each other’s space.
That moment was a stark reminder that men do know what they’re doing with manspreading because it’s rare to see them do it to another man. It’s seems as if it’s only women that they feel comfortable trying to dominate physically.
I know it’s easy to dismiss manspreading as essentially harmless, but I am convinced that it is symptomatic of society’s deeply ingrained misogyny.
My subtle refusal to give away the space I am entitled to is my small contribution to men’s re-education about how much space they really deserve in public. Spoiler: it’s the same amount we’re all entitled to.
No, my actions aren’t going to transform this issue overnight, but in a world determined to roll back on women’s rights at every opportunity, it’s a tiny act of peaceful protest that is empowering me to take up more space as a woman.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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