The other day, I entered a well-known chain bike shop, and
speculatively asked about buying a new bike.
My bike is a Frankenstein’s assemblage of long-forgotten
mutant parts; the handlebars are the
only surviving component that haven’t broken and needed replacing*. Although I thoroughly enjoy (albeit somewhat
masochistically) the never-ending task of repairing my bike, I also dream of a far-off
day where I’ll simply be able to ride
it. As Jerome K Jerome astutely wrote in
‘Three Men on the Bummel’ in 1900, “There are two ways you can get exercise out
of a bicycle: you can ‘overhaul’ it, or
you can ride it… The mistake some people
make is in thinking you can get both forms of sport out of the same machine”.
I enquired about frame sizes. I explained to the man in the shop that I
have relatively long legs compared to the overall height of my body. This means that if that an average bike is
adjusted to accommodate the length of my legs, I have to lean uncomfortably far
forward to reach the handlebars. So, I
asked if they had any bikes with a compact geometry – ie which are comparatively
tall compared to their length.
I asked about track bikes, which match this description. In one Whitechapel bike shop, I had
previously been told that a track frame wouldn’t help me, as they’re shaped to
tip down towards the front (I think this claim is spurious), thus still putting
strain on your arms, shoulders and back, and not solving my initial problem.
Conversely, I was told at yesterday’s shop that, yes, a
track frame was exactly what I was looking for.
He proceeded to show me a model he said was ‘based on’ track bikes,
which he said was popular with people wanting a combination of courier chic (ie
track bikes) with retro chic (ie road frames).
He went on to say that its ‘track bike’ attributes were that it was
fixed-gear, while its ‘road bike’ features included… a frame that was longer
than it is high. In short, the exact
opposite of what I had asked for.
After about 15 minutes, I had established that all their
road bikes were assembled according to the same height / length ratio. This meant that bikes that were the right
height were too long, while bikes that were the right length were not tall
enough. [At this point in the story, you
need to know that I’m a man.]
Just as I was about to give up, the salesman casually mentioned,
“The only other bikes we have in stock are these women’s bikes, which are
designed to be slightly compact, so that they’re relatively tall compared to their
length.”
Given that this was what we had been discussing for the last
15 minutes, I was somewhat surprised that this was the first time he had mentioned
it. But, having raised the option of
women’s bikes, he was rather disturbed when I suggested that I might try out
one of the women’s bikes, and immediately tried to put me off the idea.
He told me with a dismissive and vaguely disgusted
expression that most women’s bikes come in pink, or have butterflies painted on
them. I replied that all the ones in the
shop were either blue and white, or red and white. In fact, they looked identical to the men’s
bikes, and I’d never have known that they were designed specifically for women
unless he had told me. He shrugged.
I can understand that it may not be commercially viable for
a shop to stock frames that suit every possible variation of body size and
shape, and why bike manufacturers and retailers would sell frames to fit an
‘average’ size and shape. I also accept
that men and women have different average body sizes and shapes.
But I struggle to believe (correct me if I’m wrong) that the
ratio of body-height vs limb-length is gender-specific. Even if it were, it goes without saying that
it makes no sense that this should prevent me from riding a women’s bike. Why do we need separately marketed frames for
men and women, given that they appear identical? (At least to us mortals who don’t work in
bikeshops?)
*****
The shopkeeper responded to my request to ride a red bike by
absurdly invoking a phantom butterfly-adorned counterpart. This comment arose not from the reality of
the situation, but from a need to construct (or rather reproduce) socialised
differences between genders, particularly through the marketing of gendered
consumer goods. Yet the patently absurd
logic that yielded the shopkeeper’s ‘red vs butterflies’ comment is precisely
the same as that which is deployed to re-invent divisions between genders every
day – not based on physical necessity, but on cultural habit.
*
Footnote: I’m not exaggerating
when I say that all the components on my bike, other the handlebars, have
broken and needed replacing isn’t an exaggeration: either
in terms of the fact that I really have replaced said components, or the fact
that I did so because each part broke – as opposed to hipster bike-upgrade vanity.
