Welcome to this week’s edition of “Signs You’re Not Cis-Gender”, where I casually bring up elements of or instances in my life that crop up to let me know I’m not cis-gender. Just my experiences, so some other non-cis people might relate while others don’t at all. Take it with a grain of salt! This week’s sign is… *drumroll*…
Sign #89: You find out that your oldest male friend joins the long list of closest friends who turned out to be gay men… just like you would have been if you were born with the anatomy that best matches your identity.
Okay, so this is a little bit awkward, and I’m going to post about what happened just last night (thus this being so late in the evening on Tuesday). I’ll change the names, just because I haven’t asked permission yet to share from the people involved in my past. I’m not here to out anyone, even if they’re already out to their family and friends. My blog isn’t about that. So… names have been changed, but this is seriously what happened.
To put things concisely, most of my close male friends throughout my life have turned out to be gay. I noticed this theme a while back and sort of chuckled to myself, but there were a couple exceptions to the rule that kept me from thinking too hard about it. And then… last night… I discovered that my close guy friend from all the way back in 2nd grade ALSO is gay. I didn’t know it, but he actually came out right after high school, around the time I was starting to learn about and explore the possibility that I wasn’t cis-gender.
We’d been running in different crowds for quite a while, having parted from being close friends in late elementary and barely knowing one another throughout high school. Sure, we’d smile or nod to one another in the hallways, but we never really spoke. Different worlds. He was involved in a more popular circle while I was with the “stair-dwelling” crowd of outcasts that included goths, band geeks, gaming nerds, and the very small percentage of us who identified LGBTQ. Didn’t mean there weren’t others who identified that way, of course, but those who openly did? Yeah, they were in our little loosely tied group.
I’ll call this old friend of mine Jake here. :) Quick history lesson: Jake and I were best friends in 2nd grade along with a girl I’ll call Annie. The three of us did a LOT of playing on the play ground during recess. We’d run and jump and do gymnastics-like stuff on the field behind Knoles Elementary School in Flagstaff. We were all kind of artistically minded, but very active as well, so the three of us made a good group of friends. Jake was actually my very first crush as well, before I really even understood what a crush was. I liked him. A lot. And those first little stirrings of “He doesn’t like me as much as he likes _____” were probably the first time I’d been jealous of anyone in a memorable way. We grew up and grew apart, the three of us, though Jake and Annie were closer in school cliques and both tended toward student government and the like. I was academic, but definitely more of an outcast, bullied a lot throughout junior high and high school, often by other people who were in their groups of friends.
This realization… this discovery that Jake is gay… it’s hard to put into words for me what it means. As I mentioned in a past Signs You’re Not Cis-Gender, I was the kid stuffing their pants to imagine being male. And during all my struggles and all the bullying, Jake was on his own journey of self-discovery. And neither of us even really realized it about one another, I think. I was always close to the boys who ended up identifying gay. All but two of my crushes over the years have been on gay boys. The exceptions are a best female friend who was going through a very masculine/butch phase a la Haruka Tenou (Sailor Moon reference!) and a boy in junior high who is now married to one of the most kick-ass, independently-minded women I was acquainted with in high school. Nevertheless, Jake was probably going through a lot of the same things I was, and being able to add his name to the list of guys in my life who are gay? It’s like I’ve grown up constantly finding and reaching out to people who emulated the things I so desperately wanted to be. Inside, I most closely identify as a gay male (oversimplification, yes, but still closest using limited boxes on the proverbial form). And there I was, finding boys who were just like me… with the little problem of me not having the same stuff between my legs.
In a weird way, learning Jake is gay completely validates my own identity. It makes me feel like I really was this genderqueer trans boi all along. I just didn’t have the tools or knowledge to know it, and because I didn’t, no one around me did either.
And when this dawned on me last night as I looked over Jake’s Facebook page and saw that he was active in the Pride community in my hometown, I just sat there and cried like I haven’t in a long time. The last time I saw Jake, he was bagging groceries and we’d hugged and said how cool it would be to hang out after so long. We never did, and I moved to Florida, and I still have his phone number (probably outdated) on my cell phone. Never had the guts to call him, because it’s always so hard to basically come out all over again to people who knew me when I was younger.
But even when we hugged over groceries, he’d been out for years at that point. If I’d known then… Hell, if I’d known during high school, I feel like we could have been there for one another. I could have been that person who pulled him aside and told him, “It’s all right. You’re not alone. I’m going through this, too, and it really sucks, but it’ll suck less now that we can be here for each other.” Instead, we were in the different crowds, and when his group of friends would taunt me or bully me because they perceived me as a lesbian, he would never say anything against me. He didn’t stop them, but knowing he was going through his own self-discovery, I totally understand that. I wouldn’t want that kind of attention turned on me, either, had I been in his position. But he never once took part in the bullying, and I remember specifically thinking to myself one day, “Well, Jake must remember what good friends we were way back when, because at least he’s not mean to me.” Now I know why. And it makes me tear up all over again out of happiness that we’re both celebrating the recent Supreme Court ruling in favor of Marriage Equality… and out of joy that my identity feels more consistent and real even way back to that young age, and maybe a little out of regret that we didn’t reconnect, that we missed the opportunity to support one another when I’m sure we both could have used it.
So, all this went through my mind, and I’m sitting here astonished that I have such a pattern of seeking people like myself throughout my development… and I actually work up the guts to direct message him on Facebook. And I told him everything. My identity, my story, his involvement in it, and what his being out means to me. I rarely get so personal in general with people from my hometown, and certainly not over Facebook… but it seemed like the perfect thing to do.
And his response was a short “This is amazing” sort of message with the promise for something more thoughtfully typed out once he wasn’t busy at work. It is amazing. And he’s an amazing guy. And I just feel like I’ve been who I am my whole life, even if it took me years to figure it out. And that person is not cis-gender. That person doesn’t fit in a lot of boxes… and never has. It’s an incredible feeling of self-validation. And I definitely don’t think my reaction to his being gay would have been the same were it not for my own identity and journey as a genderqueer trans boi who likes guys.
When you’re biologically female and have this reaction to an old friend coming out as gay? Yeah… probably not cis-gender. And that’s just fine. In fact, it’s kind of awesome.
Sign #3: You squee with joy whenever you find a character in a movie or television show that genderbends. Even a little. Even if they don’t identify trans*.
This is one of those things that is so very true for me. It’s like when someone points out the subtext of a character arc in a popular television show and you suddenly can’t see the character any other way but the way they described. (This is how a lot of slash fandom sparks into being, actually. And I love it!) But, at least with me, once my mind has been opened to seeing variants of gender, I tend to see it more, or at least recognize it where I didn’t before.
My first exposure to genderbending characters was two-fold. My friends and I were into anime, which is chalk full of bending characters. Look at Nuriko in Fushigi Yuugi, who goes from presenting male as a child to assuming a feminine appearance (granted, for a lot of the wrong reasons), and then to a more slightly more masculine than neutral when he develops feelings for a female rather than his usual attraction to males. There’s also Mille Feuille in Sorcerer Hunters, who’s a delightful crossdresser who is sweet and feminine one moment before kicking ass as a Haz Knight. The other aspect of my exposure to genderbending came from movies my first couple years in college. We watched Normal in my Sociology of Sexuality class my sophomore year of college. It was the first of many films I sampled during college that expanded my mind. Others included Bent (there’s some genderbending in the opening scenes in Berlin), Cabaret (loved Alan Cumming), and Boys Don’t Cry (which was actually traumatizing, since I had NO idea that it was about a hate crime when I picked it up from Blockbuster years ago).
I squee when I watch television and see people in reality shows that are trans* or androgynous as well. AzMarie and Isis on America’s Next Top Model, for example, were a joy to watch, as was Cory in the more recent seasons with his androgynous look and ability to rock heels and drag. Other TV shows seem to give nods to the trans* community more in recent years, too, which is delightfully encouraging. Some depictions are better than others, but it’s great seeing them. The gender neutral Dr. Haru Tanaka on Bones makes most of the squints on the show take bets and try to respectfully determine what sex the doctor is. Of course, their attempts fail, so they rely on violating Tanaka’s personal space in order to literally get a rise out of their anatomy (something I really hated about the episode, that it was more important to the minor characters to find out which box to put the character in than just respect the person’s individuality and non-conformity *huffs*).
But, the message here is that I LOVE seeing more examples of trans* or queer or genderbending entering our pop culture. Unique and Beiste in Glee sometimes made me wibble with pride and joy just by existing and being eloquent in their roles on the show-choir dramafest. I also had a tearful moment the other day while binge-watching Season 1 of Sense8, a Netflix original series about eight individuals psychically linked (one of them is a lesbian transwoman). While the writing does tend to beat you over the head with info-dumps, there are a few monologues from Nomi (the trans woman) that were truly poignant. They might be too much for some viewers, but they were really empowering and tugged at my heartstrings. No small feat, even with out trans director Lana Wachowski at the helm. It gave me an exquisite moment, one in which I whispered to myself, “Finally. Finally, there’s a character like me whose voice isn’t silenced by the writers or producers!”
And that’s a really powerful thing… and it’s why this sign makes my list worth sharing on the blog. When you struggle to identify with characters in pop culture until you find genderbending, androgynous, or trans* characters… it can be a sign you’re not cis-gender yourself. ;) I live for the moments I find hints of myself in characters, whether they’re real people or fictional creations in TV or movies.
But seriously, I can’t get enough of Sense8. While it’s far from perfect, it has these bright, shining moments of sheer brilliance, and I’m eagerly awaiting Season 2!
Sign #247: When faced with the prospect of buying swimwear as a “woman”, you have the intense desire to buy swim trunks instead of a one-piece womens swimsuit.
Seriously. This was my hell last week. I’ve become increasingly more body-conscious as I explore my gender identity and examine my gender expression and how the two do and don’t align. It took me a couple weeks to even convince myself the need for a swimsuit was prominent enough to actually go and do it. And the whole time, I waffled because I wished I had a masculine chest and could just go topless without there being consequences. I also dislike the way womens suits put an emphasis on the groin because it shows off the fact I don’t have masculine equipment. There’s also the stigma of having body hair. Most swimsuits for women put it out there in a way that makes it really easy for others to ridicule. I’m not saying the suits are to blame for that, of course — that’s the double standard gender bias of society at work, and there <em>are</em> mens bottoms that are equally as revealing — but it’s one of those things I’d rather avoid if possible, so it did have to do with my angst.
Looking online, I found that for trans individuals, specifically FTM, there are options that are chest-flattening and basically amount to binding (see image below). Pretty awesome. At the same time, though, I’m a rather large-breasted individual, so even binders like those would only go so far and would definitely not be comfortable for me. I just yearn to have a masculine chest so I can have the freedom to display it like men do. While running. While swimming. Practically anywhere, really. It’s one of those men-only activities in our society, which is just a terrible double standard (we sexualize women’s bodies like crazy, and it drives me batty, but that’s a separate blog post)… This boi can only wish, for the time being.
Ultimately, I found a colorful one-piece that I’ll only use when I absolutely have to (which probably won’t be often), but I’m still horribly depressed by the idea of wearing a suit instead of having a body that matches my self-image on the inside. Identifying more male than female when your sex is contrary makes little things like this really unpleasant. It seemed like something to share. Totally mundane act that most cis-gender individuals would take for granted. Perhaps I’ll write it into one of my trans* characters in the future. Art imitating life.
Sign #61: When you were little, you stuffed the “wrong” area while looking forward to puberty and adulthood.
Welcome to my personal blog series in a project I’m calling “Signs You’re Not Cis-Gender”. You guessed it; the numbers are completely random. These are just little observations I’ll make about my personal experience as a genderqueer boi. They definitely aren’t to be taken as the universal experience for everyone who identifies genderqueer or in the vast trans* spectrum. This is just me. Just little glimpses into my life. And if you glean anything that makes you think about trans* issues or society and how we all relate and coexist (or at least try), then awesome!
But back to the sign for today. This is something very personal that a lot of kids do. When they have this vision in their heads of becoming a grown up, they often try to imitate (usually a parent or other everyday authority figure). For a lot of little girls, this means stuffing the shirt or bra to simulate having fully developed breasts. My sister and I used to do that as a joke, pulling our t-shirts up and through the neckline to form make-shift bikini tops. It was funny and harmless and completely gendered… or so everyone probably thought.
In reality, in the recesses of my room, with the blinds drawn, I would not just stuff my shirt, but also stuff my pants. Koosh balls and socks were best, in my mind, and I would strip to my underwear and push them into position to simulate having a cock. I did this rather regularly, too, and kept the things I used for this gender pretending in a little canvas bag that I would hide under several things in a drawer of my closet. I don’t think my parents ever knew about it. But I loved it despite feeling the need to hide it. I think, in my young mind, just like girls were expecting to develop breasts when they reached puberty, part of me expected to grow a penis when I hit puberty. I never expressed this to my parents at all, but I always felt more myself with those silly Koosh balls in my pants. Should have been a sign. Hindsight is 20/20, I suppose!
Now that I may have ruined a part of your childhood by associating it with packing… or perhaps improved upon it?… I hope you enjoy this new series of posts! I’m hoping I can find little details to share each week, so stay tuned!
I woke up this afternoon (yeah, it was a bit of a late night, darn insomnia) and immediately went outside to help my room-mate change the oil of my car. He was having difficulty with the oil filter, and I managed to unscrew it for him. This, of course, led me to asking all the steps of doing an oil change, so I’m feeling a bit more knowledgeable now, which is awesome. I don’t have the opportunity to learn much car stuff in the kinesthetic sense, so getting my hands a little dirty definitely helped me so I’ll remember how to do it myself in the future.
So, there’s the plus side. On the minus column to balance it out was what went down right after that. I took my newly oil-changed car to the store to grab some new windshield wipers. It was sprinkling rain, and my parking spot was relatively wet. When I stepped out of my car, there was a rather large puddle of oil on the water. I immediately tried to examine my car to see if the oil was coming from my car. (Maybe the bolt at the bottom of the pan wasn’t screwed back on tightly enough, y’know?)
There was a guy who had just finished his shopping getting into his car next to mine, and he politely asked if anything was wrong. I said that no, I was just checking to make sure the oil wasn’t coming from my car. He mentioned that I could always take it back to wherever I’d gotten the oil changed, and I waved him off and said, “I just finished changing the oil myself.”
His response? His eyes went all wide, and he laughed, “Holy shit! Even I don’t know how to do that!”
Not a bad response in itself. He was attempting to tip the hat and give me credit for having just learned how to do something car related on my own, but the unspoken, “And I’m a guy!” was still there, the surprise that I could change the oil of my car (as a presumed female) when he as a male didn’t know how to do that.
I’m all for giving credit where it’s due and praising people for having skills you might not have, but the implied gender bias there made me inwardly sigh.
Now, if I appeared more male, I guarantee you that implication wouldn’t have been there in his phrasing. Not saying that he was mean in any sense. He was nice and polite in trying to help if he could, but I thought it was interesting how little things like that are just ingrained.
Women are just as capable of fixing up their cars. Guys are just as capable of making mistakes on said repairs. Offering help is always appreciated if it comes from a good place — I’m all for that! — but when it’s only offered because you’re sensing a damsel in distress, that’s problematic.
In the end, I thanked the guy, told him I’d keep an eye on the car and make sure it wasn’t a problem, and went in the store to get my wipers as planned. It turns out the oil wasn’t from me, since I’ve checked under my car again and there’s no leak. Just something I was thinking about after the fact.
It’s time for RainbowCon again! This is the second year, and we’re at the Holiday Inn Westshore, right by Tampa International Airport. Registration is open, and it’s very affordable at $75 for the whole event (minus the field trip and evening events). The room block is also great. They gave us a discounted rate of $109/night, which is awesome being so close to the airport.
Check out the website and our schedule… and then register! :D You know you wanna come!
Bit of a random blog post here, but I thought I’d follow a whim for once and post something silly and off the cuff. :)
So, when most people are going through adolescence, we have a series of nightmares I think we carry with us. Usually, I think these center around things like social humiliation and the like. I know mine did. All those tales of people dreaming they showed up to school naked and were laughed at… that sort of stuff.
One I randomly remembered and thought I’d foist onto you unsuspecting blog follwers was a little nightmare/fear that I held once I got into high school. Let me set the scene (I’m an author, after all):
Chemistry class. Goggles and aprons. Bunsen burners, glass titration flutes running down into flasks, mystery chemicals just waiting for the right catalyst to start that reaction everyone’s been aiming for. But some students are better at chemistry experiments than others, and suddenly your lab partner–or worse yet, you yourself–fumbles with some aqueous chemical. You panic as it splashes you, and some of the powder you were measuring (in moles, of course) joins the fluid on your skin. Apparently, the two should not mix, and suddenly your skin is on fire, the chemicals burning even through your clothing. You shout, alarmed, and a teacher rushes over, but there’s nothing to be done but to shove you over to the shower.
That’s right. The shower. Remember those safety showers that were kept in the corners of the chemistry rooms? They had two purposes: flushing eyes out through little eye-cup fountains… and full-out dousing the fuck out of a student. But hey, you’re covered in burning, remember? So someone pulls the tab and yanks the switch, and you’re immediately soaking wet and told to strip off every single article of clothing that the chemicals might have touched.
Completely naked. In front of your classmates. And you just know that class has your high school nemesis and their cronies in it, and they’re stifling back laughter as you’re forced into that vulnerable, terrifying position. But what’s worse is the person you’ve secretly admired, the one you carry a hidden flame for… they’re also there, seeing more of you than you were ready for.
And I feared being in that position in high school. It wasn’t debilitating–I didn’t freak out in Chem class whenever we were working experiments that had a little risk to them–but I definitely remember how horrible it sounded to have to strip completely in front of your classmates and be doused from head to toe.
But that’s the sort of stuff I draw on when I write. I remember things like that and twist them around into fodder for my erotic fiction. Because as embarrassing as it would have been, what if it served as an erotic catalyst to a relationship forming? I don’t typically write YA, so I’m not necessarily talking about high school kids, but what about a Teachers Aide or Graduate Assistant in college getting into that situation and being exposed to their students? If there’s an existing flame between them, something being denied, maybe that incident would spur them into action.
Well… That’s assuming no lasting harm was done by the chemicals. But then, even taking a bad situation to worse like that could still work in my twisted mind.
So! Any of you have childhood or adolescent nightmares? Share some in the comments!