s.e. smith's piece on
ou's genderqueerness spoke to me so much that I just had to reblog it from xoJane and then jabber about how it made me
feel.
Because it's sort of creepy how much I identify with s.e.'s experiences. Perhaps it's because, from what I've gathered reading ou's blog and the millions of excellent articles ou is somehow are capable of publishing, like, every day, we seem to have similar backgrounds. We're both white and northern California-raised, genderqueers from (and here I am assuming, perhaps projecting) rural-ish, blue-collar/low-income families. I don't know if ou's family was particularly religious or conservative, but if you know anything about Fembot, you'll know mine is.
"Gender isn’t a thing that
happens to you. It’s a thing that
is." Such an easy, simple thing to express on paper, but it's a concept so challenging that some people never figure it out.
"It started for me in elementary school, when I felt a growing sense of wrongness when I was sent out to play with the rest of the girls. I wanted to be with the boys; I wanted to be a boy, but not exactly. I didn’t feel like a boy any more than I felt like a girl and I covered up my uncertainty and confusion with loud, clashing outfits that went well beyond what was conventional for the 80s. In middle school, when I couldn’t avoid school any more without a raised eyebrow from my father, I’d slink into class in the loosest boy’s clothes I could find. "She used to be so cheerful," people said."
I've always felt uncomfortable around other girls/womyn, and it wasn't until I went to college, came out, and got my shit together that I actually started making friends with womyn-identified people. Whereas now I count womyn among my closest friends, up until a year or so ago, I surrounded myself with dudes. I didn't feel right being "feminine" or "girly," at least, not in the ways that other girls did. I couldn't do girly like they did, and my own version of what I felt to be femininity (growing out my pit hair, for example, feels very feminine to me) didn't match theirs.
Like smith, I wanted to be a boy, but not exactly. I think it's important to point out that I internalized a lot of sexism and misogyny from a young age, as I imagine most/all people raised as girls and womyn do, and that this confused me even more. It still does confuse me, I guess. Where do I draw the line between my own genderqueerness and societally-driven female self-loathing? I remember very distinctly hating the idea of having a "female" body far before puberty, when males and females begin taking on their secondary sex characteristics and becoming actually distinguishable from one another; from this, I can assume that I believed, at the age of seven, that my assigned gender reflected something inherent and essential within me, and that this inherent and essential thing was inferior, bad, and weak. It seemed like a great injustice to have my own moral failings projected onto the body I lived in, when other boys I knew could be as bad as they wanted and live in the body that I coveted like crazy.
Of course, it didn't mean that I didn't want all of those signifiers of womynhood that other girls my age started to get in late elementary school. But it wasn't the breasts that I wanted, but the sports bra that strapped them down. It wasn't that I wanted to bleed every month, I just wanted to be able to keep up with the other girls as they began to bleed, too. But wearing girl clothes felt uncomfortable - it felt like unwilling drag - so doing all of the things I was supposed to be doing, like wearing make up and halter tops and whatever - were doubly difficult. It didn't help that I came from the sort of family that wanted me to be supremely feminine without crossing the line into (an entirely fluid and subjective definition of) harlotry. Do you know how hard that is to do?
And oh, man, did this ever hit home:
"I still remember the eighth grade grad dance, when I gussied up in a minidress with sparkles and had my hair done and had this strange sense of glittering artificiality. Everyone’s looking at me like a girl, I thought, so I must be doing something right. But I didn’t feel right, not exactly, not with the way people looked at me in that dress, and over the summer, my body betrayed me."
THIS. Except in my case, having gone all out in sparkles and makeup and all that crap for my first seventh-grade mixer, I went home and cried because it just didn't
work. I had tried so hard to do the right kind of feminine and it had just looked wrong on me (probably didn't help that I was a sheltered, dorky kid from the kind of family mentioned above). Anxious for the entirety of the dance, and ignored by boys and girls alike (at this point in my life, by the way, my attraction to girls was not sexual, as I told myself, but rather observational. I just liked looking at them and thinking about their naked bodies, was all. It was a
writerly instinct, was all), I can report to you, with confidence, that I am really just not meant to go anywhere with long hair, heels, a dress, femme makeup, and a bra and expect to be comfortable. Glitter, of course, was just collateral damage. Glitter is awesome.
"My lean, hard, angular body turned soft and squishy. It bled and seeped and sighed. My hips splayed out and my chest exploded and I hated it."
It's redundant to say puberty was my nemesis, because it was
everyone's nemesis. The way it targeted me in particular, though, was much like how it targeted smith: I stopped looking like a boy and started developing into a lady. When I was a pre-teen,
I could pass as a boy with short hair and I fucking loved it. Once I was a teenager, this was no longer an option. I associated this physical femininity with weakness and failure, and thus began my long-term relationship with that cruel mistress, disordered eating [this has given the author funny images in her head of a disembodied stomach in a slutty dress and diamonds. as you were].
"I didn’t know what I was because I didn’t have a word for it. There were girls and boys and men and women and I wasn’t any of those things, even though sometimes I liked being a boy, having people think I was a boy. I couldn’t imagine being a man. I definitely did not like being a girl, I can tell you that."
Unlike smith, learning about genderqueerness as a concept wasn't an
Aha! moment for me. It took a long time to get used to the idea that a heteronormative gender-binary is exclusionary and reductive fiddle-faddle, and that the right to ownership of
my own personal body includes defining the terms by which my gender identity will be expressed. I'm still working on it, in fact. Here's to brilliant genderqueers like smith helping the rest of us to find pride in and articulate our own, individual gender expressions.