How does one “come out” as something that doesn’t exist in most people’s eyes? As something that is a vague “in between” state? Everyone knows that there are men and there are women. That’s it – end of story. I could tell everyone that I’m transsexual, a woman born in a man’s body and that would make them very uncomfortable, but at least they could sort of understand that eventually. It would at least be easier than challenging the very idea of a gender dichotomy, no easy pronoun and surgical/hormonal fix for my “problem.” There is no third option, there’s only yin and yang, day and night. I’m invisible here in the penumbra.
This is something I’ve long struggled with. I found it’s just easier to go stealth, wear vaguely men’s clothes and most people will just read me as male (despite the girlish haircut and plucked eyebrows), which may be annoying at times to me (besaddled with male pronouns and expectations), but everyone else is happier. It’s so much easier just to hide inside that little turtle shell. Though it hurts a little sometimes.
I want to be more myself. Oh, I know, it’s what’s inside that counts and “you’re always yourself,” but that’s not really true, is it? People aren’t always so good at seeing what’s inside others and we all play pretend out in public to some extent. We have to. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the gender stereotypes weren’t so steely strong, if people weren’t constantly saying “men are…” always hitting me like a punch to the gut – hey, that’s not me! But occasionally, it is me and in my weaker moments, I wonder, am I just defective? I pay attention to the real people I encounter, though, and they don’t match up with the gender archetypes in movies, magazines and books. My human brethren are not as mismatched as me perhaps, but neither are they perfect examples of those prestigious stereotypes (“men and women,” in case you’re drifting).
Recently, I had a party for one of those rite of passage things and, realizing that I had a lot of friendly acquaintances at work, I decided to invite them as well. Only I planned to wear a dress – after all, it’s my party. I knew that most of my coworkers wouldn’t come (because it’s a summer weekend and most of them have busy family lives), so I didn’t send a blanket announcement of my imminent dress-wearing, but told them the date and asked them to let me know if they were coming before giving details. In the end, only a few responded and when they did, I gave them the directions and a by the way, I might be wearing a dress, hope that’s not a problem. I didn’t want them to walk in on that kind of surprise. At least my non-work friends know me enough not to be surprised at that, even if they don’t all know enough to use the right pronouns. Anyways, one of my coworkers did come and wasn’t bothered by the dress, which was really nice. But another coworker who had planned to come, didn’t and when he later apologized for not coming, he admitted that he was scared by the prospect of me in a dress. He was polite, but it was still saddening. 🙁
I guess I’m naïve, but I just don’t understand why the clothing is so important. Sure, the average dummyhead will attack what he/she can’t understand, but for otherwise intelligent people would make a big deal out of someone they believe to be male in something as simple as a dress? Especially when many cultures have histories of men in dress-like garments (robes, etc.)?
Only a few of my friends actually seem to get it. Others are coolly dismissive, without realizing it. They don’t mind that I wear makeup and appear androgynous, but they mistakenly think it’s just an image thing that I’m just a “man” that happens to “cross-dress.” That it doesn’t represent anything deeper. While I am interested in aesthetics, my androgynous presentation does symbolize something more. To catch my mood, listen to Antony and the Johnsons (I fell in love with a dead boy, oh, such a beautiful boy, are you a boy or a girl? are you a boy or a girl?)
