In yesterday’s post, I was listing all the labels I use that are close enough, but not quite. I acknowledge the need for labels, but I don’t like them. Not in the deceptive ‘no labels, but, really, labels, but no, we won’t call them labels’ way of certain billionaires in this country.
I pretty much listed all the labels that I have used reluctantly. I’m scanning to think if there are others. I will say that I call myself fat without reservation. I am not chubby, zaftig, plump, or fluffy. I am fat, and I have no issues with that. I don’t see it as a bad thing, and I have worked hard to reclaim it. I now see it as neutral, and it amuses me when people rush to assure me that I’m not fat. Yes, I am, and I am not upset about it.
I understand the need for labels, but I think that we have to remember that they are not still shots of a person. They are living, breathing things, and they can change over time. I think that’s another way people can get tripped up–in thinking that identity is static. Or that if one aspect of a person’s identity changes, the prior ones are null and void.
Now, of course, there are times when this is true. Or rather, when a person’s change in identity is permanent and complete. Like me and Christianity. Once I realized what a fraud it was (at least the version I was indoctrinated with), I wanted nothing more to do with it. I have not changed my mind at all about that, and I highly doubt I ever will.
When it comes to my gender identity, though, it’s squishier. I have always known that I’m not very womanly. Many of the things I prefer to do are coded male, as is the way I dress. However, my hair is down to my mid-thighs, and I would grow it longer if I could. I have huge boobs, and I definitely read as female. My voice, on the other hand, is masculine. Deep as fuck, and I constantly get called ‘sir’ on the phone.
In college, I used to cut my hair every four months or so. I would just go to my hair dresser and tell her to do whatever she wanted. She never steered me wrong, and she gave me some great haircuts. One time, I went for a super-short cut (think Rachel Maddow) and wore a long black trenchcoat when I walked around the campus. I got mistaken for a guy from the back, which never bothered me.
Whereas now, while I don’t care if someone mistakes me for a guy (not going to happen in person), I am definitely not a guy. I don’t mind (much) if someone calls me she or a woman, sister, queen, whatever, especially the affectionate monikers beacuse I know they’re trying to bond. And, as I have said, I do relate to many of the experiences that women have had.
Gender is such a mystery to me. I’m saying this with zero snark. I have thought about it so often and so much over the years. Ever since I was in my early twenties when I was aware that sexism exist and that being a woman was viewed as drastically different as being a man. I got told over and over that I didn’t act like a woman, and at some point, I decided that I didn’t want to be one if that was true. This was before nonbinary entered the collective consciousnes, and I just felt…wrong. Off. Just by about ten degrees.
Side note: I have a few friends who feel the same way I do about the label woman–or rather, being told they didn’t act like a woman. Interestingly enough, they each reacted in a very different way. One was defiant about it. “You think I don’t act like a woman? Fuck you! I AM a woman.” Another was indifferent about it. She said that if she were twenty now instead of several decades older, she probably would have been drawn to the nonbinary label. But she doesn’t really care either way. The third embraced nonbinary for a year and has now returned to woman. There was no drama in it (at least in her retelling of it to me).
It’s funny to me how we had similar thoughts about gender and ended up in different places. I really wish I could just not care about it, but that’s not possible in this world. I don’t understand why it upsets people so except for on the societal level of shaking up the norms. People really don’t like to be challenged on the way things are, and I can kind of understand that. If the foundation upon which you are standing suddenly crumbles under your feet, you suddenly have no bearings or base.
I think this is one way in which being a weirdo is an advantage. I am so used to being outside the norm, it doesn’t faze me one bit. I’ve said it several times, but I am not shocked by much. Nor scared by much. It’s interesting in the month of October (Halloween month) to watch people playing scary games. I don’t get scared by scary games, and it’s funny to watch people freak out over them.
I suppose it might be different if I actually played them, but I don’t think so. My body does involuntarily jump at jumpscares, but I’m not scared by them (and I don’t count them). If anything, I’m impatient and internally roll my eyes at them because they are the cheapest of the cheap ways to scare somebody.
I find psychological horror much scarier than anything physical. And body horror doesn’t scare me at all–it just grosses me out, especially when it’s hyperrealistic.
Back to gender. I really wish it could be that we just accepted people’s gender (or lack thereof) without making a big deal of it. Thirty years ago, it was scandalous to be gay, let alone bi. Nonbinary wasn’t a thing (I mean, it existed, but we as a society weren’t cognizant of it), and sexism? Nah, that didn’t exist at all. Or racism. Or anything other than the cishetwhite ‘normal’ men.
It’s weird how far we have come in so many ways, and how far back we’re getting pushed–and how quickly. The more things change, the more they remain the same, sadly. I have more to say, but I’m done for the day. Come back for yet another post tomorrow.