Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: gender-bending

Gender-blending and me

Gender has been a big topic in my life–much against my will. If it were up to me, I’d not think about it at all. Sadly, that is not a choice, especially the way things are going in America right now. I have often thought that if I were just left alone, I would be fine with the label ‘woman’. Meaning, if no one ever talked about it, it would be fine by default.

However. Given that people are way too consumed by the gender of people they don’t even know, I reluctantly have to think about it. To recap: I am AFAB, and for the first fifty years of my life, I begrugdingly accepted that I was a woman (especially in the eyes of others). I didn’t feel a kinship to the word, but I was fine with it. Fine.

I was not elated. I was not even happy. I did not embrace the word or really consiber it mine. It was just shorthand for being physically coded as female whilst being inner coded as ‘who the fuck knows’?

I just left it as I was a woman even if I did not feel like one. That was, however, because I didn’t truly know what a woman was supposed to be like. I’m saying this with no snark. I did not fit within the traditional/stereotypical description/definition of a woman, and I haven’t since I was a kid. I don’t like cooking, cleaning, sewing, any kind of crafting, pink, makeup, fashion, clothes (both the styling thereof and actually wearing them), etc. I did not like dolls when I was a kid; I much preferred stuffed animals.

I did not dream of my wedding or play mother and baby with my (nonexistent) dolls. The dolls I did have, I just made them have sex with each other–regardless of gender. That should have been a sign that my sexuality was YES PLEASE, but I was too repressed to recognize it at the time.

I think the only traditional female markers I have are my boobs, my hip-length hair, and my love of sappy ballads. I mean, I guess plushies are still coded female, but not quite as strongly as it was when I was a kid.

My hobbies are considered more male as well. Video games and martial arts, both with a heavy emphasis on weapons. I used to watch sports (football, baseball, and basketball, specifically), but I stopped for political reasons. Plus, I just lost interest at some point.

when I crush out on someone, I don’t want to say I don’t see gender, but it’s just not that important to me. I have mentioned several times before that K has marveled at how easily I can switch someone’s gender, and I truly think it’s because I don’t see gender as rigid–and most definitely not as a binary. In addition, I only see it as a part of someone’s whole, so I don’t get hung up on how someone should be in accordance to their gender.

In fact, one of my biggest gripes is when people want to make the definition of woman and man so narrow and rigid. Why put people in boxes/cages that can’t be expanded? It’s also a part of another pet peeve–the idea that men and women can’t be friends. There is so much wrong with that statement, I almost don’t know where to begin.


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Gender rending

Thinking about gender again. I’ve heard from many people that gender is important to them. That they feel their gender in their bones. I know many trans people who have felt misaligned with their bodies, and I find all this fascinating.

I don’t feel gender. Like, I know I’m not a dude. In fact, I internally recoil at the thought of it. Other than that, though, I don’t feel like I am any particular gender.

First of all, I love my body. I used to hate it, but not because it felt like the wrong body. I hated it because of fatphobia and my mother incessantly telling me how gross my body was because it wsa fat. Oh, she never said it in so many words, but that’s what she meant. Believe me. I heard it loud nad clear.

Through it all, though, I did not hate the fact that my body is female-shaped. I always loved my hair and was very defiant about my big boobs. I got a tattoo on my left boob in rebellion of all the staring. “If you’re going to stare at my tits, then I might as well give you something to stare at!”

Even when I hated my body, though, it wasn’t because it was woman-shaped; it was because of how deeply fatphobic our society is, especially for women. I did not hate that I had a female-shaped body, but taht it was FAT.

After I died (twice) and came back, I did a 180 on my body. It had carried me through death (twice) without a word of complaint and nary a hitch. Yes, I was in a coma for nearly a week and awake but groggy for a week agter, but then, it was right as rain. Three months after the night of the medical crisis, my parents went back to Taiwan. By that point, I was nearly 100%. Or rather, as close to being back to normal as I could get.

At that point, I was positively intoxicated with my body. About a month after I got out of the hospital, I took a series of selfies (and I’m someone who NEVER takes selfies!) with my hair in all kinds of cute hairstyles. Chun-Li buns, two ponies that were then braided, one pony that was then braided, etc. Even with the Chun-Li buns, they were braided. I have hair down to my mid-thighs, so just ponies means the hair is still hanging down. It’s summer. It’s hot. I hate the heat. I need to have my hair up. That’s true now, but at the time when I did the selfies, it was autumn. So my excuse for my hair then is that I hate anything touching me–even my hair. I don’t hate my hair, but I hate it on my neck. I’m really glad I have very fine hair because it would be such a pain if it were thick and full at this length.


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