Prompt: Facebook asked about a situation in which someone had identified a name that felt like the person they were becoming, but were not quite yet. There was fear over legal name changes, social name changes, their permanence, the general insecurity around changing the external label of your personhood.
There was a name - Adriaan - that immediately came to mind the first time I put myself in drag makeup. He did not feel like a person I could be "full-time" for about a year after that first experience. It's like I knew very concretely who that person that was - it was something of a revelation, tbh - but it didn't feel real yet. At that point, I still felt like Marie, this identity I'd constructed very painstakingly/intentionally as my assigned gender. But after a month or two I just couldn't stay away from this thing I'd found and came out as genderqueer. I used a different name, Emory, for the first (very fluid) 9-ish months after that, but it didn't stick, plus I was becoming more and more like the "Adriaan" I'd seen in the mirror. And then one day things kind of just clicked into place and I'd grown out of Marie. I have no doubt in my mind that this is the right name for me, now - it clicks so well. I'll have used this name for a year come May.
I'd definitely recommend that you try it out for a few months or a year, use it as though it were your only name (except for legal stuff, of course), and see if it fits. But it's really tricky to project this vision of Future You, this person you dream of becoming, onto the proto-Future You person you still are. Just let yourself become. You'll likely decide about names as a product of that process.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Monosexuality
Am I monosexual? Does monosexuality exist? Can we be nonbinary and still only attracted to one gender? (Sigh. You wouldn't think these questions would be necessary, but they feel so necessary.) This was the prompt. I posted this as a comment on Facebook.
I would say yes, with some qualification. Bear with me.
I've spent a lot of time queer theorying my life, trying to dismantle monosexist/heteronormative/homonormative/cissexist/(trans)misogynistic ideas. I've also had a long history of Gay Problem: "do I want to be that or fuck that?" In middle school, before I knew I was allowed to be attracted to girls, I couldn't figure out why I was staring at them all the time, so I figured I must either be "creepy" or jealous. I spent the next few years discovering an almost exclusive sexual attraction to women, but aesthetically I still thought some guys were very pretty - although I usually had to frame them in those feminine terms. In college I tried to call myself gay because of that, but later I figured it was stupid to group people arbitrarily into two groups like that, especially if I were still experiencing fleeting attractions to people in the "wrong" group. So I letting myself consider male-bodied people (often transfeminine, always very feminist) and female-bodied people that weren't "my type" attractive to me in their own ways... Because just conceptually, I despise the idea of deciding you have one type and everyone else is sexless. Just seems so black and white!
The past year or so, though I've ended up in quite a number of very confusing sexual situations with people I'm not into "like that" - this deep random panging longing that people I'm fucking had boobs or hips or were smaller or whatever, guilt that I feel the need to relate to their bodies as though they were just differently-proportioned female bodies, guilt that everything I find most attractive about them seems to be their most feminine traits. Put on top of that the fact that I have literally no idea what to do with dicks until I'm big spoon and giving a hand job, such that I'm touching it as though it were my own.... Ugh.
Guilty sex is stupid, so I've slowly been trying to come to terms with my extremely pronounced, uncomplicated, boringly monosexual attraction to femininity and women. While still in three relationships with a cis man, MAAB enby, and cis woman of not-my-type, respectively (in addition to one relationship with a post-op trans woman who actually is). Trying to figure out how my apparent monosexuality relates to my strong panromantic-queerplatonic tendencies. Trying to figure out to what extent random, impulsive, fleeting, confusing (though often impassioned) desires to be sexual with the people I'm in these queerplatonic-romantic relationships with is a desire to smash the binary, or feel homoerotic tension, and to what extent it's authentic. Oh, and of course now I'm staring at every well-groomed long haired man that passes me on the street with the same longing/jealousy/Gay-Problem-whaaat with which I used to stare at girls.
tl;dr - nothing about me or my life seems like it'd be conducive to monosexuality but it seems to be a thing
I would say yes, with some qualification. Bear with me.
I've spent a lot of time queer theorying my life, trying to dismantle monosexist/heteronormative/homonormative/cissexist/(trans)misogynistic ideas. I've also had a long history of Gay Problem: "do I want to be that or fuck that?" In middle school, before I knew I was allowed to be attracted to girls, I couldn't figure out why I was staring at them all the time, so I figured I must either be "creepy" or jealous. I spent the next few years discovering an almost exclusive sexual attraction to women, but aesthetically I still thought some guys were very pretty - although I usually had to frame them in those feminine terms. In college I tried to call myself gay because of that, but later I figured it was stupid to group people arbitrarily into two groups like that, especially if I were still experiencing fleeting attractions to people in the "wrong" group. So I letting myself consider male-bodied people (often transfeminine, always very feminist) and female-bodied people that weren't "my type" attractive to me in their own ways... Because just conceptually, I despise the idea of deciding you have one type and everyone else is sexless. Just seems so black and white!
The past year or so, though I've ended up in quite a number of very confusing sexual situations with people I'm not into "like that" - this deep random panging longing that people I'm fucking had boobs or hips or were smaller or whatever, guilt that I feel the need to relate to their bodies as though they were just differently-proportioned female bodies, guilt that everything I find most attractive about them seems to be their most feminine traits. Put on top of that the fact that I have literally no idea what to do with dicks until I'm big spoon and giving a hand job, such that I'm touching it as though it were my own.... Ugh.
Guilty sex is stupid, so I've slowly been trying to come to terms with my extremely pronounced, uncomplicated, boringly monosexual attraction to femininity and women. While still in three relationships with a cis man, MAAB enby, and cis woman of not-my-type, respectively (in addition to one relationship with a post-op trans woman who actually is). Trying to figure out how my apparent monosexuality relates to my strong panromantic-queerplatonic tendencies. Trying to figure out to what extent random, impulsive, fleeting, confusing (though often impassioned) desires to be sexual with the people I'm in these queerplatonic-romantic relationships with is a desire to smash the binary, or feel homoerotic tension, and to what extent it's authentic. Oh, and of course now I'm staring at every well-groomed long haired man that passes me on the street with the same longing/jealousy/Gay-Problem-whaaat with which I used to stare at girls.
tl;dr - nothing about me or my life seems like it'd be conducive to monosexuality but it seems to be a thing
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
The Female Tenor
She's short and ginger and strong in a way I think only femmes can be. Her clothes flatter her body as it is - she doesn't seem to wear things that coax it into a box. I admire that. I envy that. I envy her beauty and confidence and freedom. Purple lipstick if she feels like it, epic patterned tights, high-waisted skirts, jean-on-jean-on-jean. Simply nothing to hide. Bubbly, approachable, starts every rehearsal in the middle of a clump of tenors or basses. Her laugh is light and infectious; her sarcasm is the kind of honest that forces me to smirk. We know each other as members of the same section, but I have this stupid instinct not to get too comfortable or friendly around any (especially cis) women I like.
The other day she mentioned to me off-hand that she's jealous that I get to sing part-time as both Alto and Tenor. She's always wanted to sing with the tenors. She would drop women's music for theirs in a heartbeat if she could. (Just like me.) And? I say. Why don't you? (I'd asked the same question of a different alto that said she wished she could wear a tux like the men at Christmastime.) She sighs and half-smiles and says that she asked our director, but she wouldn't let her. Can you hit the notes? Yeah. How low is your range? I've got a comfortable C or D. So, plenty low then. Mhmm. That's so awesome.
There was this awkward silence in which she just kind of smirked at me and I stared at her and I couldn't figure out if she was just really jealous, or if she felt bad for making me feel like she was co-opting my trans privileges or ... I don't know. I know that I was angry. That I felt her pain. Maybe more than she did. I wanted to yell that I understood. That I wish she could juggle the absurd mess of being in both unnecessarily-gendered groups with me. She's not the only one that would do it if given the chance. I know at least two or three other altos that would be way overexcited to develop their lower registers. They sound so great down there, when we all follow the basses down in a quiet hum during the "low warmups" that for some reason are just for them. So I guess I feel that with them. But I am so indignant that girls apparently have to be... well, not, that they have to be trans men, to get permission to inch toward loving their voices in their genderless entirety.
I love seeing my fellow altos laugh with glee when we belt out F3s like nobody's business and fill out chords as beautifully as any bass section could. I love seeing women feel powerful. It hurts me to stand outside of the gendered muck everyone seems to be bogged down by and see their power constrained by music often written to encourage "women's" parts to feel higher, or more feminine, or less meaty. Or anything but exactly what they are: voices. Voices that sing notes. That love to push their limits. On both ends of the spectrum.
I've heard many trans men say they feel like traitors, like they're leaving their people behind for privileges that would never have been afforded to them. It's not like this constitutes a concrete example - it's not like I've benefited at all from male privilege. But I'm extended a unique opportunity to sing where I'm comfortable singing just for being true to myself. And the gorgeous femme that stared back at me for those excruciating few seconds, in her mascara and epic crimpy hair and circle skirt, is tantamount to a role model to me for how to be true to myself. The feeling that my process of gender liberation would open any opportunities to me that "the other girls" don't have access to makes me....
......angry. I'm angry. I want gender liberation. I want the system to go fuck itself.
At the beginning of our next next rehearsal, she was laughing and talking with a group of men, again, and I smiled and stared at her hoping she wouldn't notice and feel weirded out. If she can do it, why can't I? If she can feel so at home in the middle of the basses - half a foot shorter than me and explicitly feminine - why do I feel such a compulsive need to scrutinize the precision with which I've landed exactly on the invisible line dividing the altos from the tenors?
Maybe one day I will fully learn from her that lesson.
The other day she mentioned to me off-hand that she's jealous that I get to sing part-time as both Alto and Tenor. She's always wanted to sing with the tenors. She would drop women's music for theirs in a heartbeat if she could. (Just like me.) And? I say. Why don't you? (I'd asked the same question of a different alto that said she wished she could wear a tux like the men at Christmastime.) She sighs and half-smiles and says that she asked our director, but she wouldn't let her. Can you hit the notes? Yeah. How low is your range? I've got a comfortable C or D. So, plenty low then. Mhmm. That's so awesome.
There was this awkward silence in which she just kind of smirked at me and I stared at her and I couldn't figure out if she was just really jealous, or if she felt bad for making me feel like she was co-opting my trans privileges or ... I don't know. I know that I was angry. That I felt her pain. Maybe more than she did. I wanted to yell that I understood. That I wish she could juggle the absurd mess of being in both unnecessarily-gendered groups with me. She's not the only one that would do it if given the chance. I know at least two or three other altos that would be way overexcited to develop their lower registers. They sound so great down there, when we all follow the basses down in a quiet hum during the "low warmups" that for some reason are just for them. So I guess I feel that with them. But I am so indignant that girls apparently have to be... well, not, that they have to be trans men, to get permission to inch toward loving their voices in their genderless entirety.
I love seeing my fellow altos laugh with glee when we belt out F3s like nobody's business and fill out chords as beautifully as any bass section could. I love seeing women feel powerful. It hurts me to stand outside of the gendered muck everyone seems to be bogged down by and see their power constrained by music often written to encourage "women's" parts to feel higher, or more feminine, or less meaty. Or anything but exactly what they are: voices. Voices that sing notes. That love to push their limits. On both ends of the spectrum.
I've heard many trans men say they feel like traitors, like they're leaving their people behind for privileges that would never have been afforded to them. It's not like this constitutes a concrete example - it's not like I've benefited at all from male privilege. But I'm extended a unique opportunity to sing where I'm comfortable singing just for being true to myself. And the gorgeous femme that stared back at me for those excruciating few seconds, in her mascara and epic crimpy hair and circle skirt, is tantamount to a role model to me for how to be true to myself. The feeling that my process of gender liberation would open any opportunities to me that "the other girls" don't have access to makes me....
......angry. I'm angry. I want gender liberation. I want the system to go fuck itself.
At the beginning of our next next rehearsal, she was laughing and talking with a group of men, again, and I smiled and stared at her hoping she wouldn't notice and feel weirded out. If she can do it, why can't I? If she can feel so at home in the middle of the basses - half a foot shorter than me and explicitly feminine - why do I feel such a compulsive need to scrutinize the precision with which I've landed exactly on the invisible line dividing the altos from the tenors?
Maybe one day I will fully learn from her that lesson.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)