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Jul. 10th, 2012 09:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enemyofperfectAn out-of-context excerpt from the ongoing saga of gender and me
This happened a few years back, and I wasn't even present for the most pivotal part of it, so I might get some of this wrong. Actually, when I asked my mother about it a while ago, she didn't remember it at all, even though she was the one who told me, and I don't really understand how she could have forgotten. I don't doubt that it did happen, though; I might be misremembering or misinterpreting, but I wouldn't have made something like this up. I'm much less likely to write events into existence than out of it. My mother isn't much of a practical jokester, either.
Anyway, the story.
I was at a family gathering, wearing jeans and a button-up shirt, both from the men's section, and I was doing pretty okay, social anxiety-wise, at least for me. I saw a cousin I hadn't seen in a while, and he said he almost hadn't recognized me, which I wasn't sure how to respond to, but didn't think about all that much about, either. During dinner, I talked with some family members and with a friend of someone's that I hadn't met before, and it was actually a pretty interesting conversation, so that was cool. I felt good about making it through the evening as well as I did.
And then afterwards, my mother let me know that later on, it had become apparent that our new acquaintance thought that I was my parents' son. She never realized her "mistake"; she apparently didn't notice their using different pronouns, and no one contradicted her outright, so I guess she went away still thinking it.
This was back before I had given any serious thought to whether I might identify as male, but it was well into the period where I spent lots of time thinking wistfully about how nice it would be if somehow -- magically, I guess, since I was resolutely ignoring the possibility of being trans -- I could be seen as an androgynous geeky guy, rather than an androgynous geeky young woman. My official ideal might have been being an androgynous geeky androgyne, but that was hard enough for me to imagine that I think I spent more time daydreaming about the male option.
I was pretty stunned to think that I'd accidentally achieved it. (At least, I assume my androgyny and geekiness were evident. I'm not very conventionally masculine in build or manner, and the geekiness is kind of indelible.) I was definitely trying for an androgynous appearance, but I had assumed that I wasn't doing that well at it, especially given my long hair, which I viewed as very feminine. It was completely surprising to hear that apparently I had managed to completely conceal my assigned gender from at least one person. But also pleasing, right?
Actually, my strongest reaction was something like terror. I think it was the fact that I'd had no clue about any of this until it was over -- at which point I started wondering just how badly I'd failed to predict how other people would perceive me. Had my cousin read me as male for an instant -- or even wondered if there was something he didn't know about me? I had no idea, just like I'd had no idea that the woman saw me as male. And that lack of control over my presentation -- even though I'm fairly sure I would have been delighted to be read that way, if it had been something I'd hoped and planned for -- still scares me enough that I'm feeling just a little bit shaky, writing this.
Or, okay, maybe more than a little bit.
That's basically how the story ends. The woman and I didn't happen to cross paths again, and if I've been gendered in unexpected ways since then, I'm as ignorant of it now as I was at the time.
I feel like there should be a moral, here, but I'm not sure what it is. Definitely I hate not knowing how other people see me, and maybe there's something in here about internalized transphobia, too. Or I could say that I can get why even the most cisgendered of cis people might experience a moment of panic upon being misgendered, given the bizarre significance that's placed on gender in social interactions -- or I could run the risk of contradicting that, and marvel at the fact that I genuinely didn't notice any difference, when I was having a conversation with someone who thought she was having a conversation with a man. (Although, on the other hand, I can be pretty oblivious.)
Or I could wonder, for the first time, whether perhaps she wasn't deceived with regard to my assigned gender, but nevertheless perceived, somehow, that I identified differently.
Or maybe I'll just go with the idea that life in general, and gender in particular, can sometimes be confusing.
This happened a few years back, and I wasn't even present for the most pivotal part of it, so I might get some of this wrong. Actually, when I asked my mother about it a while ago, she didn't remember it at all, even though she was the one who told me, and I don't really understand how she could have forgotten. I don't doubt that it did happen, though; I might be misremembering or misinterpreting, but I wouldn't have made something like this up. I'm much less likely to write events into existence than out of it. My mother isn't much of a practical jokester, either.
Anyway, the story.
I was at a family gathering, wearing jeans and a button-up shirt, both from the men's section, and I was doing pretty okay, social anxiety-wise, at least for me. I saw a cousin I hadn't seen in a while, and he said he almost hadn't recognized me, which I wasn't sure how to respond to, but didn't think about all that much about, either. During dinner, I talked with some family members and with a friend of someone's that I hadn't met before, and it was actually a pretty interesting conversation, so that was cool. I felt good about making it through the evening as well as I did.
And then afterwards, my mother let me know that later on, it had become apparent that our new acquaintance thought that I was my parents' son. She never realized her "mistake"; she apparently didn't notice their using different pronouns, and no one contradicted her outright, so I guess she went away still thinking it.
This was back before I had given any serious thought to whether I might identify as male, but it was well into the period where I spent lots of time thinking wistfully about how nice it would be if somehow -- magically, I guess, since I was resolutely ignoring the possibility of being trans -- I could be seen as an androgynous geeky guy, rather than an androgynous geeky young woman. My official ideal might have been being an androgynous geeky androgyne, but that was hard enough for me to imagine that I think I spent more time daydreaming about the male option.
I was pretty stunned to think that I'd accidentally achieved it. (At least, I assume my androgyny and geekiness were evident. I'm not very conventionally masculine in build or manner, and the geekiness is kind of indelible.) I was definitely trying for an androgynous appearance, but I had assumed that I wasn't doing that well at it, especially given my long hair, which I viewed as very feminine. It was completely surprising to hear that apparently I had managed to completely conceal my assigned gender from at least one person. But also pleasing, right?
Actually, my strongest reaction was something like terror. I think it was the fact that I'd had no clue about any of this until it was over -- at which point I started wondering just how badly I'd failed to predict how other people would perceive me. Had my cousin read me as male for an instant -- or even wondered if there was something he didn't know about me? I had no idea, just like I'd had no idea that the woman saw me as male. And that lack of control over my presentation -- even though I'm fairly sure I would have been delighted to be read that way, if it had been something I'd hoped and planned for -- still scares me enough that I'm feeling just a little bit shaky, writing this.
Or, okay, maybe more than a little bit.
That's basically how the story ends. The woman and I didn't happen to cross paths again, and if I've been gendered in unexpected ways since then, I'm as ignorant of it now as I was at the time.
I feel like there should be a moral, here, but I'm not sure what it is. Definitely I hate not knowing how other people see me, and maybe there's something in here about internalized transphobia, too. Or I could say that I can get why even the most cisgendered of cis people might experience a moment of panic upon being misgendered, given the bizarre significance that's placed on gender in social interactions -- or I could run the risk of contradicting that, and marvel at the fact that I genuinely didn't notice any difference, when I was having a conversation with someone who thought she was having a conversation with a man. (Although, on the other hand, I can be pretty oblivious.)
Or I could wonder, for the first time, whether perhaps she wasn't deceived with regard to my assigned gender, but nevertheless perceived, somehow, that I identified differently.
Or maybe I'll just go with the idea that life in general, and gender in particular, can sometimes be confusing.
