This is ... a thing. I will NOT natter about the thing. Yet.
Prompt Fill: Fashion with respect to gender and sexuality, and vice versa.
This went to some very personal places. I should warn for lots of issues. Content Warnings: gender assignment, gender roles, stereotypes, genderqueerness, cis privilege, male privilege, thin privilege, angst and focusing on personal drama, body image issues, negative imagery attached to secondary sexual characteristics. I’m not actually this fucked up most of the time. Like it or not, love it or hate it, here it is.
***
Gaming the System
***
I once played a game.
It’s called Gender Rolls. It’s on a website. You read some columns, roll some dice, get a three word phrase.
(One example given: agender sophisticate dragon. Nice, replies a comic character. I do admire dragons. In my untold story, my cat-wings are smaller and they are feathered for soft flight.)
I rolled the phrase dapper questioning gentleperson. I like it a lot; it fits, like my roommate’s dark wide-brimmed hat that she joked was a Hat of Power and Authority. I loved her, maybe a little, and still do. I never got to borrow her hat, though.
If I can dress to meet the day with dapper I can be courteous, old-fashioned, odd, delightful, too masculine for one gender assignment and too fashionable for another stereotype, fabulous, poised, precise, plain as my father’s shirts and rich as my mother’s jewelry.
I can’t wear that every day though. Bowties are cool but I’d strangle in them.
***
I once played a game. It’s called Gender Rules. It’s in the air. You read some books, hear some advice, get burned.
One example given: I was a real hippy then, says my mother. I ask for stories of brown rice casserole and trips to South America and don’t ask about sex and love and freedom until I’m much older.
I looked for my tribe in books for years before I learned that they had always been there and tribe might not be the right term. I tried on hippy, pagan, alternative, kutumba, and they all danced with me like I danced in the drum circle in a long skirt flowing. I was warned not to dance too close to one man, though. And when I finally kissed a dancing girl named for a bird she flew away.
If I can dress to meet the day with goddess-blessed next generation hippy girl, I hopefully won’t have to spell it because the skirts and shawls are lengthy enough but blow in the wind beautifully.
I can’t wear that every day though - More and more, I reach for a comfortable long skirt, something bright, flowing, free, and soft, something I’d like to believe in being, and my hand freezes.
***
I once played a game called Gender Roles.
I took My Gender Workbook everywhere and cried over Stone Butch Blues. It felt like coming home but I didn’t know what I needed. I could tell my friend that he had the right to be himself T and all and let my girlfriend come out one little piece at a time but I stood aside and between afraid to exercise cis privilege, afraid not to, claiming only queer and wishing other people heard what I meant when I said it.
I wondered what my dreams had meant when I was a little boy in a castle but I knew that I could rock this female body and the ways it didn’t fit weren’t fixable here and now and I mostly definitely wasn’t a guy. I wondered what my daydreams had meant when I wanted to be lean, powerful, androgynous when desire bloomed just as I was discovering I didn’t want to be hormonal, hairy, chubby, cranky, and coming of age as a woman was a myth and it stunk. I knew I’d learned to like some parts of it but there’s a reason I remember that I got my first period on Pearl Harbor Day. Attack at high tide on home soil.
(I wear my body every day and mostly I don’t hate it.) ***
I once played a game called Gender. I didn’t want to play but they made me be on a team, last pick. I don’t know the rules, and I’m always running too slowly. When a child says, I want to go home, sometimes it means can we please stop this game and start another. Please, can we stop?
I want to play a game that isn’t keep away or dodge ball. I want to have a turn.
***
If I can take off my worries then I can take off my clothes which is only showing skin and if I can take off my self-consciousness and then I can take off my body which is only showing one shape out of many and if I can take off my illusions then I can take off my preconceptions which are only showing seemings and temporary tricks and I can be naked, which is always in style.
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prompt fill
Date: 2016-08-21 07:20 am (UTC)Prompt Fill: Fashion with respect to gender and sexuality, and vice versa.
This went to some very personal places. I should warn for lots of issues. Content Warnings: gender assignment, gender roles, stereotypes, genderqueerness, cis privilege, male privilege, thin privilege, angst and focusing on personal drama, body image issues, negative imagery attached to secondary sexual characteristics. I’m not actually this fucked up most of the time. Like it or not, love it or hate it, here it is.
***
Gaming the System
***
I once played a game.
It’s called Gender Rolls.
It’s on a website.
You read some columns,
roll some dice,
get a three word phrase.
(One example given:
agender sophisticate dragon.
Nice, replies a comic character.
I do admire dragons.
In my untold story,
my cat-wings are smaller
and they are feathered
for soft flight.)
I rolled the phrase
dapper questioning gentleperson.
I like it a lot; it fits,
like my roommate’s
dark wide-brimmed hat
that she joked was a Hat of Power and Authority.
I loved her, maybe a little,
and still do.
I never got to borrow her hat, though.
If I can dress to meet the day
with dapper
I can be courteous, old-fashioned, odd,
delightful, too masculine for one gender assignment
and too fashionable for another stereotype,
fabulous, poised, precise,
plain as my father’s shirts
and rich as my mother’s jewelry.
I can’t wear that every day though.
Bowties are cool
but I’d strangle in them.
***
I once played a game.
It’s called Gender Rules.
It’s in the air.
You read some books,
hear some advice,
get burned.
One example given:
I was a real hippy then, says my mother.
I ask for stories of brown rice casserole
and trips to South America
and don’t ask about sex and love and freedom
until I’m much older.
I looked for my tribe in books
for years before I learned
that they had always been there
and tribe might not be the right term.
I tried on hippy, pagan,
alternative, kutumba,
and they all danced with me
like I danced in the drum circle
in a long skirt flowing.
I was warned
not to dance too close
to one man, though.
And when I finally kissed
a dancing girl
named for a bird
she flew away.
If I can dress to meet the day
with goddess-blessed next generation hippy girl,
I hopefully won’t have to spell it
because the skirts and shawls are lengthy enough
but blow in the wind beautifully.
I can’t wear that every day though -
More and more, I reach
for a comfortable long skirt,
something bright, flowing, free, and soft,
something I’d like to believe in being,
and my hand freezes.
***
I once played a game
called Gender Roles.
I took My Gender Workbook everywhere
and cried over Stone Butch Blues.
It felt like coming home
but I didn’t know what I needed.
I could tell my friend
that he had the right to be himself
T and all
and let my girlfriend come out
one little piece at a time
but I stood aside and between
afraid to exercise cis privilege, afraid not to,
claiming only queer
and wishing other people
heard what I meant when I said it.
I wondered what my dreams had meant
when I was a little boy in a castle
but I knew that I could rock this female body
and the ways it didn’t fit weren’t fixable
here and now
and I mostly definitely wasn’t a guy.
I wondered what my daydreams had meant
when I wanted to be lean, powerful, androgynous
when desire bloomed just
as I was discovering I didn’t want to be
hormonal, hairy, chubby, cranky,
and coming of age as a woman
was a myth and it stunk.
I knew I’d learned to like some parts of it
but there’s a reason I remember
that I got my first period on Pearl Harbor Day.
Attack at high tide on home soil.
(I wear my body every day
and mostly
I don’t hate it.)
***
I once played a game
called Gender.
I didn’t want to play
but they made me be on a team,
last pick.
I don’t know the rules,
and I’m always running too slowly.
When a child says,
I want to go home,
sometimes it means
can we please stop
this game and start another.
Please, can we stop?
I want to play
a game
that isn’t keep away
or dodge ball.
I want
to have a
turn.
***
If I can take off my worries
then I can take off my clothes
which is only showing skin
and if I can take off my self-consciousness
and then I can take off my body
which is only showing one shape out of many
and if I can take off my illusions
then I can take off my preconceptions
which are only showing seemings and temporary tricks
and I can be naked,
which is always in style.