In The Unstoppable Camera

I've had this bobbing around in my head for a few weeks now, meaning to post it as an essay, but as any of you who've slogged through my essays (the prosy ones possibly excepted) probably know, my essays come out dreadful, and I generally get embarrassed and delete them. So instead, I'm just going to toss the ideas out there, and invite you all to beat anything you disagree with with a stick. Because regardless of whether my opinion changes or not, I always come out feeling that it's at least better informed when someone contradicts it.

Since coming out I've been vaguely mystified by the concept of gender. Everyone seems to have terribly strong opinions based on their view of it -- trans people, radical feminists, asshats who insist that gender is curable -- but no one quite seems to agree what the terms of the debate actually are. When I first started wondering about this last summer, I asked people to give their own explanations of gender, and five or six people rose to the challenge and gave answers that were at the same time pretty accurate and kind of unsatisfying and incomplete-feeling.

So after reading flamewar after flamewar, wading through pages and pages of queer theory, feminism, trans books, whatever, this is how I see it: when people talk about "gender" they're can actually be referring to any combination of things, and often pretending that that one thing is the end-all and be-all of gender. I can think of five, but I bet there's more:

1. BIOLOGICAL SEX: Quite simply, "XX or XY", "penis or no penis." (I don't buy "penis or vagina" -- if that's so, why is a post-op trans woman "a man who had his penis cut off", and a post-op trans man "a woman who had a penis surgically attached"?) Traditionally, the component behind which all other aspects of gender are expected to line up: a biologically male person is expected to be a straight male masculine recipient of the full benefits of male privilege.


2. GENDER IDENTITY: The ever-important one to us trans people, and probably the most controversial of the lot. Gender identity is your internal sense of yourself as male or female; experienced in dramatic fashion by transsexual people, but the existence of which is often denied by cissexual (non-transsexual) people. One could say (and I generally do) that you aren't really aware of your teeth unless you have a toothache either, or bring up the awful case of David Reimer as evidence, but as with most internal conditions, I don't think we'll have too clear a picture of what the specific experience of gender identity actually is until we're all telepathic and can directly compare our own senses of self to one another's.


3. GENDER EXPRESSION: Masculine or feminine, jeans or a skirt. How do you present your gender, how do you perform it? As RuPaul succinctly put it, "you're either naked or it's drag" -- although I question whether it can't still be drag when you're naked...


4. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: This one really shouldn't be here, and I think we've advanced as a society at least far enough to not deliberately include this in any definition of gender. But the attitudes and assumptions that connect sexual orientation to gender are harder to weed out -- if you meet a woman with a shaved head and the sleeves cut off her denim jacket to show off her massive biceps, your first thought probably isn't I wonder if she has a boyfriend?, is it?


5. EXTERNAL GENDERING: Often cited by radfems as the only true experience of gender, I don't think there's any reasonable way to deny that there is an aspect of gender wholly independent of and beyond the control of it's object. Because a massive part of gender is the effect your perceived gender has on the people around you. For instance, I read in (I believe) the queer_rage community a while back a complaint from a trans man* right here in Boston that, while he was walking around wearing prosthetic sideburns but not binding his breasts or making any other attempt to disguise his biological sex, some guy came right up to him 0and without so much as a "hello", clapped a hand right on his cheek and exclaimed, "Hey, those aren't real, are they?" Meanwhile, although people often stare, scowl and even shout at me, no one's dared lay a hand on me in the six months I've been out in public. Accurately or not, if you are gendered male, your personal space is inviolate, and any uninvited physical contact is almost an act of war; whereas if you are gendered female, your body is, to some extent, public property, and your right to it is vague and highly conditional.

As I said before, all of these different parts are expected to line up in a single, standard way, and any variance is going to be considered by more than a few people as weird, deviant and/or a foolish mistake. But actually, although these things are related, they each exist independent of one another -- so, for instance, a non-passing butch trans lesbian would have a male biological sex, female gender identity, masculine gender expression, gay sexual orientation and still involuntarily receive a measure of male privilege. Gender is a la carte, a smorgasboard: you can and probably will mix and match these things how you like.

And now that I've typed all that out, it occurs to me I've falsely treated these aspects as being binary, when, in fact, all of them really broad spectrums on which people get assigned to the end they happen to be closest to -- intersex people do not fit into rigid biological definitions of male or female, genderqueer people often do not identify as either, male privilege is not a single set of rights that some people get all of and everyone else gets none of, and I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that there's lots of space between straight and gay, masculine and feminine.

But anyway, that's just where my thinking is at this week. What do you think gender is?

___
*This story is being related from memory, and I may be misreporting the person's gender identity and using the wrong pronouns, and if I am, I sincerely apologize. However, since we're talking about a wholly external experience, I hope that the point will stand regardless of the person's identity.

So the Magnificent Mr. eschewv has pointed me in the direction of a "Draw Yourself As A Teenager" meme, and I was so excited I didn't even finish reading my friends page (it's OK, I will now).

Rachel, circa 1997:



(And I just realized I totally misspelled Allen Ginsberg's name, and no, I'm not going to spend 20 minutes painstakingly photoshopping an "e" in there. You'll live.)

So just because it's been a while since I posted any of these:



Waking me up in the morning can be a death-defying act.



Seriously, as I type this she's circling my ankles pleading, mow? mow? mow? as if she hasn't been scratched behind the ears ever! That cat has significant co-dependence issues.



All right, well my hands aren't actually hexagonal claws. I never said I was talented, only beautiful. (OK, well I never said that either, but.)



In which our heroine GAZES INTO THE BLUE CROTCH OF JUSTICE! This one was from the morning before she was going in for a pap smear -- in my defense, she asked me to post this one.

OK: it's Sunday night, and every Sunday night around these parts I ask those of you on the internet to shuffle your MP3s and tell me the first ten to come up, thereby fascinating the heck out of me with the many unlikely quirks in your musical taste. This week, mine are:

1. Animal Collective - Prospect Hummer (with Vashti Bunyan)


2. The Raincoats - In Love


3. Israel Kamakawiwo'ole - Panini Pua Kea


4. Boards Of Canada - An Eagle In Your Mind


5. Pulp - Turkey Mambo Mama


6. Philip Glass - Ave


7. The Dresden Dolls - First Orgasm (live)


8. The Mountain Goats - Alpha Double Negative: Going To Catalina (1996 Version)


9. Miles Davis - Two Faced


10. Siouxie And The Banshees - Christine

Now there's never been any question that my support for a horse will jinx it -- I generally haven't bothered to bet on them when we go to the track since that one I put ten dollars on ran the wrong way (he sure was fast, though!) -- but what is it these last few years that every horse I cheer for in the Kentucky Derby ends up euthanized? First Barbaro going down in the Preakness a couple years ago, and now Eight Belles having to be put down right on the track tonight... it seriously takes all the fun out of the Triple Crown. I'm not even bothering to stay and watch creepy Rick Dutrow careen woodenly among his friends and loved ones in celebration because it put such a pall on the whole thing for me.

I'm walking into the Boston Public Library and a middle-aged African man in a leopardskin hat holds the door and steps aside. He smiles for a moment, but then he looks at my face and I smile politely and thank him and his face falls. There's a little anger in his eyes and I step inside quickly and keep walking.

I head upstairs, pick up Max Wolf Valerio's The Testosterone Files from its place in the tiny transgender section -- tucked in by the Library Of Congress system between homosexuality and BDSM -- check out, and walk through the security gates, which go off. "Excuse me, miss!" the security guard calls from across the lobby, and I stop and step back in. She takes my book, waves it through the gate, and when no alarm sounds, hands it back to me with a polite "Thank you, have a nice day, sir."

This is how it is these days: I pass for five seconds, and then maybe it's the way I carry myself, or my voice, or the bluegrey color of my beard shadow behind my makeup, but anyone who really looks rather than glancing past me knows, or thinks they know, just what I am. And then they stress the "sir" to apologize for their "mistake", or scowl to make it clear they're not fooled anymore and I'm an prick for tricking them into staring at my ass and potentially catching The Gay.

It doesn't bother me like it used to, though there are still days when I stay indoors all day because I just don't have the energy to deal with it. Maybe it's just that I'm happier with what I see in the mirror, or maybe it's nice that after all these months I'm finally passing just a tiny bit, or maybe it's just time and effort and after six months of being more or less full time I'm more confident in who I am -- and less willing to let people who think they know better get to me.

Whatever it is, when people stare at me on the subway trying to make it clear that they're offended to share a planet with me, and that I should be ashamed of what I am, I'm learning not to look at my feet in silent agreement anymore. I'm learning to look them in the eye and, warmly, openly, smile.

Almost every time, their smug faces instantly go blank and they look away.

OK, Amanda's complaining that I haven't updated my journal in, like, two whole days (gasp!), so here's a video of K. making love to some discarded and less-discarded pants. If you're really lucky, those of you on my friends list might even get some long-winded introspection later. Yay!

Dear Rachel,

I don't care how much of a procrastinator you are: if you get a solid week of sunshine, please don't put off errands until the following week when it's scheduled to rain every single day.

Love,
Rachel

Continuing our ever-popular "Who's on the net on a Sunday night" meme, you know the drill -- shuffle your MP3's, and list the first ten for us.

Here's mine:

1. Brian Eno - Introducing The Band


2. Regina Spektor - Ghost Of Corporate Future (live)


3. Greg Brown - Inabell Sale


4. Ella Fitzgerald - From This Moment On


5. Yid Vicious - Fun Tashlikh


6. David Bowie - The Jean Genie


7. Jeff Buckley - Lost Highway


8. Tom Waits - What Keeps Mankind Alive?


9. Mekons - The Old Fox


10. The Raincoats - In Love

Amanda and I are lying together on the air mattress in the library with K. curled by our feet coolly trying not to look too irritated by Amanda's intrusion on her territory -- by which I mean both the bed and me. Boards Of Canada's "The Voice Of The Fire" is playing on the computer's tiny speakers, a sample of a little girl saying, "Iiiii -- loovvve -- yooou... 'I love you!'" slowly dragging each word out as though reading them aloud while writing them on a sidewalk. It's grey and dismal outside, an afternoon dragging with withheld rain, and cars with yellow headlights swoop up and down Medford Street, their engines muted by the windowpanes and drowned in the music.

I read Amanda a lesbian love poem by Adrienne Rich, and she just shrugs and says, "Nice."

"'Nice!'" I smirk, pressing my lips to her neck to pay her for listening to the entire thing. "See if I read you love poetry again," I mumble fondly into her throat.

Amanda closes her eyes and turns her head away from her book for the first time. "Hey, listen!" she says, smiling, "you knew I wasn't romantic when you married me." K. turns up her nose in haughty disapproval. I put my arm around Amanda's side and she says, "We don't do this often enough anymore," which is true. She sets down her book by mine and we lay quietly there under the cat's condescending glare for several minutes, not saying anything at all.

It's grey and dark and seven miserable days of sunshine and fighting are over. The forecast says cold rain all week now, and that's all right. Whatever comes next has to be better.

Day One & Explanation
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five
Day Six

( A Week In The Life Of Rachel - Day Seven )

Now, I know in just a couple of weeks the temperature's going to break 80°, and then I'm going to be utterly miserable for the rest of the summer -- especially since our air conditioner didn't make the trip to Massachusetts with us -- but this last week has been amazing weather-wise, and "abundant sunhine" sounds like the seventh and final "day in the life" post will again mostly be pictures of the Boston Common!

Yay sun!

Day One & Explanation
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five

( A Week In The Life Of Rachel - Day Six )

OK, it's Sunday night and hardly anyone's on the internet but me, so let's play this game again: put all your MP3s on random and list the first ten that come up -- like so:

1. Ani DiFranco - Fixing Her Hair


2. The Mountain Goats - Original Air-Blue Gown


3. The Dirty Mac - Yer Blues


4. The Roots - The Seed (2.0)


5. Iron & Wine - The Devil Never Sleeps


6. Redbird - Redbird


7. Philip Glass - Opening


8. Brian Eno - How Many Worlds


9. Wilson Pickett - Hey Jude


10. Ryan Adams - When The Stars Go Blue

Day One & Explanation
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four

( A Week In The Life Of Rachel - Day Five... in which our heroine gives a certain socially burnt partner an afternoon to herself, and goes out to enjoy the sunshine and Marathon crowds )

I am no longer in New York during passover and a papal visit (which means the chance of my actually being able to say "Good yontiff, pontiff," has now dropped back from astonishingly faint to none).
- Neil Gaiman

(quote courtesy of dybbuk67 in the weirdjews community)

Day One & Explanation
Day Two
Day Three

( A Week In The Life Of Rachel - Day Four )

Tell a lie. Go on: you know you've done it, and if you say you haven't you're doing it again. I've even heard Amanda lie before (maybe once or twice) and if she has, everyone has.

Don't just tell it once, though. Tell it again and again, tell it every day, every minute with every breath. Cross-reference every move you make, every choice against the lie until you're not just telling it, you're living it, full-time. Whisper it to yourself until you believe it, become that double agent who gets lost in her role and forgets her cover story is a cover story at all, forgets what side she's on, what story was covering what.

Say it out loud, too. Constantly. Let the people you love hear it until they're convinced, until they believe it enough to assume it's the whole truth. Until they believe it is a foundation solid enough to build their own lives on.

Once you've done that, you can safely forget there was ever anything to lie about: settle down, marry, live as though everything has always been exactly as it is now. If the now-unnameable truth still eats at you, drink. Take drugs. Pull the blinds, seclude yourself and dream of dying, secure in the knowledge that the lie has a life of its own now and no longer needs you at all.

But once you've done that, don't ever stop lying. Once you've done that, it's cruel to stop. Don't even start untangling your stories, because if you pull that one thread the whole thing will come loose and fall away from you. The ground will crumble under the feet of the people you love, you'll become the disaster that touched down on their lives, the quicksand that worked so hard to appear stable. The moment you've said anything, you've said too much.

And whatever happens next will be all your fault.

"And let me once, create
myself. And let you, whoever
sits now breathing on my words
create a self of your own. One
that will love me."

-from "The Dance" by Amiri Baraka (as Leroi Jones)