There I was in a neighborhood cafe waiting in line to order, when my mind turned to the two women standing and talking at the other end of the counter, waiting for their orders to be filled.
I was dressed much the same way they were – short jean shorts, a feminine T and flip-flops. But, I had this overwhelming feeling of, well… being an imposter!
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Today is one of those funny days when I don’t really know what I am.
I got up this morning knowing that I can be as I wish, then got dressed in a white pair of pants that are technically male clothes, but not categorically so.
I thought about what to put on top for a minute, then settled on my favorite green top with white stripes – a nice complement to the pants, and as feminine a top as the pants were masculine – in other words, debatably so.
Androgynous running shoes completed the androgynous outfit.
I hung around the house for a while, eating breakfast and answering emails and such, then had to go out.
I decided to accessorize my look with a necklace and two rings, and in a last minute decision, put on a touch of mascara and subtle lipstick.
The clothes are, as I have said umpteen times before, merely a reflection of my mood, not the other way around.
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This weekend’s New York Times Magazine cover story had the same name as this post. I recommend it to you. Click here for the article. (their photo too.)
When you read it, note the hundreds and hundreds of comments it generated in its first days. That should give you an idea of how sensitive this issue is.
It is astounding to see how the world has changed, and also to see a pattern of commentary that shows some folks stuck in the past and others racing ahead of where we are.
Any sea change in social structure tends to follow the same course. Think of the resistance to women wearing pants, or becoming capable leaders, or showing their elbows in public, or getting the vote.
The most amusing thing about all this is that people look at what their life was like, what their parents did, and perhaps what their grandparents did and think they know all of history – enough for sure to judge what’s normal and socially acceptable.
The truth is that boys wore frilly tops and skirts, the same as girls, for many years and in many cultures in previous centuries.
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Last night, I went out to a club and had a great time.
It was nice to be out, meeting new people, flirting, laughing, dancing…
Coming as it did on the (high) heels of having spent the better part of the day out and about, it seems to have obliterated all the angst of feeling my feminine self being put upon by the practicalities of everyday life.
It’s like, “Oh, yeah! So that’s what I love about my life as Janie!”
It is a bit surprising that on some level, I can actually forget. I feel like I am missing something (see Backsliding), but that’s mixed with a bit of a search for what exactly that something is, and then an “Is it all worth it?”
I have to remind myself that my experiences as a woman have had a surreptitiously profound effect on my spirit – something I discovered a while back but seem sometimes to put out of mind.
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Due to circumstances in my life, I have found it necessary to do something or other with people who do not know of my feminine persona pretty much every day for the past little while.
I have found myself getting up in the morning and wondering what the heck to put on. I would be thinking, “I know I will have to be a guy in a couple of hours, so should I wear feminine clothes and then change… or should I just not bother?” Makeup? An even bigger hassle.
Today, I had an appointment at the dentist in the afternoon, but figured I would have a feminine day until then. But, a construction crew showed up outside my home in the morning, and I wanted to go out and talk with them, so…
It has been like this day after day.
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“Normal” is not a welcome word in transgender circles. We are, irrefutably, relatively rare in number, and our take on gender and sexuality is probably not shared by the vast majority of folks.
While “normal” can be a statistical term, it can also be a value judgment. The opposite of “normal” in that latter sense is something like “different.”
The jump from “different” to “sick because your different” is one that many people make without a moment’s thought.
But, it behooves us to insist that people ask themselves, “Why?”
Ok, I am different than most people. Why do you care? Why do you think it is wrong? Why do you think it is sick? Think about it. And then again answer the key question: why do you care?
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As I throw around the idea of whether Janie’s place in my life is for good or not, it helps to remember that my experience so far has been something like having the Red Sea parted to allow me to walk, in heels, down life’s road.
So many CDs or tgirls are confronted by daunting obstacles in their efforts to become what they need to be. They show courage and perseverance and determination, and often suffer through heart-wrenching compromises. I salute them.
I often ask myself whether I wouldn’t have quit in the face of their challenges. But, I also wonder why I keep questioning something that, it seems, I was destined for, if for no other reason than that it has been so easy.
I am the right size, and the right proportions. I have feminine facial features (well some, anyway). I can buy my clothes off the rack in regular stores and my shoes in women’s shoe stores. I live in an extremely tolerant city. My job and financial well-being are not threatened by it. My relationship is not an issue, and in fact has been improved by it. My social network is a relatively small concern. I have my hair, and it turns out to be curly and fun. I have a relatively feminine voice. I find it easy to walk in heels. I have a decent fashion sense. Feminine posture has actually helped my back problems. Janie’s presence in my life is the answer to a number of personal issues (maybe not the best answer, but not a bad answer). I could go on…
It’s almost as if it would be ungracious to turn my back on all that…
Imagine a couple living in Manhattan, with a subscription to the opera, an enjoyment of the restaurants and nightlife and shopping, and the buzz of the city… when the husband, 20 years into this lifestyle, taps his wife on the shoulder and says he has decided to become a farmer and they need to move to the countryside.
“No, New York is where I’d rather stay. I get allergic smelling hay. I just adore a penthouse view; darling I love you, but give me Park Avenue.”
How many women would go along? How many would trade in “the stores” and “Times Square” for “chores” and “fresh air?”
She would have to deal with changing her lifestyle, finding new friends and losing many old ones; in many respects she would feel like the rug was being pulled out from under her and her expectations of how they were going to live their lives. And, of course, the question of, “How long have you been thinking about this without telling me?” would come up, along with a sense of betrayal. If the man is unwilling to compromise his choice, there is every chance that marriage will fall apart.
Read More»I had an odd thought today: why shouldn’t I be able to choose my gender according to my desire, no questions asked?
If you are born or brought up male, there are an awful lot of people who expect you to justify the choice of a female life on the basis of medical condition, inner spirit, psychiatric need or some way of showing that a true female lurks within.
In fact, we do it to ourselves. I have been looking for some kind of proof of my feminine credentials for some time now. Am I? Really?
But, why does it matter? Why can’t I be female for no other reason than I feel like it, or that it makes me happy? Whom am I harming? What’s wrong with it?
It is not like every Joe on the street is going to see that there is no “rule” against switching genders and immediately shave his legs and put on a skirt. Men guard their masculinity quite jealously. Those of us who even contemplate such things – nevermind actually following through – are obviously naturally inclined that way.
Or, am I missing something? (How’s that for “teeing one up?”)
You have lived in and enjoyed your male body for roughly 40+ years, some of your pals, even longer. Given that you have this need to “express yourself in a feminine manner”, just how exactly do you experience that? When you go out, ‘en femme’, do you actually FEEL female? Is it about being seen and treated as a female? Does it not feel extremely odd, even disingenuous, going back and forth?
Any of you who have followed the comments thread on my last post understand all too well the unpleasantness of dealing with an anonymous, relentless, contrary commentator trying to provoke and insult under the pretense of innocently teaching us the error of our ways. I plead guilty to allowing the whole mess to continue for far too long and allowing her to hijack the discussion (and I have deleted pretty much the entire mess). I will do better next time. I see it as my job to create a safe space for all of us to share our feelings and make our opinions known, and I faltered. Sorry.
That said, our commentator does have her moments, such as posing the interesting questions at the top of this post.
And so, on with my answer… (I hope readers will offer their own in the comments.)
First, I want to address what I see as an inaccurate inference in the question. I do not become Janie to go out, or to be seen. And, if I may further clarify another potential misapprehension in the question, I do not become Janie by getting all dressed up.
Like any person, I have feelings and moods. It just so happens that I understand some of my moods – the bigger, broader ones – in gender terms. There are times when I feel feminine, and others (though fewer and further between than before) when I feel like a guy. I have found that I am happier following my moods than trying to overrule them, so when I feel feminine, I am Janie; when I don’t, I am not. What feels odd, in fact, even disingenuous, is when I force myself to be other than the way I feel.
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