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I am starting to question my grip on reality. Or, perhaps my friends’.
Last week I played golf for the first time openly as a woman. It was also the first one-on-one time I have had with this golf-buddy of mine since I told him I was trans. Of course, old habits die hard, especially when there is no occasion to practice new things, and he couldn’t help saying things like, “You’re up, big g–! Oops! Sorry!” He freely admitted that he still sees me as a guy, notwithstanding my adorable light-mauve golf dress and makeup. He’s known me as a guy for decades, and it is hard for him to see me any other way.
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I don’t think I ever imagined I would ask such a question, but life being what it is, not only is it a question that now makes sense to me, it is a fundamentally important one to me.
With all this talk about one’s gender not being defined by what’s between their legs, and that we ought to expand the acceptable roles for both genders, I think this question of what makes a person a man or a woman becomes quite a challenging one. There are plenty of ways we don’t, or ought not to, define gender. So then, how do we define gender?
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The current issue of Frock Magazine is out on the virtual newsstands, and there is a six-page spread by and about me, starting at page 58, called “Beauty on the Gender Line.” (The issue is #21, June/July 2013.)
To save you the trip – and a few of their maddeningly ill-advised edits of the article – I reproduce the contents here –
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Why do I do this gender thing? This is a big question for me.
Many people have a ready answer, “I was born this way.” I am not sure I believe that about myself, and even if it is so, there is not enough there to stop and put the pen down.
I have noted the number of issues in my life that being Janie has addressed. She has added excitement and motivation to my life, she has increased my self-esteem, she has helped me break some debilitating patterns – and there is lots more I expect to come.
But, I have struggled with the idea that instead of this craziness, of dressing like a woman and having to deal with the doubts I have, the social risks, and other attendant lifestyle risks, that I should just “man up” and get help if necessary, but solve my problems in the “normal” way, through personal growth, and addressing the real concerns instead of doing an end-around.
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Have you ever considered that much of the resistance to MTF transgenderism is based in male chauvinism and misogyny and their equally ugly feminist sisters?
There really shouldn’t be much resistance to a man wishing to become a woman if we really do believe in equality, and if both genders are perceived in a positive light. There is no advantage if women are not superior or entitled to special rights, and there is no shame if women are not inferior. There is no betrayal of one or invasion of the other if the opposite gender is not viewed with suspicion.
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I realize that almost everyone adopts a gender role that is consistent with their sex, but is there any good reason why I should overrule my desire to do otherwise?
There are men and there are women; it should come as no surprise that there are people in between – both man and woman/neither man nor woman/man acting feminine/woman acting masculine/man looking like woman, etc.
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The fluid nature of gender roles over time provides more proof that what it means to be a man changes depending on the era and the culture and probably the circumstances. It is common to cling to current sensibilities as if they were pronounced from on high, but recall that the Roman soldiers wore skirts into battle and the males in French aristocracy in the middle of the last millennium wore long hair, wigs, heels, etc.
Mind you, I am not sure the role differences changed as much as the expectations for clothes and appearance.
I respect everyone’s right to choose their gender role, but for myself, I confess to liking the idea of men and women who are distinctly different.
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In all my recent writing about contemplating an adjustment to the way I express my femininity, there is one huge presumption: that I have a choice.
This is not a popular concept within the transgender (or even gay) community, and I am not going to undertake the futile task of even suggesting that my feelings apply to anyone but me. Suffice it to say that there are those who believe that it is a stronger statement to say “I choose to be” than it is to say “I can’t help it,” though the latter has always been a better political argument.
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Despite being a mix of genders – at least when I am Janie – I try to come off as one or the other. And, I do so with good reason.
We live in society – y’know, among other people. 99% (a rough, but undoubtedly fair approximation) understand gender in the binary sense – and to a large extent, so do I.
Presenting oneself outside this presumption will surely turn heads, and likely noses too. If you have a renegade complex, maybe that suits you; it doesn’t me.
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(continued from Beyond Gender)
What we are talking about is the post-gender concept, the “Pejic Ideal,” so to speak: the relatively rare male that can, without body modification or assumption of womanhood, carry off a completely feminine look.
The guy who basically says, “I like feminine things, and if you mistake me for a woman, that’s on you not me.”
The guy who says, “I happen to enjoy the trappings of both genders and I dress in things I like and behave the way I feel. I don’t feel the need to be male or female in order to understand myself. I am just me. I realize that most others will need to put me in one box or the other, but if they do, they will find out things about me that just don’t fit their model. I can play along with people’s need to be able to understand me, but only now and then.”
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