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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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It has been a trying couple of weeks, with a ton of family obligations that necessitated too much guy time and very little Janie-ness.
It is always surprising what strange things leave their mark in my perceptions…
What hit me was that, yes, I actually do have some nice male clothes. Who knew?
In the past couple of years, I have rarely had need of more than two pairs of pants and a few tops, since I wear male clothes quite sparingly, and so I had just been pretty much wearing out my few faves over time.
But with daily use, I had to delve further into his wardrobe. And, guess what? I have some nice stuff, and some of it is even bohemian enough to pull off with long hair.
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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?”)
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For me, the biggest doubts about being a woman concern the betrayal that it may be of the guy that I always understood myself to be, who I thought I was, who I thought I was going to be.
I use the word “guy” because I am not sure that I ever entirely got to the point of considering myself a “man.” There were and maybe still are issues of maturity and other things that are mixed into that psychological mess, but I never acquired, in my own eyes, the gravitas that being a man – as I understand the term – involves.
And, more than likely, being female as I am now is either a cause of or a result of that same thought process.
Or, maybe both.
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The government of Ontario has become the first jurisdiction in North America to add gender identity and gender expression to the list of prohibited grounds of discrimination under its Human Rights Code.
Woo! hoo!
But, while I am ecstatic to be protected from discrimination, I cannot escape a nagging feeling of dread.
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I shouldn’t really get a kick out of confusing the poor uninitiated, but for some reason, I do.
I was in a suburban restaurant the other day, totally in guy mode, when the need arose to use the loo. Of course, I went to the men’s room.
As I was standing at the sink, washing my hands, the door (which was slightly behind me and to my left) opened and a man came forward. I turned to look and saw him stop in his tracks as he took in the sight of me, look back at the sign on the door, then back at me.
Then, he stepped back and let the door close.
A few seconds later, the door opened again, and I turned to him and said with a friendly smile, “Yes, you’re in the right place.” I paused, aware that he still wasn’t completely buying it, and reassured him, “And, so am I.”
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A court decision in Canada has struck down a law requiring Gender-reassignment Surgery (GRS) as a precondition to having one’s gender changed on their documentation.
There are undoubtedly people on both sides of this issue who will be unhappy about it – post-op transsexuals who may feel that anyone who can tolerate the “bits” of the opposite gender is not truly transsexual, and others who may feel that this just makes it too easy to play games with one’s gender and official documentation.
But, remember that most people who eventually undergo gender reassignment surgery spend years living as the gender opposite to what their identification indicates. They do this for financial reasons, or even for reasons of uncertainty and fear of going through with the surgery. They are not fooling around; this is serious business in their lives, and having a passport or ID that matches the gender they are living is important.
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Miss Universe Canada selected Jenna Talackova as a finalist for the 2012 competition.
But, that was before they found out that she was born male (“assigned male at birth” to be exact).
Can’t have that!
Yes, the pageant immediately disqualified her, wishing her the best in her life outside their little event. Sorry, just the rules; no discrimination here, they said.
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I’ve been Ma’am-ed before on several occasions while in male mode, but this is a whole new thing.
When someone refers to you as “Ma’am,” they see you as a blank stranger – another person in line, a customer, someone in their way… whatever.
But, today, I was getting on the plane, and a fairly good-looking man in his 40s or 50s stepped out of the aisle to let me pass, looking straight into my eyes with a smile and softly saying, “Go ahead, dear.”
Certainly not an affirmation of my masculinity, that’s for sure!
I am equal parts puzzled, concerned and pleased.
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As we push the boundaries of gender, sometimes things just make you shake your head – even people like me. A pregnant man is one of those things.
Not too long ago, there was an article in a local paper about a guy having a baby. Not surprisingly, it was an FTM transsexual – and one who had taken pains to preserve her reproductive organs during her reassignment surgery.
Now, I am the first to admit that my views on gender are fairly old-fashioned; ironically, it is that point-of-view that is the foundation for my transgenderism, as I am simply unable to incorporate my feminine side into my masculine without destroying the integrity of both, as I see them.
So, this person is clearly the opposite of me, in that she did not feel that becoming a man conflicted with her desire to become pregnant and give birth to children, nor her desire to be in a relationship with a man.
Amazingly, what did give her pause was the idea that having her feet in stirrups in order to receive the insemination would be too feminizing for her masculine self!!










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