We need to talk. That’s not quite accurate, actually. I need to talk, and you need to shut up and listen for a minute. Because some of y’all have been talking about me, and you’ve been talking so loudly that you haven’t been hearing what I’m saying. Some of you haven’t even noticed that I’m in the room.

You probably don’t know me. But a few of you seem to think you know everything you need to know. Enough to fill up chapters in academic texts or pages on your blogs. Enough to make fetishistic jokes or web comics. Enough to name my genitals for me

To be fair, y’all probably didn’t even realize you were talking about me specifically, most of the time. Thanks to testosterone and chest reconstruction surgery, you couldn’t pick me out of a crowd. But, make no mistake—you’re talking about my identity and my experience, too. And I’m tired of being made to feel invisible, or like I shouldn’t speak up about this stuff. So I’m going to offer a few suggestions, and give you yet another chance to respect my identity, and the identities of other people that you’ve been (unintentionally, I’m sure) stomping all over.

Now take a seat, because this might take a few single-spaced pages.  Maybe take a few notes this time, since you obviously forgot about the last thirty times we’ve had discussions like this.

First, in order to respect me, you need to work on completely deconstructing the conflation of masculinity and maleness. A lot of y’all have done some great and much-needed work around dismantling the bullshit idea that masculinity is the sole property of male people. But almost in the same breath, some of you seem to forget that there is nothing inherently masculine about maleness.

I’m male, but I’m not masculine-identified. At all. I don’t care how I look to you. I don’t care if you know that I’m trans. I don’t even care if you know that I identified as an andro dyke for a minute. I’m still not masculine. My experience is not a masculine experience. Period. If, for any reason(s) you think that I am, or if you don’t find it to be a big deal when my femme identity is invalidated, or if you know that I’m feminine, but—goshdarnit—you just keep forgetting? Then you need to check your shit.

Part of respecting me has to include calling bullshit on things that imply, whether directly or indirectly, that male people have inherent masculinity. At the very least, it requires that you notice when it happens. In case you’re confused, here are a couple of examples.

What about when people point out to y’all that it’s problematic to use the word “trans-masculine” to mean all female-assigned people who are masculine-identified, genderqueer-identified, and male-identified, and to exclude all male-assigned people—even masculine- or genderqueer- identified trans female people? I know, I know—“It’s impossible to find a word that will please everybody!” We’ve all heard that one before, right? Be quiet, you’re being divisive. Not to harsh your mellow, but I don’t want to be silenced any more than you do, especially when I can think of several alternatives to “trans-masculine” off the top of my head.

And, I know that lots of female-assigned-at-birth (FAAB) trans people use “transmasculine”. The trans community is only in the beginning stages of trying on new, accurate, and empowering language. We’re going to evolve, and you’re going to have to keep up, and listen to the discussions we’re having.  But, while we’re working on that, how about you stop saying “transmasculine”, if what you’re really trying to do is build a community around what you assume is in the pants of “transmasculine” people (or rather, what you assume isn’t in their pants). And that is what you’re doing, 95% of the time.

It’s important to a lot of folks (for various reasons of variable worth) to have an umbrella term to unite butches to genderqueers to trans guys and everything “in between”. But to say that “trans-masculinity” necessarily encompasses trans maleness is to shoot your trans-feminism in the foot.  Not all cis men are masculine. Many trans women are masculine, and there are many MAAB genderqueer folks who would fit comfortably under the “transmasculine” umbrella. And trans genders are as complex as, and deserve as much respect as, cis genders.

Of course y’all all know that in theory, but I need to see some action.

And when I say “action”, I definitely don’t mean like when “Top Hot Butches” showed up, and it included a metric shit ton of people who were assumed to be masculine, just because they’re male-identified. Oh, and one Riki Wilchins. I’m not sure what Riki Wilchins’ identity is currently, but how—when doing a project about “rejecting compulsory femininity”—is Wilchins theonly MAAB person on that list?

Seriously, why there weren’t way more masculine-identified and genderqueer-identified trans female people on that list? If anybody’s strength and beauty should be celebrated for “reject[ing] compulsory femininity”, in my opinion, it’s them. How many masculine cis female people do you know who have had their femaleness challenged in a meaningful way because they choose to exhibit “intentional masculinity” (and, no, being called “sir” in the checkout line does not count)?

I mean, if the primary criterion for “butchness” is “reject[ing] compulsory femininity”, I’m not sure why male people should even be on a list like that, since there’s nothing “compulsory” about male femininity. Even if the male person is trans. And there’s nothing necessarily “intentional” about trans male masculinity. I’m not even really sure what “intentional” means in that context, actually. Is FAAB masculinity more of a performance than any other gender expression (which can either be “not a performance at all” or “completely a performance”, depending on your views). If it’s not, then why is it mentioned?

The original “Top Hot Butches” appeared to be a celebration of what its author perceived as “butchness”. And—to me at least—it was damn clear that the author’s idea of “butchness” is about female masculinity—specifically, about FAAB masculinity. I hope I don’t even have to go into how fucked up it is to practically go out of your way to praise the masculinity of [trans] male people, while overwhelmingly ignoring the masculinity of [trans] female people.

And, you know what’s not a good excuse? This

I would love suggestions for more butch transwomen to include; I’ve been asking, and looking around, and I did include #84 Riki Wilchins, but surely there must be more than just her. I’m just not familiar with them. It’s so hard to include people you don’t know about, you know? Impossible, in fact. And who I know is completely related to my own standpoint. It’s a huge challenge to get a range of diversity on a list like this.

I find it hard to believe that they were personally familiar with all the FAAB folks they listed. And, even if they were, I think it says volumes about whose and what genders they perceive as “butch”, if they have just happened to never have stumbled upon the writings, activism, contributions, and hotness of masculine-identified MAAB trans people.

It’s a side step, and it avoids something that many folks in the “trans inclusive” queer women’s community need to own up to. If you don’t make space for MAAB trans people in your community, and none show up, whose fault is that? And whose responsibility is it to fix it?

But I don’t even believe for a second that “Top Hot Butches” was really about masculinity, anyway. Because no cis guy (feminine or masculine) would’ve been put on that list, but I have no doubt that—were I a semi-famous openly-trans guy—I’d have been considered for that list without a second thought. I think it’s a safe bet, since I’m pretty sure (at least) one of the guys included in the original list wouldn’t even identify his gender as masculine.

But trans genders are as worthy of respect as cis genders, right? Fortunately, I’m not naïve enough to have dared to hope that the Feministing community would back me up. Instead of calling out cissexism, y’all posted what seemed like a billion comments in which you didn’t notice that there was anything busted going on, or attempted to silence trans people who pointed it out, or—and this was my personal favorite—said shit to the effect of “I can see that this is problematic, but damn that list is hot”. Who doesn’t like their cissexism with a side of fetishism?

The link between masculinity and maleness may have been broken—but only for cis maleness and cis masculinity. I believe that a lot of y’all quietly believe that there is something intrinsically masculine about trans maleness—something that doesn’t exist in cis maleness. And, whatever that thing is, it apparently ties me to this idea of female[-assigned-at-birth] masculinity. And I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that it’s my hypothetical vagina.

That’s not respecting trans genders. That’s cissexism. And there’s no excuse for it. Not “we need more butch visibility”. Not “that’s not what they meant”. Not “[some] trans guys are a part of the community”. And definitely not “ think of it more as a celebration of bending gender norms, rather than a celebration of masculinity” (if you haven’t caught on, that’s fucked up, too). The fact that folks who consider themselves to be trans allies glossed over what amounts to blatant cissexist bullshit. . . it’s disgusting. Even more so because so many of y’all seemed to be overly willing to do so, simply because they liked the eye candy.

Why is it so important for y’all to claim a connection between “butchness”/female masculinity and trans maleness? Sure, connections often exist.  But you never seem to be talking about individual people’s experiences, and their unique relationships to their genders.  That is something to celebrate and honor within your community.  Instead, you’re conscripting all trans male people into your ideas of “butchness”, “trans-masculinity”, and “female masculinity”, without even considering the identities of those of us who are not masculine.

Just because you don’t see us, it doesn’t mean we’re not there. And it definitely doesn’t mean you can generalize the [valid] experiences and identities of the trans guys you do know onto the trans guys you don’t.

And, yes, after the outrage, the trans men were removed from the list.  Last I heard, they were being asked individually whether they’d like to be included.  The non-consensual gendering was an important issue that was appropriately addressed.  But the whole thing still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.  Just because many of the trans guys listed happen to be okay with being included doesn’t change the facts of why they were included to begin with.  Instead of being carefully chosen in a way that showed respect for their unique identities, they were chosen simply because they’re trans.  They would’ve been chosen even if they hadn’t wanted to be.

Perhaps all’s well that ends well?  But if you make a fucked up assumption about a group that I’m a member of, even if that assumption happens to be true for me?  I’m still going to think you’re an asshole.

This might also be a good time to mention that I’m genderqueer-identified. Does that surprise you? It seems like it should, considering that FAAB trans people who object to this shit are often portrayed as binary-identified, male-identified, cisgender*, not-radical, and “stealth” men of transsexual history. Many of whom don’t even consider themselves trans, much less queer.

But, no. I’m genderqueer. I’m genderqueer, and I’m telling you there’s a fucking problem. And one of these problems is subversivism. This shit is said with an eye roll. It’s a way of recognizing, but essentially dismissing concerns. Because all those things—male identities, nondisclosure, cisgender/binary identites—are automatically assumed to be backwards. Or, if not backwards, at least less evolved.

Lots of y’all seem to imagine that cisgender transsexual men are all so wracked with body dysphoria and internalized transphobia that they couldn’t possibly understand or respect other trans guys’ non-binary identities. Of course those guys have a problem with “transmasculine”, or that stupid list, or the creepy bullshit Margaret Cho has been spewing, etc. Most of the time, even when you admit that what you said/did/wrote was fucked up, it seems insincere. As if dissenters should be humored and shushed, so that everybody can go back to universalizing the experience of some trans people at the expense of others.

I’m not saying that cisgender trans men are all innocent victims; cisgenderism is a prevalent and serious problem among binary-identified folks (cis and trans). But there’s a difference between cisgenderism and people being pissed that you consider respecting their identities less important than drawing the lines of community where you want them, no matter who it hurts.

Since I’ve got your attention, we also need to talk a bit about the way some of y’all have been treating the complexity of genderqueer identities. Since it’s still so fresh in everybody’s minds, let’s take the “Top Hot Butches” list, for example. Some genderqueer people have butch or masculine identities. But many genderqueer people—even FAAB genderqueer people (me, for example)—wouldn’t identify their genders as “masculine” at all.

I highly doubt that the author of the list took the time to check to make sure that the genderqueer-identified folks on they included actually identified as butch/masculine. What seems to have happened is that they looked at the confetti of identities that make up genderqueerness, and decided, “Okay, so I know that some of y’all identify outside the binary and all that, but in reality you’re presenting as masculine (or male, which is really just hyper-extended masculinity), so we’ll just say that you present in a way that rejects compulsory femininity, and display some sort of intentional masculinity. For short, we’ll call that butch.

Maybe it goes without saying that, when y’all say “genderqueer”, it’s usually pretty safe to assume that you mean FAAB genderqueers. You mean those genderqueers you pretend to humor, but quietly consider women/female (despite the fact that many explicitly reject those labels). I’ll start believing that y’all respect my genderqueer identity once you start respecting (or even acknowledging) the genderqueer identities of MAAB genderqueer people.

This shit? It’s Not Okay. What you’re doing here—it’s Not Okay. And you’re doing it over, and over, and over again. And it’s exactly why I find so much of gender and queer theory to be a bunch of appropriative bullshit. My identities, my experiences, and my life is not an illustration in some cissexual exploration of “radical” gender and sex. Y’all need to work your transmisogynistic, biological-deterministic shit out, and then we can talk about the social and political implications of my transition. Maybe.

With hope, but no love,

Caleb

*I use “cisgender” in a way that many readers may not be familiar with.  I don’t find “cisgender” to be the corrollary to “transgender”.  While “transgender” is sometimes an identity word, it’s usually more of an umbrella term for gender and sexual minorities.  I think “cisgender” makes more sense as a corrollary to “genderqueer” (or gender-variant, or gender-nonconforming, etc.)—as a way to describe binary-identified or gender-normative people (both cissexual and transsexual).

I reject the assumption that all trans people challenge the gender binary, or bend gender, etc.  Some of us do, and some of us just see ourselves as men and women with a sexual history that really isn’t your business.  And I think that it’s an important way to illustrate that the genders of trans people have as much nuance as the genders of cis people.  We should all find ways to respect each trans person’s right to define how their gender relates to their sex.

I automatically prickle when I see/hear/read someone who I assume (sometimes inaccurately, I’m sure) is a cissexual woman who passes as gender-normative say that they “used to identify as bisexual” but then started to identify as queer, because they “didn’t want to identify with a binary system of sexuality”.

Obviously, I’d never want to keep anybody from identifying their sexuality by whatever words they choose, for whatever motives.  But I think I’m starting to realize that I don’t find sexuality to be above criticism.  Of course, that didn’t sink in until I was the one being non-consensually objectified, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.

I mention this a lot, but I have never once heard that tired “binary system of sexuality” shit about heterosexuality or homosexuality.  The folks I’ve known who now identify as queer after formerly identifying as bisexual tend to be either genderqueer themselves, or partners and close friends of genderqueer-identified people.

But I find myself hearing and reading it a lot from people who used to identify as straight/gay, but who find themselves dating or attracted to a trans person, regardless of whether the trans person’s actual gender identity is non-binary.

If I hadn’t worked through my internalized biphobia, I’d probably be identifying as “queer” instead of bisexual (clarification: I do describe my sexuality as “queer”, although I identify as bisexual), the same way I once identified as “lesbian” instead of bisexual.  And I’m positive that I’m not alone.  I didn’t spend much time with other queer women, but almost every lesbian-identified friend I had was secretly bisexual.  We/they just didn’t want the invisibility and invalidation bisexual women face, within and outside the queer community.

I also have seen it a lot from queer women who either have a Thing for [early-/non- medically transitioning] trans guys, (again, regardless of the trans person’s actual gender identity).  I think that it’s probably at least a little bit about biphobia, but it often ends up invalidating the maleness of cisgender trans guys.  If those trans guys were really male to them, then I doubt I’d have to read this little aside about them doing their part to smash the binary by being open to dating a trans person.  They’d actually have to figure out what their attraction to men means for them and their sexualities, and what it means for their communities.  I think it’s just a lot easier to ungender trans men than it is to work through their own shit.

I know people who are exceptions to this, of course.  But I’ve been around awhile.  Long enough to notice a trend.

One reason that I’m pulling away from trans spaces for a while is to get away from cis people talking about cis issues as they pertain to trans people.  I have my own internalized transphobia to deal with.  I have to disentangle it from my genderqueer identity.  It’s fucking hard to do that when everywhere I look, cisgender trans people are being ungendered in the name of genderqueer politics.  I need to deal with internalized homophobia and biphobia again–because it’s different now that I’m perceived as male.  And it’s really hard to do that when attraction to trans people (cisgender and genderqueer) is making people “queer”.

If I don’t somewhat shield myself from other people’s bullshit, how can I ever live my truth as a queer* genderqueer** trans*** man****?

Also, can we all just STFU about how we feel about other people’s genitals, namely factory-issue dicks?  It’s not cute, or funny, and doesn’t make you a more authentic member of your sexual identity.  It comes across as derogatory towards the people who love (and have!) those genitals, and dismissive of the genital dysphoria of your [other] trans friends–who might not have genital dysphoria, but sure as fuck wouldn’t tell you if they did.

* my sexuality; my attraction to people’s bodies and identities on their own terms; unrelated to my trans status or genderqueer identity
** my gender identity and expression; my claiming my right to femininity as a man, a queer man, and a trans man; NOT my past, present or future body
*** the history of my body; my dysphoria and the steps I’ll always be taking to lessen it
**** my privilege, whether or not it was my birthright; acknowledgement of my institutional power over women, and over those who can’t/don’t/won’t “pass” as cissexual

I was a lesbian-identified bisexual, and that feels fine to say. But “female” is something that was put on me, from the beginning. I chose gender words I was comfortable with, of which tomgirl remains my favorite. I think that one of the reasons I’ve lost interest in being a part of most trans panels and the like is that I don’t want to refer to myself as “FTM” or “female-to-male” or any of that other nonsense.

Transsexual people have exactly one thing in common, the way I see it–our birth-assignation (usually based on external genitals) does not match our brain sex. A trans person saying some fucked up bullshit is annoying, but I can separate myself from it without much effort, in much the same way as I approach individual linguists’ failures.

I’ve always seen a genderqueer identity as one that arises after a period of self-examination–of cultural gender norms, of sexism, of the gendered meanings placed on bodies based on anatomy and/or presentation. I feel that I share a lot more in common with genderqueer people–values, perceptions, ideals.

I know that it’s more complicated than that, and much of the time neither of those statements are true, but that’s my subconscious view.

Lately, I’ve been especially uncomfortable when cissexual gender-variant folks conflate transsexuality with gender variance. Obviously there are a lot of people who do consider their own transsexuality a gender-variant experience (valid, of course); the communities share several experiences and issues (because it’s all the same to cissexist/transphobic society). But I think that the size and shape of my genitals at birth is irrelevant to my current gender identity/expression unless I specifically say so. I don’t want to have meanings projected onto my body/identity by anybody else, and I guess I thought that might go without saying in a genderqueer community.

I feel like there’s an expectation, spoken and unspoken, for transsexuals to disclose in discussions about gender, even in genderqueer spaces. The recent posts in genderqueer are great examples of that. The poster seemed to want to compare how students gendered [photographed] subjects to the actual gender identities of the subjects. People of all genders (including non-gender-variant identities) would be included; I think is a pretty valid exercise if you’re wanting to start a conversation about gender and gendering.

But the poster also mentioned that they’d also reveal the subject’s birth assignation, if it differed from a person’s gender presentation. They flat-out refused to see that this could ever possibly be perceived as problematic/fetishistic/cissexist/transphobic–or irrelevant. Honestly, I’d have considered sending a photo their way if they’d gone about it differently (and not been a complete ass). If I’d have been shown in the slideshow, I’d be gendered as male and my gender identity would then be revealed as genderqueer femme.  If I had the option of not disclosing my trans status if I didn’t want to, then I wouldn’t find that problematic at all.

As far as I’m concerned, I’d even consider it relevant if at the end of the slideshow she mentioned that some of the subjects were transsexual without disclosing anyone’s birth-assignation. Inevitably, folks would try to “spot the tr***y”, and another kind of conversation could be started that could be really productive. Namely that, when you’re looking, you’ll see tr***ies everywhere. Phantom tr***ies where no tr***ies exist. Under that kind of microscope, nobody passes. But it’s rare that a cissexual person is put under that microscope. A cissexual woman with a big nose just has a big nose; a transsexual woman “looks like a man”. A short guy is just short unless he’s “really a woman”.

A lot of bullshit happened around those particular posts, and the moderators handled it surprisingly well. But it just served to remind me that, to many folks in the genderqueer community, my transsexuality is always relevant to any discussion about gender. I am expected to disclose. That’d be the “genderqueer” thing to do. I should want to “educate” people about gender variance, using my transsexuality.

The shitty thing about all this is that I’m neither interested in being stealth at this point in my life, nor ashamed of my transsexuality (contrary to popular belief, “stealth” and “shame” are not the same thing). But I’d like to be able to disclose without completely derailing what I’m saying by having the person I’m speaking with completely rearrange their conception of me. It’s similar to how frustrated I get when I disclose to cissexual gender-conforming folks and suddenly my feminism makes sense; I’m speaking as a man, not as a former woman. In some situations, I want to be able to speak as a genderqueer person, not as a transsexual. An angry transsexual who’s quibbling over such unimportant things and making really important allies and great people feel bad… but not really, because for every person who calls out an “ally” for something, there are three people stroking their ego and telling them not to listen to what those mean cisphobes are saying.

This is why every time I enter a conversation with other genderqueer people, I have to carefully decide whether or not to disclose. And it’s never easy. And my internalized cissexism really rears its head, because I feel guilty for not wanting to diclose. I feel like they truly do have a right to know, and I really should be endlessly patient with well-meaning(?) bullshit–or, better yet, I should just be quiet, because I’m really hurting The Cause.

And that’s what’s really fucked up.

I know that I’ve said some really stupid shit in the past few years I’ve been a part of the trans community.  I’ve said transphobic shit, cissexist shit, and I’m owning it.  I still do sometimes, and I have a lot more internalized transphobia/cissexism than I had at first realized.  And, I’m sure, much more than I know now.

I think that’s part of why I’m wanting to become more active as a genderqueer trans person.  At this point in my life, I seem to be in the peculiarly awkward place of being both transsexual and genderqueer, so I’m in a fairly good place to attempt to educate people who are transsexual or genderqueer.  In the online communities I’m part of, that tends to take more place on the genderqueer end, because cissexist bullshit seems to get called out much, much less in genderqueer spaces, compared to cisgenderist bullshit in the transsexual communities.  To be fair, that’s probably because there seem to be [understandably?] more genderqueer folks in trans spaces than transsexual folks in genderqueer spaces.

But saying something feels so much fucking better than just getting mad.  It’s so much more satisfying than being embarrassed to be genderqueer.

I’ve been thinking lately that the fails seem to happen around certain subjects–the “ethics” of disclosure/non-disclosure, socialization, women’s spaces, and third-gendering trans people, etc.  It might be worth my time and effort to start compiling a post/zine/epically long book for cissexual genderqueers about being better allies to transsexual people.

I wonder who would bother reading it.

When K and I first showed up, I think I was quickly introduced to the new LGBT director, and that made me think about K and his relationship to my gender and my transition.  I’ve always made it really clear that, at this point in my life and in our relationship, it’s important to me that K feel able to disclose my trans status when/if he wants to, to whomever he wants to.  And I think he believes me.  I’m pretty sure, anyway.  But, I’ve definitely noticed that he’s become as ambivalent about when/how/if to disclose as I have.  I worry some that it’s more about making me comfortable than making himself comfortable, but K of course is capable of meeting his own needs in this regard.  Still, I wonder about our visibility/invisibility.

It’s pretty straightforward outside of queer spaces–it all depends on how K is being perceived.  We’re either gay men, or a kinda funny looking straight couple.  People usually seem to think we’re pretty precious, either way.  But inside queer space, we’re looked at for longer.  People who assume K is a lesbian are baffled, and once they see how gay I am, usually just end up confused and fascinated.  People who know K’s a trans guy focus directly and pointedly on me.  I think it’s to figure out if I’m a cissexual gay man who’s actually okay with dating pre/no-ho pre-non/op guys (you know, a PINK unicorn, even more rare than the regular unicorns who will date post-transition trans men), or a trans man, or what.  That annoys me slightly.  I guess I could interpret that as “I’m okay with however we’re perceived, so long as my trans status isn’t brought up”.

So, I wonder how the director perceived me.  She’ll know eventually, probably, if I hang around.  But figuring out when to disclose is weird and new, and I don’t want to look like an ass, like “Hi, I’m Caleb–would you like to hear about my genital configuration?”  And, of course, there’s the fact that I don’t really like talking about it all that much anyway.  It was especially strange because I wasn’t sure if the person I was actually talking to (who is a newly-out trans woman) knew, and I definitely wanted to give her the secret handshake or whatever, so she’d know there was a community here.  Even if it is a bit of a sausage party… sort of.

In introductions, I didn’t think to continue the “name + pronoun” intro that K had tried to start, although I really should’ve thought to; I’m not really interested in othering people whose gender reception and pronoun preference don’t match just so I can enjoy my new privilege.  I was just too engrossed in thought, I guess.  Oh, and then I didn’t come out at first, because there were three people there (two facilitators and a student) I wanted to feel out first.

It’s almost like being drunk on power.  I have the power to have someone I just met never, ever know that I am not a cissexual man.  And it’s hard coming out sometimes, even in a situation in which I want to, like gender chat.  I’m not sure if I’ve written about it here, or just spoken about it in private conversations, but disclosing is different than coming out, by miles and miles.  Coming out as trans meant seeking respect for my identity.  It meant giving someone to whom I’m disclosing to know more about me, to get a more complete and accurate idea of who I am as a person.  It was a lot like coming out as queer.  It was kind of empowering in a way.

Disclosing doesn’t make me feel that way.  Disclosing to people I assume are cissexual has, in general, more cons than pros.  The pros are mostly that I get to know whether the person I’m coming out to is a transphobic douchebag I wouldn’t want to be friends with anyway, and that the person won’t be confused when I talk about things like my boobs, my puberty, my menopause, my uterus, my ovaries, my ex-lesbianism, my intimate familiarity with things that most guys know absolutely nothing about.  That’s about where the good bits end.  Someone finding out that I lived as female-ish until about a year ago causes most cissexual folks to start painting a mental picture of me that’s 1) inappropriate and 2) wrong:

My body becomes scrutinized, and if one more fucking person congratulates me on how “real” or “bio” or “genetic” or “magickal” I look for a transsexual (read: woman), I might start congratulating them on how trans they look.  Especially feminine cis women–they all look like femme trans women to me, anyway.  It’s so nice that they can go around looking trans to me, despite being [usually] uterus-laden imposters.

No, I haven’t had any surgeries.  Yes, binding fucking hurts.

No, you had it right the first time.  I’m faggy in the same way as a cis queer guy.  It’s not a holdover from my “natural” womanly mcvaginaness.

No, I’m not dating K because I only date other trans people, nor am I dating him because only other trans people will date me.

No, my family doesn’t need to be praised from the rooftops for not disowning me because of my decision to transition; if you wouldn’t be supportive and understanding of a trans family member, that makes you an asshole, it doesn’t make my family angelic.

Because the male-female spectrum exists de facto, “coming out” put me more towards the male end, which felt more accurate; “disclosing” puts me more towards the female end, which feels less accurate.  The way I’m perceived now is almost exactly how I perceive myself, and how I want to be perceived (fantasies of waking up one morning and having the body of my tall, thin, twinky, genderqueer fag roommate aside).  It’s not as easy to convince myself to go through all that when I don’t usually get anything out of it, except someone thinking that we’re BFFs and that I’ve really opened up to them.

K and I went to The Grill late that night and talked, and I think I’m getting somewhere with my genderqueer stuff.  I’ve been examining my genderqueer identity lately, because I’m the type to pick at a scab.  And there’s some stuff about all this that just sits wrong with me, and I want to figure out if “genderqueer” is a vestigial identity at this point, or if it’s just evolved.

When I was living as female, before I transitioned, being genderqueer, for me, meant a freedom to express masculinity/maleness in a way that resonated with me, without invalidating or repressing my feminine qualities.  Even when I knew I would transition medically, I still identified with “trans-masculine” genderqueers and lesbians/queer women.  We looked alike.  Our experiences were a lot alike, or so I felt.

That’s just not the case at this point in my life.  My maleness is now affirmed by basically everyone I interact with.  These days, my non-binary identity is more about my expressions of queer maleness and femininity.  The genderqueer issues I wrestle with myself cause me to identify pretty strongly with genderqueer-identified people whose gender expressions/presentations usually align with binary maleness/masculinity.

Despite all the theory, I’ve never really seen too much breaking down of binaries, and the idea of the “spectrum” sort of looms large.  I feel like “transmasculine” people and “transfeminine” people are quietly pushed to either side, according to birth-assignation.  I feel like if my trans status is known, I’m pushed to the wrong sort of side–like I’m seen as the far-end of the female masculinity spectrum.  And, I know that tons of guys who ID as genderqueer totally see themselves this way, which is fine.  I just don’t.  Maybe a part of that separation is because the genderqueer community is so heavily female-assigned and currently-or-formerly-lesbian-identified?

I think that may be the root of the anti-cissexual male sentiment that shows up/peeks out sometimes in my conversations with other genderqueers.  And I’m not very comfortable with that idea.  At this point in my life, the only essential difference between me and a cissexual guy is what’s under our clothes.  And I’ve seen trans guys get away with so much misogyny and so much bullshit, and even if they’re called on it, they get the benefit of the doubt.  The possiblity that cissexual men may make those exact same mistakes is used as the reasoning for their exclusion.  I’m not interested in being a part of anything that would include me but would exclude cis men, because, as someone has pointed out, that is so literally phallocentric.

At this point in my life, I am almost universally perceived as a man.  Even to people who know my history, my thoughts/actions/experiences are considered to be male.  Not because of a conscious identity, but because of social reality.  I don’t have to establish and reinforce my not-female identity like I did 10 months ago; it’s just given to me.  It’s a type of privilege, and I recognize that.  When I act in ways that are gendered “feminine”, I’m considered to have a non-traditional masculinity rather than having “residual” femaleness.  It’s easy to convey to others that I don’t subscribe to traditional misogynistic masculinity; it rarely even requires words.  I feel that I am closer to women as a [someone perceived as a] man than I would have felt if I had been a male-identified [person perceived as a] woman.

This is confusing; let me try again.  I don’t have to establish my difference from women; I don’t have to separate myself from femininity and womanhood. It’s taken for granted.  When I express myself now, I feel like I am considered by women to be a really great guy–an especially nice guy, a feminist guy, a guy who is building community with women.  If I had claimed a male identity before, I would’ve felt like I was forcibly separating myself from a community that I was a part of (for all intensive purposes).  It would have felt like I was leaving a community with which I shared many common struggles in order to ally myself with a community that is the source of many of those struggles–a community I wasn’t a part of and knew nothing about.

And I just didn’t feel like a man, and I didn’t know what a man felt like.  Now, though, inasmuch as I know what it’s like to be any gender, I feel like I know what it’s like to live as male.  I am still just as profoundly uncomfortable with the sexism and homophobia and violence that are the hallmarks of traditional masculinity.  But I do and will look like a man, be treated like a man, receive male privilege, challenge heterosexism as a queer man, and combat patriarchy as a feminist ally.

I want to live my life as the kind of man that I wish all men would be.  I think that, at long last, is my working definition of what it means to be a man.   And I am one, and I’m alright with that.

subconscious sex

A subconscious, intrinsic, self-understanding that all people experience regarding their own sex embodiment. Cissexuals tend not to notice or appreciate their own subconscious sex because it is concordant with their physical sex (and therefore they tend to conflate for two). In contrast, trans people tend to be excruciatingly aware of their subconscious sex (as it is at odds with their physical sex). Trans people most often describe their subconscious sex as an intrinsic, inexplicable, deeply felt understanding that there is something “wrong” with the sex they were born into, or that they should be (or wish they could become) the other sex.

That nicely sums up some of my more current theories about myself.  Namely, I don’t feel like I have any sort of gender trouble whatsoever.  I’ve never had a particular attachment to any gender identity; my gender expression hasn’t changed in any meaningful way since I was first able to pull on my own shirt.  I was no more or less fine being treated as female than I am being treated as male–which is to say, I think that the social roles that men and women are expected to occupy are largely bullshit, and I intend to ignore them completely, except to challenge misogyny where I find it.

That’s the biggest thing I’ve noticed lately–that the trans people I know haven’t changed, and don’t intend to change, their gender expressions.  As a female-assigned person, people saw me as fairly “masculine”.  These days I’m perceived as an adequately (if not particularly) masculine man.

I’ve noticed that I’ve tended to describe my experience as “body dysphoria” rather than “gender dyshoria”.  My gender is still pretty stable–it doesn’t amount to much of anything, and I don’t really care too much one way or another.  But mybody is the problem, because my very visceral sense of myself, and of my internal rightness, is male.  My embodiment feels wrong.

I definitely can’t say that I wouldn’t have a problem if I had a male body but continued to be treated as a woman.  But that’s only because people aren’t treated as women for the hell of it–they’re treated as women because their bodies are perceived as female.  And for my dysphoria to be mitigated, I feel like I need to perceive my own body as male, and have other people treat my body as male..

I am perceived as male.  100% of the time.  It’s been a long time since I worried which bathroom I belong in.  I’m even starting to get pretty good at understanding male social codes.  I’m completely relaxed about pronouns, and I still prefer male pronouns.  Sometimes, I’ll realize that someone I’m getting to know has absolutely no idea that I’m not birth-assigned male.  And I like it.

I don’t particularly feel like a man.  I don’t really know what that feels like.  I do, however, know that this makes me happy.  I’m not sure if I’m genderqueer, exactly, except in the sense that I see gender as mutable, arbitrary, and often nonconsensual.  If I appear gender-variant, it’s only in the sense that I don’t look straight–in sexual orientation, not gender.  I’m only visibly genderqueer in the sense that the social markers of queer sexuality are often perceived as gender-cues.

And maybe that’s what it’s about for me?  Maybe it’s not about gender identity at all.  I’m not a masculine woman.  I’m an androgynous-dressing, feminine-acting, non-woman.  When I’m read as a queer guy, I feel affirmed.  And I just want to be read as something that comes reasonably close to how I see myself socially.  And I am, now.

These days, the most awkward social situations for me are ones in which I am perceived to be the straight-male half of a socially-sanctioned heterosexual relationship.  I’m not all that upset about being perceived as a straight dude–I find it silly.  But I hate for any of my female-assigned partners (none of whom identify as female or straight) to be read as straight because of me.  But it’s not like being read as a lesbian couple was doing them any favors, either.

I’m not a man.  I’m definitely not a woman.  I might not really be genderqueer.  I don’t really identify as transsexual.  But I like the way I look, and I like where I am right now.  So, I must be moving in the right direction.