Dan Forest And Poorly Disguised Bigotry

There’s an old adage that, if you’re going to say something, you should at least have the guts to say it to my face. Take, for example, the KKK and Neo-nazi groups staging violent demonstrations across the nation. They hate minorities and want nothing but harm for minority communities, but they at least admit that up front. I rarely hear a skinhead beat around the bush when talking about the rights of black people or the ludicrous notion of “white genocide.” With these deplorable monsters, you know exactly what you’re getting at face value.

Other hateful people aren’t so subtle. Some will even try to spin their bigotry as something positive. And no one is better at doing that than politicians. Pissing on your face and trying to convince you it’s raining is practically an art form for some elected officials. Here in North Carolina, we were recently blessed to have a blatant example of this terrible practice. Lieutenant Governor Dan Forest released a statement a few days ago in response to Governor Cooper’s executive order guaranteeing protections for state employed transgender people (it was about other stuff too, but that’s the main point for the purposes of this post). His full statement is below:

For Immediate Release: Lt. Gov. Dan Forest’s Response to Gov. Cooper’s Executive Order

Governor Cooper’s Executive Order once again opens the bathroom stall for those who would seek to do women and children harm while falsely claiming they are transgender. While I take at face value the Governor’s intent to help transgender people use the bathroom of their identity, his order creates a legal loophole that will be exploited by non-transgender pedophiles, stalkers and perverts. All bathrooms at state rest areas, parks and museums will now be fertile ground for sexual deviants who will falsely claim to be transgender to gain protected access to our women and children.  

Is your skin crawling too?

I’ve dealt with a lot of different kinds of transphobia. Many times it’s blatant and obvious. When I get called sick, mentally ill, psychotic, confused, sinful, etc., it is by people who wear their trans hate on their sleeve. This statement represents the more sly, subtle form of transphobia. First off, you’ll notice he says “I take at face value the Governor’s intent to help transgender people use the bathroom of their identity.” He doesn’t try to invalidate the identities of transgender people and seems to indicate that Forest believes transgender people are indeed who we say we are (imagine that!).

However, the rest of the statement divulges into one of the most textbook examples of fear-mongering and outright lying I’ve seen from a politician in recent time. Consider the notion that, with these protections in place, “sexual deviants…will falsely claim to be transgender to gain protected access to our women and children.” This just flat out does not happen; at least not with any kind of regularity that it could be considered a present danger. You’re more likely to die being crushed under a vending machine than you are attacked by someone “pretending” to be transgender. It’s practically a made-up crime.

Speaking of crime; this argument, as well as any other argument I’ve ever heard against letting trans people just pee in peace, completely overlooks one big issue: molestation and sexual assault are already crimes! It doesn’t matter if you’re in the men’s room, the women’s room, in a car, at the office, at home, a movie theater…anywhere! Assault is against the law. If someone “pretends” to be trans to go into the bathroom and assaults someone, they’re still committing a crime whether trans people are allowed in there or not.

This is just trying to spin your bigotry as a positive, pure and simple. And just look at the language he uses! “All bathrooms at state rest areas, parks and museums will now be fertile ground for sexual deviants.” Talk about fear mongering! He’s ignoring the fact that trans protections are already in place in other parts of the country and they’re not experiencing anything even close to this. Forest is crying wolf; making up a boogieman that doesn’t exist. He needs something to scare people with so they won’t think rationally about the issue. Trans people are harmless. I won’t say it’s never happened that a trans person did something bad in a restroom. But if we’re going to throw up single instances as proof that there’s a bigger problem in need of solving, then I’m free to bring about gun control by sighting the mass shootings that happen every single goddamn day in this nation. You can’t use one logic for something you hate and then use another for something you don’t.

I’m sick of hearing that my safety and dignity have to be compromised so people who don’t want to understand me don’t have to think about me. Being “weirded out” by trans people isn’t an excuse to kick us out of anything. And for god sake, stop dressing this all up as a means of protecting cis women and girls. It’s all a farce with you. How many women had to come out against the likes of Harvey Weinstein and Bill Cosby before the public started to believe them? We both know that if a man went into a restroom and molested a cis woman, they would ask what she did to coerce him.

Dan Forest, you are a bigot, and it’s clear in every hate-filled word you write. In case you happen to be reading this, I dare you to speak to me face-to-face. I want you to tell me to my face why my safety isn’t important. Explain to me why I have to be put in danger because cis women must be protected from a phantom threat you made up to stir the public. Or, better yet, just have the spine to admit that it’s all just because you hate me and others like me. You’re no different than the monsters marching in Charlottesville or burning crosses in the middle of the night; you just express your bigotry in more subtle ways.

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Mr. Governor, How Long Must Trans People Wait for Liberty?

Yesterday it was announced that Roy Cooper, governor of the great okay flawed disgraceful state of North Carolina was signing an executive order that makes it illegal to discriminate against LGBT people in government employment. It also bars the state from contracting with any business or organization that discriminates against LGBT people. It’s a bold move, especially given the current political climate of NC. The heavily Republican controlled general assembly has his office so locked up that he basically can’t do anything. I’ve lost count how many of his vetoes have been overridden just this year.

So, once again, my home state is going to be talking a lot about transgender people. The order applies to all LGBT people, but the focus for most queer opposition these days has been on the transgender community, so that’s going to get the bulk of the attention in all this. I have a lot of feelings about this as well as a lot of information that I think needs to be worked through a filter or two. In this post I’ll be both defending Cooper as well as raking him over the coals. I will not, however, be praising him at any point. This new development hasn’t removed him from my shit list.

First off, I need to address the people decrying that this order doesn’t do nearly enough. Why only protect government employees? Why not extend that protection to all LGBT people, regardless of where they work? Well, because he can’t. Executive orders aren’t all that powerful. Cooper can protect government office workers because they all technically fall under the executive branch of government, which therefor makes him their boss. This is very much a case of doing what you can with what you have. I originally turned my nose up at this part because, as far as I know, this is already the case. After the national shit-show started over the passage of HB2, then governor McCrory tried to save face by passing essentially the same thing. His order also stated that government employees who were LGBT would be protected from discrimination. It was a pretty empty gesture though, since the law still made it illegal for transgender people to use public facilities in state-owned buildings. Basically, you couldn’t be fired for being trans, just as long as you never had to pee while at work.

It’s the second part of this order that’s really new. Baring the state from contracting with anti-LGBT groups is a big step. Ironically, it basically makes one of the most hated parts of the Charlotte transgender protection ordinance a statewide policy. That’s good, and serves as a nice middle finger to the Republicans who hated the Charlotte ordinance so bad they wrote the cancerous HB2 to begin with. Cooper had mentioned right after the passage of HB142 DietHB2 that he would be passing some sort of LGBT protection order. There’s been nothing but silence on the matter for months, leading me to think he honestly just tossed the idea once the public ire died down. That’s the one good mark I’ll give him here; at least he came through on his word…this time.

What I want to stress though is that, in my mind at least, this does not exonerate Cooper from signing HB142 in the first place. For those who don’t know, 142 was the replacement to HB2 that basically repealed the bill but barred local governments from passing any kind of non-discrimination laws until the year 2020. It was passed because the NCAA was threatening to take NC off the list of potential championship hosts for the next ten or so years if they didn’t repeal HB2 by their arbitrary deadline. 142 is how they did that. It was signed into law by Cooper after receiving support from enough Democrat senators to get it through the GA. One of those senators was Terry Van Duyn of Asheville, and I had the pleasure of getting to say to her face that it was a load of crap and that I’d lost respect for her.

After 142 became law, the Democrats (Cooper included) who backed it trotted out a synchronized song and dance about how it was only a first step, and that they would keep fighting for transgender equality. It was a message that went over with trans people as well as a cow gets over a ten foot wall, and I was definitely part of that group. It was a load of crap, so much so in fact that it’s the reason I’m still not forgiving him, even after this new executive order. Why, you ask?

Because it should never have happened in the first place.

Remember, LGBT people aren’t a federally protected class. When you tell local governments they can’t pass non-discrimination laws, LGBT (and especially T) is really the only group you’re screwing over. And don’t forget, 142 was passed to save basketball games! Yes, there’s a lot of revenue on the line there, but since when is their a monetary value on the safety and security of a group of human beings? I’m transgender and luckily work for a company that respects my gender identity. What if tomorrow we get a new CEO and they don’t like trans people? They could call me into the office and fire me on the spot, and there’d be nothing I could do about it. That’s a fear I have to live with. That’s a fear the family I provide for has to live with. And Roy Cooper signed a law which told me it’s better for me to keep suffering through that for another 3 years than for the state to lose some basketball games. You know what message that sends? That tells me I’m not completely a person. That tells me my rights, my dignity, my safety, and my basic humanity aren’t as important as they are for other people. Can you imagine if the same kind of law was passed about a religion, or a race? There would be sustained public rage. No amount of money is worth leaving them out in the cold, but that apparently doesn’t apply to transgender people.

So that’s my take. Is this a good order? Yes. Does it forgive Roy Cooper for betraying the transgender community? No. It doesn’t matter that he’s fighting for our rights now, because he already demonstrated that our rights were only worthy of the ‘when I can get around to it’ pile. We’ve already been shown that we’re just talking points to him instead of actual people, and I for one am sick of being treated that way. I won’t be happy getting something just because I rarely get anything. I’m just as much a person as cisgender people are, and I refuse to be seen any differently. So go ahead and call your order a step in the right direction. It doesn’t matter how many steps you’ve taken if you waited in the blocks when the race first started. I am not something for you to just get around to when it’s convenient for you.

I don’t appreciate having to wait to be a person.

Take a Knee to Take a Stand

A few months ago I went to a town hall meeting. It was hosted by the Republican congressman from the district next to mine (the one from my district is even worse). It was a packed house, with attendance seeming to fall close to even along party lines. Before the meeting began, the crowd was asked to stand and face the flag to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Everyone stood and turned towards the front-left corner of the large room where the flag was erected and chanted in unison.

I did not participate. As everyone else stood and recited, I remained in my seat and silent. From what I could tell, I was the only person in attendance to do so. I was honestly afraid I was going to catch a lot of hate for it, but my silent protest seemed to go largely unnoticed. Of course, I’m just some woman from Podunk, North Carolina. I’m not on any big stage or under any bright spotlight to where all eyes are upon me. The football players in the NFL however, are.

A year or so ago, San Francisco quarterback Colin Kapernick began a silent protest where, during the pre-game National Anthem, he knelt instead of standing (previously he sat). There was a public outcry as people demanded he stand for the Anthem, saying his actions disrespected America and the military. The turmoil ultimately concluded in his football career ending long before it should have. However, this year dozens of NFL players (as well as players in other sports) have followed his example. They kneel, they lock arms, sometimes they just stay in the locker room. Their protest has nothing to do with the armed forces. No, it was to draw attention to the epidemic of police brutality against African American men in America. Across the country, black men (and some women) are being gunned down during stops for minor infractions or even when they’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. These poor souls have lost their lives due to police racism. To make matters worse, the deceased often get no justice as the officers committing the crimes aren’t even charged. It’s disgusting, it’s unjust, and it absolutely needs to stop.

I join these people in solidarity. Their cause is just and their method is sound. I personally have not stood for the Anthem or the Pledge in at least a couple of years now.  What they’re speaking out about, what they’re drawing attention to, desperately needs to be a part of the cultural conversation right now. Of course, those who are decrying the action keep changing the subject. “How dare you disrespect the troops!” they yell, as if that had anything to do with their protest. “Find a more appropriate way to protest!” they whine, as if they’d be satisfied with any outcome other than black men going back to quietly doing what they’re told. And when they see me participating, it turns to, “why are you kneeling; you’re white!”.

First and foremost, I kneel because I agree with the message. The cause of equal justice for black Americans would be won by now if white people would lend their voices. For as much as I talk about transgender struggles on this blog (we’re getting to that, by the way), I’ll be the first to tell you that I unfairly enjoy an exorbitant amount of white privilege. I don’t experience fear when interacting with the police. I’ve never had my job application passed by because I had a “black sounding” name. I’ve never been labeled a thug. I’ve never worried that the legal system would impose on my a ludicrous penalty for a small infraction.  I’ve never had someone be afraid to sit near me or to walk past me on the street. That’s not my world, and it’s not fair that it’s theirs. Because of that, I kneel during the National Anthem.

But that’s not the only reason…

Before I keep going, I want to make one thing abundantly clear: when talking about National Anthem protests, the conversation needs to first and foremost be about the mistreatment of African Americans in our society, if it’s about anything else at all. That is the focus. It is where the spotlight must shine. I’m close to 800 words in now before even mentioning anything other than that and that’s very much on purpose. Black lives matter, and I’ll shout it anywhere, anytime. But I kneel for another reason, too. For as much as I enjoy white privilege, it can’t be denied that the United States has been really shitty when it comes to the treatment of transgender people and it’s only gotten worse in the years since marriage equality was finally legalized (that’s a tease for a future post).

In just the last year, the Justice Department has removed bathroom protections for transgender students. In just the last month or two, President Fuhrer Trump has tried to ban transgender people from serving in the military and Nikki Haley voted in the United Nations not to ban countries from executing gay people. In just the last week, Jeff Sessions announced that Title VII would no longer protect transgender people from workplace discrimination. We’ve fought bathroom bill after goddamn bathroom bill in states all over the country. America is trying very hard to make transgender people go away, and you wonder why I won’t respect a song honoring America?

You really think I’m going to be thankful for my freedom under these circumstances? You really expect me to stand up for a nation that keeps trying to kick me down? Hell no! I will not show this flag, this song, and certainly not this country that kind of respect; it hasn’t earned it. Let’s face a cold, hard truth: America is an embarrassment. I don’t even fly the American Flag outside of my house anymore. The last time I took it down because there was a storm coming I couldn’t stomach the thought of putting it back up. When I look at the Stars and Stripes, all I think about is the injustice, the intolerance, the bigotry, and the ignorance-worshiping nationalism it truly represents. When I see “Old Glory”, I think about all the times I’ve had to call my elected officials and beg them not to either kick me out of the bathroom or take away my healthcare. When I hear the National Anthem, I here a chorus of voices calling me a “freak”, a “monster”, a “deviant”, a “sinner”, and a “pervert”. I feel no pride in America, and I won’t pretend to.

Now, if you’re getting all red in the face while reading this and thinking ‘well just move if you hate America so much!’, this next part’s for you. I’m not going to do that. See, for as much as I consider America as a whole a dark spot on the world these days, there are plenty of Americans I’m rather fond of. There are wonderful people in my community, people who represent love, compassion, understanding, tolerance, and unity. I’m proud of my life and the things I’ve accomplished. I’m proud of my family. These are all things I’ve earned, not because of the promise of America, but in spite of what this nation has tried to keep me from. I will fight to see this nation transformed into what it has the potential to be. I will work tirelessly to ensure the promise of safety and prosperity is fulfilled for everyone. When we achieve that kind of America, then I will stand up with my hand over my heart and sing, “Oh say can you see…”

The Skirt: A #HoldOntoTheLight Story

This is a story about a skirt. Well, kind of. The skirt plays a big role, but it’s really about a girl trying to exist in a world not built for her. It’s a story about accepting who you are and not being afraid to let others see you as well. It’s a story about being transgender.

You’ll hear a lot of transgender people say they “knew since they were little” that they’d been assigned the wrong gender at birth. I’m not one of them. My story doesn’t fit the Hallmark movie aesthetic, but that doesn’t make it any less valid. I can remember as far back as Kindergarten wishing I could be a girl, but I didn’t grow up wanting to change my gender (mostly because I didn’t even know that was an option in the late 80’s to early 90’s). I knew I was more comfortable around girls. I knew I liked “girl stuff” as much as I liked “boy stuff”, but I wasn’t allowed to. I knew being in groups of men always made me feel uneasy.

It wasn’t until my early twenties that body dysphoria (feeling that your body doesn’t match who you are inside) hit me like a truck. This was when I first started hearing about transgender even being a thing. This is where the skirt comes in. I was walking alone down the streets of downtown Boone, North Carolina (was going to Appalachian State at the time; GO MOUNTAINEERS!). There was this cute little hippie clothing store with stuff in the window that caught my eye. Stuff I could never wear, of course. But I still liked to look at it and imagine getting to wear it.

Finding a surge of bravery, I went into the shop and started browsing. There was no one in there save for the the lady behind the counter. But she greeted me with a smile. I perused the clothes on the racks, liking a lot of what I saw. I came to a skirt that caught my attention. It was an ankle-length and flowy with a bohemian-chic vibe that just clicked with me. The girl at the counter wasn’t giving me weird looks for browsing the skirts, so I pushed my luck and asked to try it on. She let me in the changing room and I tried on the skirt. I loved the look of it. I loved the feel of it. I loved seeing it on my body (even though I hated my body).

I bought it. She rang me up and I went back home with my new skirt. I was so proud of myself; I’d done something girls were allowed to do. Something as mundane as buying a skirt is like climbing a mountain when society tells you you’re not allowed to do it. Any time I was just hanging around the house, I wore my skirt. I never left the house with it on. After all, that would be just asking for trouble. It made me want more feminine experiences. I bought some more clothes; a blouse here, a pair of jeans there. A few things of makeup found their way into my collection too. I opened up new online accounts with a female name. The anonymity of the web allowed me to be me without the shackles of my body hiding my true identity. With each step I grew more brazen. Each new milestone brought a sense of accomplishment, but also a hunger for more. I knew I wanted to transition, to live as the woman I actually was.

But a journey can only be easy for so long, and before long I hit a wall. Up until now, authentic gender expression was an occasional fling. Any further down the path would mean crossing the threshold into permanency. I wanted it…Christ how I wanted it, but beyond that wall was an uncaring world ready to push back. I could never come out at work or to my parents. In my time online with other trans people I’d heard horror stories of unemployment and homelessness. Post after post told of family who’d cast them out or spouses who’d abandoned them. I knew my parents would never accept me and that coming out would be an undue hardship on my then girlfriend (now wife) whom I deeply loved. It just wasn’t possible, wasn’t meant to be.

All at once I declared that it was over. I deleted my online accounts and committed myself to living as a man. I let my facial hair grow out and got my hair cut short again. My circle of friends became people who represented what I thought a man should be. More and more I tried to take on the persona of a “manly man”. I became the person society wanted me to be, or at least I pretended to. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t me. I didn’t want to be that person, and the constant pretending left me horribly depressed. I went through a purge. Everything feminine I’d acquired either went in the trash or was donated to charity. Everything except that skirt. I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. I held it balled up in my fist over the give-away box on the floor. I’d stare at it, contemplating the decision, but ultimately conceded to bury it in the back of my closet (a fitting metaphor).

Friends and family could always tell. “What’s wrong, Joe?” they’d ask. “Are you okay?” I’d lie and say I was tired, or had work stuff on my mind. But it was a constant thing. I didn’t want to see friends, or if I did go out with people I spent the whole time just wanting to go home and be alone. A shower became my favorite part of the day. It was the only place I was guaranteed to be alone. It was where I didn’t have to hold my face a certain way, where no one would know I was crying.

It would eventually become too much to bear and I’d try again. When you deprive yourself completely, previous progress can feel new again. The skirt was the first thing to come back out. Wearing it around the house again was a great release. Putting on makeup when no one else was home felt validating. Of course, like before, it was never enough, and I’d crave a fuller feminine experience. When I’d come again to the same wall, the purge would begin again. The cycle always came to the same point of me trying to get rid of the skirt. I tried to make myself. I’d toss it in the giveaway box only to pull it out again before taking it to the donation center. I was absolutely certain I’d never transition, never live as myself. Still, giving up that skirt was letting go of the last shred of hope, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Even when I was at my lowest, even when I was trying so hard to be a man because that’s what was expected of me, I took solace in knowing that skirt was tucked away at the back of the closet. It was my tiny little hope that maybe, just maybe, someday I’d get to live as myself. It was my tiny little light in an endless darkness, and I couldn’t bring myself to let it go.

This cycle went on for nearly a decade. Each time my depression got worse. I’d contemplated suicide before, but it reached a point of taking over my thoughts. Every waking moment, my mind was filled with scenarios. How would I do it? Where would I do it? What note would I leave? What would my family do without me (we had a child by this point)? When you catch yourself on your insurance company’s website researching whether or not they will pay out for a suicide, you know you’ve hit the bottom.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t start the cycle again because by now I knew exactly where it would lead. There were only two options left to me: live authentically or finally give into the dark voices and check out. My wife and I had a long talk about it and she gave me her support to finally transition. It was time to stop the cycle and break free.

The journey began again, but this time I smashed through the walls. I took steps there was no coming back from. Coming out at work was terrifying, but I was thankfully allowed to transition and keep my job (very lucky). Telling my parents was the hardest part. Nothing upends a seemingly functional family quite like a gender dysphoria admission. Truthfully, we’re still picking up the pieces. Still, I got through it. It was one of the hardest walls for me to punch through, and now it’s behind me.

Before long I was waking up and going to bed every day as Faith. There was no more pretending, no more assuming the role of the man everyone thought I was. It was liberating. My depression and anxiety lessened. My suicidal thoughts evaporated. I enjoyed time with friends again, going from a somber recluce to a social butterfly in a matter of months. And even though our relationship remains a little shaky, my dad told me I was smiling more authentically than he’d seen me do in years.

There were many milestones along the way. I started hormones. I had my facial hair removed with laser treatments. I gave away all of my boy clothes to make room for my new wardrobe that slowly took over my closet. Back in March of 2017, I took my last trip to the courthouse where the Clerk of Court handed me a piece of paper declaring that Faith was now my legal name. On that final leg of the journey, I wore my old green skirt. For years I’d wandered in darkness, absolutely certain that there was no hope for me out there. There was no better, no happiness, no fulfillment. Still, I’d held onto that skirt for so many years, letting it represent the tiniest little bit of ‘maybe’ I could cling to. Maybe one day it will happen. Maybe one day I’ll get to live as myself. Maybe one day I won’t have to hurt anymore. Well, maybe had finally come to pass, and it was only fitting that I wear that skirt as I achieved what I’d been so sure was impossible.

So I say to you, find something that keeps your hope alive. It can be something small: a picture, a piece of clothing, a note, anything. As long as it represents to you the notion that the darkness doesn’t have to last forever. Keep that hope close, never let it go. Never allow yourself to abandon it. My skirt always reminded me of how I felt when I bought it. I wanted to feel like that every day. That skirt kept the memory alive, the memory kept the dream alive, and the dream finally changed my life.

Hold onto your hope. Hold onto that one thing that reminds you it’s not forever, that you can get through it as long as you don’t give up. When you hold onto the light, it will eventually drive out the darkness.

Transgender: The Eternal Cycle of Pretending

How good of an impression can you do of yourself?

Go on and try. See how good of a you, you can do. Think you can make it convincing? You probably think I’m talking crazy, right? You think there’s no such thing as doing an impression of yourself. After all, if you’re doing anything, it’s as yourself, right? Well, I can do one, and after years of practice I’d say I’m getting pretty good at it. As a transgender woman, I do an impression of myself every time I interact with someone. It’s an exhausting and mentally taxing thing to maintain, but for transgender women it can be a necessity.

This probably sound counter-intuitive to the pro-trans arguments you’ve heard before. But Faith, I thought the whole point of coming out as transgender is to not be pretending to be someone else? Well, that’s not what I said. I spent years pretending to be some guy named Joe. What no one wants to talk about is how coming out of the closet doesn’t mean you stop pretending, just that the way you have to pretend changes.

Let me explain. If I’ve ever talked to you on the street or on the phone, you heard me doing an impression of my own voice. See, unless I’m home alone or it’s just me and my partner, I don’t talk without first tightening my throat and putting extra air behind the words to raise the pitch of my voice. I’ve gotten really good at it over the years, to the point where it doesn’t take nearly as much physical and mental effort as it used to. But it’s still a conscious step I have to take between thought and speech. Here’s the point I’m trying to make with that: the voice I’m producing when I take those steps is my voice (or at least as close to it as I’m capable of). The much deeper, baritone-range voice that naturally comes out of my throat isn’t my voice. I don’t identify with it. It sounds foreign to me. That’s what dysphoria is all about: what you see in the mirror or hear when you speak doesn’t match your identity.

What’s the point I’m making in all this? Well, just imagine going through your entire day every day consciously doing a voice that doesn’t naturally come out of your throat. That can seriously mess you up, and it’s something I always think about when some troll on the internet posts juvenile, anti-trans statements like “you can’t change biology”, or “you’ll always physically be a man.” Their 4th grade understanding of biology and psychology aside, they’re somewhat right. Nothing is ever going to change my chromosomes. If I want to keep producing a voice that matches my identity I’ll have to consciously make the effort each time.

The entirety of the transgender experience is about pretending; you’re either pretending to be something you’re not on the inside or trying to look like something you are on the outside. Take makeup for example. Ask just about any trans woman and she’ll tell you that makeup is more than just a fun accent to your look, its a camouflage necessary for survival. This can be especially true if you’ve not been able to get your facial hair removed. I still remember how freeing it was to reach a point where I felt comfortable going out without makeup again. When I first transitioned, I did full-face makeup no matter where I was going or what I was doing (and let me tell you, that gets expensive!). It took a lot of time and energy, but I didn’t have a choice. Makeup is something our society codes as feminine, so having it all over your face gives you one more layer of protection between you and some transphobe being able to tell you’re not cisgender.

It’s not just makeup either. I know a lot of cis women who like to wear jeans and a hoodie when they run errands or are just hanging out with friends. Sounds simple, right? Not when you’re transgender. Androgyny can be terrifying when you’re trans (unless you don’t identify as a binary gender in which case it’s awesome). It means pulling back from the extremes of gender expression and making yourself more susceptible to being misgendered. Even if I just wear jeans and a t-shirt when going out, I make sure the shirt is tight enough to show what little breast growth I’ve managed thanks to the hormones I take. Boobies mean female. Boobies mean I get called ma’am by strangers and can safely use the bathroom. Boobies mean no one thinks I’m a man.

These are all just aesthetic choices made before I leave the house, but they all mean something much deeper when you’re transgender. I love girls clothes and makeup, but it takes some of the fun away when they move from indulged interest to survival necessity. What about days I would just like to wear a hoodie and no makeup? If I’m getting dressed up when I don’t feel like it, aren’t I still, in some way, living as someone I’m not? And remember, this is just talking about how other people see me; we haven’t scratched how it affects me personally. I still have some of my old boys clothes buried deep in my closet (which makes for an apt metaphor: i.e. it’s HIS turn to hide back there). The very thought of ever putting them on terrifies me. It’s not that I think it will take my identity away, but that it will keep me from seeing myself as a woman in the mirror. Androgynous clothing messes with my dysphoria enough, so putting on on actual “boy” clothes would be almost catastrophic for my mental state. I’ve worked very hard on my appearance, and each time I look in the mirror I see more of Faith and less of Joe. Between hormones, laser hair removal, diet, and exercise, I’ve spent months crafting my body to as close a representation of my inner self as I can. But the confidence I’ve built as a result is fragile, and I worry that wearing or doing anything masculine will destroy it.

Here’s the point I’m making in all of that: I don’t hate boy’s clothes. In fact, now that I’m not forced to wear them all the time, I’ve grown a new appreciation for some of them. There are times I think it would be fun to put on a shirt and tie again. Does that make me not transgender? No. Does that make me less of a woman? Hell no. There are plenty of cisgender women out there who like to wear boy clothes sometimes, be they formal or casual. It doesn’t take away from their identity and it doesn’t take away from mine. My problem is this: if I put on a suit and look in the mirror, will I see a woman wearing it or a man? That’s what scares me. That’s what keeps those clothes at the back of the closet. That’s what makes me keep “pretending”.

I don’t have a general poignant statement to make in all of this. Sometimes this blog is just a space for me to get my feelings out of my own head. If you’re trans and know what these feelings are like, it can be nice to hear someone else speak to the same experiences. If you’re cis, I hope this gives you at least a little insight into what it’s like to have dysphoria. Strictly speaking, pretending never goes away when you’re transgender, just the manner in which you pretend changes. I’d much rather change my outside to match my inside than go on acting like I’m really the boy the world always saw me as, but that doesn’t make it easy. That doesn’t take away the constant effort it takes to maintain that image.

So, if you open your mouth to speak and hear your own voice come out, congratulations. Cherish the synchronization between mind and body you’ve been blessed with. When you look in the mirror and see yourself, enjoy it. If you’ve never once had to wonder if the stranger you’re talking to is seeing you for you and not the person you’re trying to convince them you’re not, I envy you.

Transgender Athletes and Unfair Advantages

I usually try to stay somewhat lighthearted in my posts. There’s a certain flavor of snarky charm that I like bringing to my writing. But writing style can often change with mood and I’ve spent the last two days arguing with TERFs (Transgender Exclusionary Radical Feminists) online. Yes, I know…I know…rule one of the internet is don’t read the comments. But I was finding their hateful rhetoric in a space I never expected it to be so prominent: the Facebook page for Equality House. If you ever needed proof that the transgender community isn’t always welcome in the gay and lesbian community, take an eye-opening stroll over there (I can’t even begin to throw up enough trigger warnings for that so PLEASE do so at your own risk).

The TERFs being particularly vocal were adamant that I take the time to debunk any claims they made about transgender women eroding women-only safe spaces (HA!), and taking away women’s rights (HA HA!), but they weren’t posting any real backup to their claims either so I didn’t see the need to do it myself (not to mention I don’t argue civilly with anyone who disrespects my gender and tries to un-person me). However, there was one topic where they did post articles backing up their claim: the notion of transgender women having an unfair advantage when competing in women-only sports. I’ll admit that one actually got my brain turning a little bit. Regardless I wasn’t going to get into an actual debate with a TERF, but the notion of transgender athletes does come up a lot and I’ve rarely weighed in on it. I’ve seen many of the stories she shared before, but they all have the same underlying theme: transgender women have bodies build in large by testosterone and thus have an unfair competitive advantage. Hate-filled radical feminists aside, I did want to share my thoughts on this matter.

There’s been plenty of chatter on both sides of this one. Is it fair to cis women to let trans women compete with them? Is it fair to force trans women to compete with cis men because sports is all about body type and physical ability? My stance on the matter might surprise you in multiple ways. On the subject of fairness, no, it isn’t fair to cis women to compete against trans women. Though HRT (hormone replacement therapy)  can deplete muscle mass in trans females, it isn’t always to the extent that their muscle mass would match that of a typical cisgender woman. Couple that with the diet and workout routine typically found with serious athletes and you’ve got a scenario where one competitor does have an unfair advantage over the other.

Anyone sharpening their pitchforks yet? I can hear the crackling of torch flames already. Faith, how can you say this?! You’ve always been an advocate for transgender women to have access to all female-only spaces! You’ve betrayed us all! If this is you, simmer down. I only said there was an unfair advantage. I never said such an advantage should disqualify transgender women from competing with other women. I firmly, 100% believe all transgender athletes should compete with others who share a similar gender identity. How do I marry these two seemingly opposing viewpoints? How do I justify advocating for trans women to enjoy the unfair advantage they have in sports? Simple…

I don’t care.

That’s seriously my big reveal. I unabashedly do not give a damn. Transgender women should be allowed to compete with cis women and enjoy any advantage that gives them. Why? Because it’s beyond ridiculous that transgender people have to keep justifying their existence by figuring out how we can insert ourselves into a society that was built assuming we didn’t exist. You say trans women don’t fit into the sports structure? I say make a new structure. Change sports entirely to reflect a gender diverse population. Have all sports be segregated solely on body type regardless of gender. If a cisgender man and woman are both about 6 feet tall and weigh between 180 and 200 pounds, put them in the same sport together. I don’t care what it is; put them together.

My clash with the TERFs yesterday showed me just how sick and tired I am of having to constantly figure out how I get to exist. And I’m not going to do it anymore. Transgender people have always existed. We have cultural, archaeological, and anthropological evidence to prove that. For as long as there have been socially defined notions of gender, there have been those who didn’t fit the mold. Other cultures shaped themselves to incorporate us, but western culture has largely tackled this by labeling us freaks and mentally ill. We’ve been shamed into staying hidden, into playing along with whatever roll we were handed. It’s led to severe depression and suicide time and time again, but that didn’t matter because it all happened in the background as the world kept going with the assumption everything was working just fine. The system works, and if it doesn’t work then that part is kept behind the curtain.

I’m not going to do it anymore. For as long as there are women-only spaces I will demand access to them. Don’t like that? Well, let’s change the system to something that recognized both that I exist and that I’m equal. Is that a lot of work? You bet your ass it is. Do I care? Not one bit. Any cultural aspect that can’t support the existence of transgender people should be completely dismantled and then rebuilt to include our existence. If we’re not willing to do that, then I will continue to do what makes me most comfortable and let society deal with however that makes them feel.

I’m done trying to find a spot on the puzzle where my piece fits. I will put my piece where I damn well please, no matter what corners I have to cut out of that hole to make it happen. My happiness is valid. My identity hurts absolutely no one. My safety and health are more important than making sure you’re not slightly inconvenienced. If that’s not fair, come to the table and lets’ rebuild in a way that respects both of us. But until that day, I will no longer lessen myself for your comfort.

So let the transgender women compete. Let them enjoy any advantage that gives them. I promise you, they’ve overcome enough just to get to that spot that they’ve earned it. I personally long for a day where notions of gender segregation are torn down, but I know I’ll never see such a world in my lifetime. So, game on!

How Chester Bennington Set Me Free

Oh boy…

I’m going to go ahead and state up front that this post will be extremely personal. If you’re looking for grand thoughts on the state of our culture or some shared experience among many people then you’ve come to the wrong place. Today’s post is more like a diary entry. Of course, it’s also a memorial to one of the most influential artists of my generation.

Yesterday afternoon I found out that Chester Bennington, front man for the band Linkin Park, had been found dead of a suicide. There have been an alarming number of these artist deaths lately and a chilling number have died by their own hand. I’ll be honest that most haven’t really affected me up until now. I was never a big Sound Garden or Audioslave fan so the passing of Chris Cornell didn’t register all that much with me. But Chester? Chester’s death hit me like a truck. I’ve never been one to obsess with music. Me even memorizing the names of any band members is kind of rare. Still, music has been a big influence on me and Linkin Park especially helped to shape me into the woman I am today.

I consider myself to be a pretty open book. There’s not much about my life I’m uncomfortable sharing, but diving into this subject is making even me feel kind of vulnerable.  Linkin Park wasn’t the most influential band on my life, but it was one of the earliest and has stuck around for me longer than most. To really drive home how Bennington’s lyrics helped to define me, I need to go back years before Linkin Park was even a thing.

I have no delusions about the fact that I had a pretty privileged childhood. I had food, clothing, and parents who loved me and loved each other. We could afford to take vacations, I got new toys for Christmas, and we basically wanted for nothing or very little. Still, if the suicides of Bennington, Cornell, Cobain, Robin Williams, and other celebrities proves anything, it’s that inner demons don’t give a damn what your outside situation looks like. And I’ve always had some inner demons.

Throughout my life, by biggest obstacle has been myself. Self-doubt has always been something that stuck with me. “I’m not good enough”, “I’m not doing this right,” “I don’t belong here,” “everyone has it figured out but me,” these are the kinds of thoughts that are always swimming around in my head. These notions  made me timid about asserting control over my own existence, and thus I allowed others to do it for me. I was a model kid growing up; never in trouble and always doing what I was told. That might sound good, but it was because I never felt comfortable being defiant. My parent’s wishes shaped me at home. My bully’s aggressions shaped me at school. I was what people wanted me to be, because that was safe. If I acted as I was told, I wouldn’t disturb all the better, more confident people who knew what they were doing and were always right.

I know this sounds bleak, but it’s really how my mind has always worked. I remember in grade school the other kids in my class were listening to Metallica, Green Day, Rage Against the Machine, Manson, and other early alt-rock/metal bands. When I caught little snippets of their music, I liked what I heard. Still, I stayed away from those bands because I knew they “weren’t appropriate” (no joke, I was really this jaded as a kid; my brain was a stricter parent than my real parents ever were). Because of this I really just didn’t listen to a lot of music back then. The sound of the “wholesome” bands just didn’t really register with me, but the heavier stuff was for “bad” kids and that would make me a “bad” kid, too.

This was my norm all the way into and through most of high school. By that point I had a girlfriend who abused me emotionally which really ramped up my self-doubt and inner numbness. This was a big reason I never understood my gender identity back then; I didn’t even find myself as a person, let alone a gender. I was coasting, existing however others wanted me to. I was more shell than person. My senior year our student government made a mix CD of what they considered songs that defined our graduating year and distributed a copy to all of the seniors. It was mostly a bunch of pop songs that I honestly can’t recall anymore, but one track on the disk was In The End by Linkin Park.

I kept that CD probably a lot longer than most anyone else in my class, and it was just for that song. I loved it. I loved the driving guitar chords. I loved the techno-futuristic background beats. But most of all, I loved Mike’s hard-hitting verses and Chester’s soaring, angst-driven chorus. It spoke to me on a level no other music had. It wasn’t filtered. It wasn’t wholesome. It didn’t spin me a bunch of bullshit about how everything was going to be okay. The truth was right there in the chorus: in the end, it doesn’t even matter. Chester taught me it was okay to defy, okay to resist. His lyrics carried those same feelings of self-doubt, hopelessness, and incompatibility with the rest of the world that plagued me. Linkin Park became my outlet for those feelings, my release valve where I could finally start to face them.

When Meteora was released, all of this was magnified. I don’t think any song in history has ever touched me at my core like Numb did. It was everything to me. It was my agonizing slog through existence, feeling like nothing I did would ever be good enough. It was my angst over the girlfriend I was still with even though I was miserable because I didn’t have the self-confidence to break up with her. It was the knowledge that I was being used but being too cowardly to do something about it. Numb was my anthem, and in many ways still is to this day.

The point is that Linkin Park finally set me on the path of daring to question. For the first time in my whole life, I questioned my God, I questioned my sexuality, I questioned my gender, I questioned where the line really was between right and wrong, I questioned the unshakable rightness of my parents, I questioned my authority figures, and most of all, I questioned my own self-doubt. In my late 20’s and early 30’s I went back and listened to all of the music I’d deprived myself of when I was a kid. So many anthems that could have helped me sooner; so many lyrics that could have touched my soul. I wish now that I’d had it then, but if not for Chester and the rest of Linkin Park, I may never have had it at all.

So, thank you, Chester Bennington. Thank you for setting me free. Thank you for breaking my shell and teaching me it was okay to define myself however I wanted to. Thank you for the outlet you provided for my anger, confusion, and doubt. Thank you for the lyrics that helped me make sense of it all. I can assure you, you’ve left behind many, many reasons to be missed.

Rest In Peace.

The Night I Enjoyed my Privilege

Me with the lead singer of “A Light Divided”. They’re an awesome band out of NC and you should check them out.

I do a lot of activism work. Between keeping up this blog, running an adult transgender support group in my town, heading an LGBT podcast (and also planning another), speaking at events for EqualityNC, talking with legislators, and marching in protests, a good chunk of my not-work time is spent in the trenches, so to speak, of LGBT activism. It’s rewarding work, but it’s also mentally taxing. I’ve had multiple nights spent up with people, talking them down from suicide. I’ve heard stories from transgender people in my group about losing everything. My messages have been flooded with requests for help, advice, or just a shoulder to cry on.

It’s tough, but it’s rewarding. I like being able to help. Activism has kind of just become my life. You’ll usually always find me wearing my Trans* Pride bracelet or a rainbow pin, or something else to mark my place within and acceptance of the LGBT community. One thing I’ve talked about in previous blogs and in various speaking engagements is that trans people who live full time live as their authentic gender are ambassadors of our community. Just by existing out in the world we show people that we’re here and there’s nothing scary about us. Of course, many transgender people hold this ambassador role because there’s no other way to be out for them. This is where the notion of cis-passing comes into play. Cis-passing simply means that people can’t tell you’re trans just by looking at or listening to you. For many transgender people, this represents a transition goal (cards on the table: I’m one of those people). Whether it’s your goal or not though, cis-passing is an example of privilege within the transgender community.

Yes, passing is a privilege, and I say that as someone who has it. Early on in my transition it was a scary experience to go out, especially to work. My day was filled with customers doing double-takes, whispering after they passed me, name calling, laughing, etc. As hormones took their effect and laser hair removal took away the stubble shadow on my chin, those problems slowly died away. Today, even going to a public women’s room, which used to be utterly terrifying, has become a mundane routine. It’s a privilege I’ve acquired over time, and I think it’s important to always recognize it for what it is. I still wear my pride bracelet, even to work. I still try to be forward about my transgender status wherever it’s safe to do so because, for someone who passes, that ambassadorship is even more important. People who revile the transgender community often believe they will always be able to tell someone is transgender. They’ll often say they’ve never seen a trans person, not realizing they’ve probably met several and never knew it. I consider it an important responsibility of cis-passing transgender people to remain visible so they can further shape the misguided understandings of the general public.

Still, activism can be exhausting, both physically and mentally. I’ve had many sleepless nights, panic attacks, and bouts of severe depression just feeling the weight of it all upon me. Every person’s problems, every great injustice I can do nothing about, it all swims around in my head.  Everyone needs a break. Everyone needs to engage in self care. A few nights ago, I took such an opportunity. Some friends of mine in a band gave me free tickets to a big show they were playing in. On that same day, I was invited to a nearby pride event. Each event was taking place in cities about equal distance from where I live. It was simply a matter of choosing which thing to attend.

I went to the concert.

There was a pride event going on, and I chose not to go. I probably could have done some good there. I probably could have further helped the LGBT community by being there. But I chose not to. I invited a gal-friend to go to the concert with me and that’s what we did. What’s more, I made sure absolutely nothing about the way I looked that night telegraphed the fact that I’m transgender. I wore a sexy little corset top with jean shorts and knee-high boots. I had smokey eyes and blood-red lips. I wore no pride bracelets, no rainbows, no gender symbols. I’ve known for a few months that my transition has taken me to a place of cis-passing privilege, and that night I made the conscious choice to enjoy it.

The show was great. My ears were still ringing the next morning. My friend and I rocked out to bands we’d never heard before. We drank beers and margaritas. I even enjoyed a few flirty looks from guys as they passed me by. I went to a crowded bathroom without worrying about being called out. I made new friends who thought I was cis and I did nothing to make them think otherwise. I was completely stealth, and it was awesome.

People with privilege don’t like to talk about it because it makes them feel guilty. In a lot of ways, ignorance truly is bliss. People want to enjoy what they have without thinking about how other people don’t have it. Men don’t like to think about how much harder it is to succeed as a woman. White people don’t like to think about how America is a very different place for people of color. And cis-passing transgender people don’t want to think about all of their transgender siblings that never get to have a relaxing time out as their authentic selves. Guilt is a powerful emotion, and our minds are predisposed to fight it. This is why, so often, people lash out against things that remind them of their privilege by saying “I’ve done nothing wrong!”. And while that’s true, blame isn’t really the point of it. Privilege isn’t something you took, it’s something that was given to you unfairly. What’s more, it’s not something you can just give up. As long as society stays the way it is, your privilege is going to endure.

So what point am I trying to get at in all of this? Well, for me it’s been the question of weighing the need for self-care with the guilt of privilege. Self-care is vitally important. Just like how you’re supposed to put on your own oxygen mask on the plane before assisting others, you can’t help anybody until you first take care of your own needs. The problem is in knowing that there are many, many people who have the same needs as you but can’t overcome the social, economic, or cultural boundaries placed between them and the thing you can just reach out and take. Self-care is limited by lack of privilege. We take a quiet nap in our own beds knowing that the homeless freeze on park benches. We go out for a nice meal knowing the poor must beg for food. We go for a walk while others stay behind locked doors because they know their neighborhood isn’t safe. And, yes, we go for a fun night out with friends knowing others would be too afraid of being harassed in the same scenario.

But do you just stop? No. I don’t think that’s the answer. I don’t regret my stealthy night out. It helped to recenter me. It helped to calm my nerves and put me in a better place to rejoin the fight the next day. Privilege isn’t about being guilty or ashamed, it’s about being aware and sympathetic. If you have privilege, enjoy the things it offers you. Just don’t forget that they aren’t something you “earned”. Understand why you are one of the “haves” while others are “have-nots”. Come back from your experience refreshed, but also more aware of what you might take for granted. When privilege is enjoyed in the right mindset, it can help you to be more sympathetic towards those who don’t have it and that makes you even more equipped to make a positive difference.

So, About Cops at Pride…

I’m going to be honest up front. This is one of those topics where you’re not going to find me coming down on one specific side by the end. Some dilemmas just don’t have a definitive right answer. We’re still in June and there have been a ton of pride events happening all over the country. Just a day or two ago was the big parade in New York City, which was publicly televised for the first time ever. That’s a big deal. Of course, pride events are becoming common enough now to where disagreements are breaking out as to how they should be handled. One of the big controversies I keep seeing is the presence of police officers in the parades themselves. I’m not talking about just monitoring the event, but actually riding on floats and marching with rainbow flags. A lot of people have cried foul over this while others tout it as a sign of progression for the cause of LGBT rights. I’ve always been a hater of the saying “the truth is somewhere in the middle” and this situation is no different. The truth here isn’t so much in the middle as it is formlessly drifting between both factions like a wandering spirit that no one can quite catch.

Rather than pick a side (which I promise I’m not going to do), I think it’s more important to highlight the reasons both sides are technically right and then maybe work out an ideal outcome that I sadly know isn’t going to happen but should happen because it would be to the betterment of all involved. First off, let’s look at the pro-police side of this. There are some people against the presence of police at pride events due to the history these two groups share. After all, the first pride was a riot started by transgender women of color (never forget that!) after cops raided the Stonewall Inn and started arresting people for the apparently heinous crime of wearing clothing society deemed unsuitable for them. It was the first public act of defiance where the LGBT community dared to challenge the notion of their supposed immorality. Never forget, pride was a march before it was a parade and that march was against authority figures, including police.

Fast forward to today. Saying police shouldn’t be in pride parades based solely on the history of violence since before Stonewall seems contrary to the point of the movement in the first place. Is the whole point of all this not to bring society to the understanding that we’re nothing to fear? I don’t understand what progression even looks like if those who once stood against us don’t now stand with us. I had the same criticism of the “Bernie-bros” during the last election who criticized Hillary Clinton for…somehow having the audacity to stand up for LGBT rights. Yes, Bernie Sanders was always pro LGBT while Clinton was against gay marriage for the earlier parts of her political career. But Clinton clearly came around. She received the message, understood it, and changed her stance to fight for equality. What’s more, she’s a person with enough power and clout to effect broad change in our favor. And we’re going to throw all this away because we, for some reason, have to hold onto old grudges in spite of our goals? Um…okay?

It’s the same thing with the police. Seeing police marching in the parade is a clear sign of support where before it didn’t exist. It sends a message to some of the LGBT community (more on that in a minute) that they don’t need to fear law enforcement. A cop dancing on a rainbow float is not a cop that’s going to harass you for being queer, or disrespect your gender identity. These are all positive aspects of having police participate in pride parades.

HOWEVER…

There’s an uncomfortable truth underlying this whole situation that not enough people are talking about. I want you to imagine something. Close your eyes and picture a pride parade. It doesn’t have to be any specific one you’ve been to, just a parade in general. Picture all of the people in the parade. What are they wearing? What are they doing? You have the image yet? Okay…how many people in your vision are white? I’m willing to wager quite a bit. I’m also willing to go double or nothing that the majority of the people you envisioned were cisgender men. This happens because gay, white, cisgender men have become the poster-children of the whole LGBT movement. There’s is the face of pride no matter where you go. Think about all those cops marching and dancing in the parade. Now, make it a black LGBT parade where the vast majority of those in attendance are African American. Do you still think the police are going to be there? When Black Lives Matter peacefully protests racial discrimination, they’re met with cops in riot gear. There the cops are firing rubber bullets and tear gas, not waving flags and dancing.

See, the LGBT community has become so visible and so vocal that, to its detriment, it’s become a microcosm of society as a whole. Even in a group of people brought together by their shared experience of cultural ostracising, a hierarchy of privilege has managed to establish itself that places white, cis men at the top. As far as our overall culture is concerned, this is nothing new. We have a dark history of celebrating cultural achievements for certain groups without recognizing that not all of its members gained the same victory. Case in point, we’re coming up soon on the supposed 100th anniversary of women earning the right to vote, but it would be many decades after the 19th amendment’s ratification that African American women would gain the same rights. The LGBT movement is seeing a very similar pattern emerge in its fight for equality. It’s hard to argue that it’s easier to be LGBT in modern society when transgender women of color are the most at-risk demographic of people in the nation when it comes to likelihood of being murdered. Being a gay white person and a gay black person are still grossly unequal experiences, and that’s horrifyingly apparent in the way police treat each.

This is where my favorite generation ever, the Millennials, are making a difference. It hasn’t been until this latest group of young adults entered the fray that we’ve seen the trend of ‘first white then everyone else’ get some real push back. Even though we’re seeing the progress represented by cops joining in pride events, Millennials aren’t letting that hide the fact that they’re really only there because the event is predominately white. For the first time…probably ever, there’s a generation that truly stands for the notion of ‘no one is free until we’re all free. That’s awesome, and long overdue if you ask me.

I mentioned at the beginning that I don’t have a definitive side of this to fall on, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an ideal solution. See, I want to keep seeing cops at pride events because I recognize the progress that represents. However, if the cops want to keep waving rainbows and dancing to Gaga, they need to earn it by showing up to the next BLM protest with something other than riot shields and clubs. They need to actually decry the obscene rate of police brutality against the African American population. There are a lot of us fighting for equality. If the cops want to join our party, they need to prove that they’re there for all of us.

Not All Bad-ass Women Are Created Equal

Wonder Woman was a really good movie. I’m not a film critic so I won’t go into any nuanced details on that statement except to say it was by no means perfect but that didn’t change what it meant to me. Seeing the First Lady of Comics finally portrayed on the big screen in such a manner was cathartic to me both as a feminist and as a long-time nerd. When my wife and I left the theater, she turned to me, her face wet with tears and said, “where was that when I was 10 years old?”.

It’s a sentiment shared by many. Even though I was socialized as male from birth, seeing a big, female-led superhero movie also struck chords with me that moved me to tears. To so many women, especially very young women, this was a defining moment.

Leave it to the internet to try and ruin a good thing.

Have you seen this meme? Do you agree with it? Do you share it? I’ve been seeing it, as well as a version shared with Xena and Ripley from Alien, all over Facebook lately. The message is simple: saying Wonder Woman is some kind of first for bad-ass women forgets the bad-ass women who came before her. On the surface, it’s a fine argument. It makes sense in the simplest of terms. But if you dig any further down than the surface, you find a lot of cultural factors that it just doesn’t hold up to.

If you’ve shared this meme before (or a similar one), I have some predictions about you. I predict that you’re older than your mid twenties and grew up as however you classify a nerd/geek from an early age. Am I right? Do I get a cookie? The reason I’m confident in that is that this mindset comes from the very specific set of circumstances that shapes such a worldview. I’m there too. I’m in my early 30’s. I’ve been a geek my whole life. I used to watch Xena and Buffy all the time. I loved those women and the power and confidence they portrayed. I’m sure you were the same way, and that like me you also see many of those same characteristics in Diana.

Here’s the problem though: we’re not 15 years old right now. See, for as much as we like to think we’re still young at heart and are in with the same pop culture stuff today’s teens are, it’s just inescapable that we have a dynamically different world experience from them. Even when we were growing up watching Xena and Buffy, we knew those things were never part of the mainstream culture. When we were teenagers, liking nerdy stuff meant getting your ass kicked. It meant being bullied, teased, harassed, and shunned. I’m not saying those things aren’t still there to some degree, but liking sci-fi/fantasy isn’t taboo anymore. The Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies were some of the highest grossing films of all times. The popular culture is currently dominated by the very same superheroes we were teased for reading about as teenagers. Nerd stuff equals cool now, and that’s something we never even considered growing up.

Remember, 15 year old girls didn’t grow up watching Xena and Buffy. And even if they did, their fandom never carried the cultural ubiquity that sci-fi/fantasy does today. Do you ever remember Walmart having an entire section of the toy department devoted to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Xena? Well, they certainly do for superheroes right now! Iron Man, Spiderman, Hulk, Thor, Batman, Superman, their images are on everything these days. I can walk into any crowd of people, ask “who is Tony Stark?”, and likely get a majority of correct answers. The same is not true for, “who is Buffy Summers?”. It’s not just about the character existing, but the character existing on the same global stage as everything else people are into.

You have to remember, today’s teen girls have grown up in a world where shared universe superhero stories dominate the popular culture. We’re talking about a genre of stories that, for decades, was mainly targeted at adolescent boys of our generation. This means that the subject matter largely speaks to them (i.e. why nearly all the heroes are male and win through showings of physical strength) not to mention long-time comics fans have been thrust into the limelight for being the most qualified people to talk about the history, continuity, and nuanced aspects of these properties. And since these properties were so heavily focused on boys back then, it’s mostly boys filling those rolls today. The biggest thing in entertainment on a global, broad-appeal scale right now is something made by men and for men to the largest degree.

This is why Wonder Woman is such a dramatic shift. Not only is it a female superhero, it’s a female superhero leading the movie. It’s also a female superhero displaying aspects of femininity. I mean, Alien was a big movie back in the day (even though sci-fi/horror was still a very niche genre back then) but Ripley always appeared and acted just masculine enough to not offend the fragile egos of boys not wanting girl stuff to distract from the cool, scary aliens ripping people apart in space. Wonder Woman’s whole persona doesn’t just convey confident person, but confident woman; and the distinction is palpable.

Think back to your childhood. How would you have felt to see Xena made into a big blockbuster movie? How would you have felt to walk into a theater and see a giant cutout of Lucy Lawless, dressed in her iconic outfit and striking a heroic pose? How would you have felt if such a movie exploded into the kinds of toy and novelty items that superhero movies do today? How would you have felt if said movie made millions of dollars, became a cultural phenomenon, and cemented itself in the minds of everyone in the world?

This isn’t just about a bad-ass female character. This is about a bad-ass female character sharing the same spotlight as everything else that’s culturally relevant right now. This is about declaring that women can direct and star in movies that are meant to appeal to the masses instead of just needing their own little club. This is about seeing our Xenas and Buffys break from the shackles of Saturday afternoon cable TV and join the biggest of heroes on the biggest of stages. So remember this the next time you hear someone making a “big deal” about Wonder Woman. Instead of trying to explain away justification of their views, maybe ask them to explain why they feel that way. Maybe then we can be the type of humanity Diana always knew we could be.