I always get a little nervous before I walk into ‘women’s only’ spaces; bathrooms, locker rooms, dressing rooms—those public yet intimate spaces—close quarters where women pretend not to notice each other, except to reassure themselves of who is ‘allowed.’
I am acutely aware of the ways that the inhabitants stare at me while I’m waiting in line, or washing my hands. I am careful to avert my eyes in the locker room as I walk past naked bodies that look like mine but who dress up so differently. I fix my hair, straighten my tie, and leave as quickly and quietly as I entered.
Which is why I was startled when she turned to me in the shared office-suite bathroom and blurted, “you always wear such nice ties, I mean…you dress very well, but you always have on a great tie.” I think I stammered “thanks” back and commented that “life is short, why wear ugly ties?”
But I was shocked that she spoke to me—I hadn’t noticed her in the bathroom before, and I certainly hadn’t noticed her noticing my nice ties (which I must say, I do take pride in choosing).
I was told, often, by new acquaintances during college that I tended to come off as intimidating before people got to know me. When I first started hearing that from friends I was all too happy to have met, I was shocked that they would have experienced me as intimidating at all.
But then I thought about it, and realized I moved through the world during college scowling a lot out in public, walking around campus my shoulders were hunched, my fists were balled – always in anticipation of some jerky fratboy messing with me or the girlfriend whose hand I held. Even then I heard the whispers as people walked by, witnessed the conversations stop when I walked into a room, I knew that the guys who drove by in a truck and shouted, “dyke” were yelling at me. I spent a lot of time looking tougher than I was in the hope that it might prevent someone from attacking me —physically or verbally.
But I’ve been wondering recently if the ‘preemptive scowl’ mentality was worth it any more. If anything, I feel like I’m just confirming what people might think that a queer looking person in the locker room might be like—intimidating and unfriendly. I’ve been thinking, maybe I should try the ‘preemptive “hi”’ to disarm awkwardness and establish familiarity from the get-go. After all, part of the point of my gender expression is to make more room for female-bodied people to look and dress and act the way I do.
I know that the threat of violence is real, and that many genderqueer and trans folk have bodies, or skin tones, or income levels that appear as much more ‘threatening’ to others. But in the words of Audre Lorde, ‘my silence will not protect me;’ I cannot stay silent and let someone else take the heat who appears just a little more threatening than I do. I want to use the fact that for various reasons some people feel ‘comfortable’ with me in order to push against those spaces of discomfort to allow more people in the door.
So, thanks, I do try to wear cute ties. And thanks to whomever it was that made it ok for you to talk to me.
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I find your reflection really interesting, especially as a queer man who can “pass” the majority of the time (the minority being when I open my mouth and talk with my hands
Did you find this reaction true when you were in seminary as well, that folks found you intimidating?
You do have great ties.
It is fascinating to picture you in college, and to reflect on the ways that our context affects our personalities. I found you to be nothing less than friendly and approachable when we met at HDS.
Like Matthew, I “pass” in mainstream culture and in my job as a hospital chaplain. It’s funny… I never felt the need to assert my queer identity back in Boston, but now, in my new home, I feel more queer than ever–and frustrated that no one can tell! This observation of yours really speaks to me at this point in my life: “I cannot stay silent and let someone else take the heat who appears just a little more threatening than I do.”
Trying to figure out how to do this–esp in a context where I routinely minister to people who categorically hate or fear me and my community–has become such a challenge!
Clearly, we need to talk.
xoxo
Ab-fab. I know exactly what you mean about that need to assert one’s queer identity. That is exactly how I felt as I was coming out in high school and then in college, in those places where queerness just ISN’T VISIBLE unless it’s blatantly obvious. This is why I took so many steps towards accumulating queer accouterments such as the iconic “plastic glasses” and “shaved head.” While those stylings actually felt authentic for me, obviously not every one needs or wants to live queerness in quite that way. But when you can’t ‘wear your rainbow on your sleeve’ the question of, HOW to identify yourself without having to say constantly “I’M NOT HETEROSEXUAL!” is particularly challenging in a ministry setting where pastoral care expectations can be so freakin gendered. So yes, we DO need to talk!
I’m late jumping on this bandwagon, because my internet has been fritzy over the past week, but I too appreciated your reflections, as yet one more queer who “passes.” (As I write that, it occurs to me actually for the first time how strange it is that we – and I mean both the big cultural “we” and the smaller-scale queer “we” – still heavily rely on this narrow construction of queer presentation to indicate sexual preferences.)
I would really like to have a version of recognizable queerness that feels available to me – like Ab-fab said, I get SO frustrated with the invisibility, especially when I am outside of a queerish context. And yet I just don’t feel like either the “plastic glasses shaved head” dykeyness OR the emerging idea of “visible femme” are accessible to me at all. Or rather, the former seems inaccessible and the latter seems uninteresting/undesirable.
Which actually brings me full circle to your comment about feeling like you intimidated people, PQ. Because I WAS a little intimidated by you when we first met – but not, I think, because of any non-openness or “preemptive scowl” mentality on your part (I’m pretty sure Somerville had turned you into a softie by the time I came to town!) – but because at the time I felt so insecure in my lack of visibility – I felt like it meant I didn’t “count” in some way, and I was intimidated by your easy ability to wear this gender that was desirable for me in some ways and totally alien to my own mind in others.
Finally, the observation Ab-Fab quoted really spoke to me too, especially in the context of a conversation I recently had with a queer/trans friend, in Dublin, where I ended up being the one much more committed to a trans-and-genderqueer-inclusive ENDA or no ENDA at all. My instinct is that I already have so many more protections than trans or genderqueer folks, jut because of my presentation – I am not about to settle for further legal protection for myself without including those who actually taking the heat, as you put it. I called this phenomenon “femme guilt,” only half joking.
Okay, I will stop now, but it sounds like we ALL need to talk!
Haha, “femme guilt.” Yes, cantabridgette! I’m starting to feel it. And the very fragile category of “we.” I just had a weird experience this past weekend related to all this. On Saturday night, I went to a guerilla gay bar event at a very straight club. It was fun for a while, then all the queers left and there was just this tight little group of us remaining on the dance floor–mostly femmey chicks, mostly women who would “pass”–except for the fact we were dancing with each other, and NOT in the drunken Katy Perry “I kissed a girl” way. We were of course a target for stares, grabby hands, comments. I felt angry and embarrassed and exposed in a way that is rare for me (but all-too-familiar to many). Then, the following morning, my gf and I went to a brunch hosted by a friend… most of the people there were new acquaintances to me and were visibly queer and/or genderqueer… I was somewhat self-conscious again, for totally different reasons. It was ironic, because since I moved I’ve been longing to be around “queerness”–hungering, really–but then, there, I had this weird knee-jerk fear–”do I belong here?” I definitely don’t want to be all “woe is me” about it… it all just reminds me that visibility is tied up with notions of belonging and community. It’s like, I want to be in solidarity with those who “take the heat”–but what does that actually mean? Is it presumptuous of me?
Amazing…just brilliant and tender, as I was remembering you walking through The Pit bein’ all queer. It made me happy.
Being queer is hard everywhere, but in The South I feel like we develop this extra caution and hard face in anticipation of the boys in trucks. I took that with me to NYC and it served me well there, too, but I’ve never been comfortable with public displays of affection.
Maybe it’s time for a change.
xo.
I think you are absolutely right that in the South we develop a ‘hard face’ in order to be visibly queer, and I also think that growing up in the South we also learn how to enact a very specific form of visible queerness. I remember when I moved up to Boston, I used to wonder all the time where all the hot dykes with shaved heads were. But as it turns out all the queers living in Boston who would have shaved their heads had they lived in the South to be able to recognize and find each other didn’t need to take on such queer stylings in order to find community.
I know this post is rather old, so commenting on it may be pointless. Anyway, I wanted to thank you for writing about how you appeared “intimidating” to people who didn’t know you well. I have heard similar comments about they way I carried myself in high school, and early college, I suppose. Even though I lived in a nominally liberal community, I still held this fear that I would be attacked or threatened for who I was. Acting “tough” is a way, as you wrote, to attempt to prevent attack. I don’t think that it works, at all. In fact, it may render one looking quite insecure and uncomfortable. I think that it might be beneficial to the queer community at large if LGBT groups in schools and other local organizations talked more about self-esteem and self-image. Who wants to look as if they think they will be victimized? If young queer people are more aware of the propensity to carry themselves in this manner, then maybe they won’t. Confidence matters, and it really should be up for more discussion.