I've seen "non-consensual gendering" mentioned in a couple places recently, and I think it was this concept that gave me the grounds and confidence to finally grow a sort of armor against other people's misgendering of me. (Of course, the fact that I'm on HRT, which is changing my body and thereby causing misgendering incidents to be drastically fewer than before HRT, helps too.)
It clicked for me over this past weekend. On Saturday, I went to the county fair and then to a folk metal concert in Baltimore. Since I was going to be spending time outside, I wanted to wear a tank top; since I was going to a folk metal show, I had to wear something with a fitting band on it. I had the perfect shirt to fit the bill: a tank top I made out of a too-big, brightly colored Amon Amarth shirt by cutting the sides into lots of strips and tying them back together.*
*I know, I know, Amon Amarth isn't folk metal, but it's about Vikings, so it's relevant.
Just one problem: I made said awesomely colorful Amon Amarth tank top two years ago (the year Amon Amarth brought their Viking ship to Mayhem Fest, and one year before the start of my gender journey). So it's of a somewhat form-fitting, "feminine" cut. On top of that, those sort of cut-and-tied-back-together T-shirt tank tops are generally seen on women.
Well, screw all that, I said to myself. I wanted to wear my Amon Amarth tank top. So I would, and a mental finger to anyone who might misgender me because of it.
But the first gendered comment I heard that day? "Nice shirt, man," from a passerby at the fair.
Apparently even in a "feminine" tank top, I am "man." That comment gave me a boost of confidence that carried me through the rest of the weekend.
It also made me question, for the umpteenth time, which restroom to use while out and about with my kid. If even in that tank top I was "man," then was I going to get called out for going in the women's restroom? (Which I still do with my kid for safety reasons.) I decided to stick with my plan, though: use the women's restroom with my kid until someone calls me out. That will be my sign that even with my kid, I need to start using the men's room.
I thought this might be the time. It didn't help that as we were about to go in the door of the women's restroom, my kid said to me, "But you're not a woman."
"I know," I said in a weary voice. "But we have to go in here."
And still, nobody said anything. Even though I now have a deep voice and kinda visible mustache hairs and macho arm and shoulder muscles.
I had to wonder whether, in this liberal suburb of Washington, DC, the message of "pay no mind to that person of questionable gender in your restroom" has gone home so deep, that out of respect and politeness, no one said anything.
Or perhaps I was accurately read as a trans man, and therefore "not a threat" in the women's restroom - problematic thinking, even if it did save me from harassment.
Whatever the cause, my kid and I got in and out of the restroom without any hassle, and surprisingly, no damage to my self-esteem. As an avoider of conflict, I was relieved no one questioned me, but I also found it hard to believe. Someone had just called me "man." And yet I was also acceptable in the women's restroom?
I guess maybe I come off as gender ambiguous, until some factor (such as a metal band shirt and my macho appearance, or my going into the women's room) causes people's perceptions to swing one way or the other. Most people aren't equipped with a box for gender-neutral/ambiguous/less, so they have to force everyone they see into either male or female. Someone who is questionable has to be figured out and sorted into one of those two.
This is, of course, nonconsensual gendering. Even if someone does seem to clearly fit masculine or feminine norms, you still can't say for sure that they're male or female, since presentation and identity don't always correlate. Take me, for instance. If you saw me at a metal show, with my cargo shorts and band shirt and arm muscles and sprouting facial hair, it might be easy to assume I'm a man. But I'm not - I'm a masculine-presenting genderqueer person.
The thing that I grokked this weekend was, "It's not me - it's you." (Ok, maybe not you, dear reader - you're probably my friend and/or supporter - but other people in general.) There's nothing wrong with me, or they way I present myself. The problem is with other people, with society's forcing of male and female and their attendant restrictive gender norms on everyone, to the point that people feel compelled to force everyone they see into one or other of these boxes, without asking, without taking the whole picture into account, and usually based on superficial features like the shape of my chest and butt.
So fuck all that. I'm-a do what I want. I now care a lot less how other people judge my gender, because you know, they are often ignorant and just plain wrong. Usually through no fault of their own - it's the fault of social conditioning - but it's not my fault either. Fuck society's idea of what makes someone "male" or "female." I reject that and replace it with my own declaration: I am male, genderqueer, and myself, no matter what the fuck I'm wearing, or which bathroom I'm using.
Anyway, the folk metal show went great, and gender was not an issue at all (more about that in my upcoming review). And the next day, I felt enough like honeybadger that I spent all day in, and went out shopping in, just a sports bro rather than a binder. (I thought I was only going to wear it for sleeping and for the drive home, and planned to shower and put on a clean outfit including binder before running my errands, but my watch broke in the mosh pit on Saturday, and the place to get it fixed was along the way home, and after going there in just my sports bro, I said "screw it" and wore it all day.) There was a very slight bulge, too low to be pecs or manboobs. T has considerably deflated by moobs, though, so it was just barely noticeable. And it was so amazingly comfortable wearing just a sports bro, after having my whole torso squeezed by an Underworks 997 binder for most of recent memory.
I was tempted to just wear a sports bro to work today - but I didn't. It was mainly for the reason of consistency. I've been flattening my chest more and more since last summer. Wouldn't it seem strange if I suddenly stopped doing so? Might I start getting more looks and questions in the men's restroom again? And I gotta admit, even though a sports bro is much more comfortable, I really like the "masculine" look of my chest in a T-shirt when I've bunched my moobs up inside my binder so it just looks like I have kinda big pecs. It's not as obvious with a button-down shirt on, but there is a slight difference, which I can see every time I go to the restroom and see myself in the mirror.
And ultimately, that's what matters - what I see, what I want to see. Not what anyone else sees or thinks of me because of what they see.
At this point, I have to admit that part of my freedom - to wear what I want and to feel confident doing so, largely without fearing or experiencing harassment for it - stems from the privilege of living in a liberal area and being a trans man. Like I was saying above, I think people around here have learned to respect trans* people (the concert venue I went to was even a designated Safer Space). And as a trans man, I don't call down the waves of sexism, misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia that trans women are subject to. I do get to do what I want freely, because people around me really don't give a damn, most of the time. The worst I might get is being called "miss" or "ma'am" at a store. It's a far cry from the verbal abuse, discrimination, and violence that often happen to trans* people in other places or situations.
So nonconsensual gendering is about more than just hurt feelings. Making assumptions about other people's gender, whether it's because of their body, clothing, name, gender marker on their ID, or any other factor other than their own stated self-identification, is cissexist, transphobic, and plays a part in transphobic violence. It's time for our rigid obsession with sorting everyone into male and female boxes to end, so that everyone can be free to be who they are. To do any less makes us all assholes.
Local metal photographer Tigran Kapinos caught me running around
in the pit in that Amon Amarth tank top. Check out his other photos
from the show; they're awesome!
