For Boys in Glitter

This one’s for the femmeboys. The flaming softboys and the fearless sissies. The boys in glitter and nail polish and neon pink. The boys at dance camp who I let try on my pointe shoes, just for shits and giggles. The men who showed me how to tear up a dance floor in heels like its a job. The pop stars with full makeup and raging falsettos.

You offered the first form of queerness made undeniably visible to me, and I latched on without quite knowing why. No, it wasn’t a desire for a “Gay Best Friend” accessory that drew me in, but a deeper, vaguer sense that we somehow belonged in the same category.

And as we stumbled through adolecence together, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be with you or be you. (Like with the cool girls with half-shaved heads, leather jackets, and poetry blogs, it was probably some of both.)

As a babyqueer girl who would never feel at home with ‘butch’ or ‘femme,’ something told me that the sissy boys were my gender cohort.

I’ve often heard from butch women and female-assigned trans people that wearing dresses and makeup felt like drag. And I’ve felt that too–but in a good way. See, I considered drag fun: a way to be excessive and expressive and play outside the boundaries of who you are. (The only problem comes when people don’t seem to want to see me out of that costume.)

If some butches found their parallels in bros who would never be caught dead in a dress, I found mine in the bold give-no-fucks girly boys (who usually lived in patterned buttoned-downs–but actually might be caught dead in a dress). Beyond the style inspiration, I saw a form of femininity that could be part of me–a queer femininity that wasn’t passive or dainty, but aggressive, flamboyant, and subversive.

And then there were my occasional boy-crushes–generally falling into that same type. They seemed safely unrequitable–like all those straight girl crushes. (In reality, some were not as unrequitable as I had assumed–like some of those “straight” girl crushes). But in my head, they were a purely hypothetical illumination of my desires, without the more daunting possibility of action.

With my femmeboy crushes, I realized it wasn’t men per say that contradicted my tastes, but rather the stale normative masculinity that most of them came wrapped in. I came to own the nuances of my desires and understand how my sexuality might be made to function in a less staunchly gendered sphere.

So thank you, all the fabulous femme-leaning men who have rolled through my life. We’ve found our own places in the world and they’re not quite the same, but in seeing you be unapologetically you, I found some seeds I needed to be me.

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For all the boys who called me “exotic”

I had heard it enough to know you meant:

That I was desirable so long as I was shrouded in that cloud of mystique
(which was mostly just the fog in your eyes
but I didn’t have the heart to point out the difference)

And your foggy eyes lit up when you saw in me
Some alien freak here to show you a whole new #$@%ing world
So I tried to say that I’m really from this planet
And you’re not really the center of it
And between the deadness of Venus and Mars
We’re all life on Earth just trying to make it

But as you looked down to Earth
All you could see
Was some exotic fruit here for your consumption
To suck on the flesh and throw out the core


Despite my best efforts, I seem to have become one of those people who writes emotional poetry on the internet. Oh well. 

A Brief Demographics Survey

Select the option that best describes you. It’s for diversity or advertising or something.

 

Note: I think this is easier to answer than most demographics surveys. I mean, potato sack, duh.

 

Identity, Labels, and the Rectangular Approximation Method (What?)

Major dorkitude alert: may bring back unpleasant memories of high school calculus.

In the category of conversations I manage to have:

(Referring to an increasing number of words used to talk about gender, sexuality, and such). “Why do people need all these labels? Why can’t we all just be people? I thought the point was to not put people into boxes.”

Me: “But in a way, having a ton of labels is kind of like having no labels.”

“How?”

Me: “It’s . . . it’s like the rectangular approximation method.”

“What?”

Me: “You know, from calc, where you use rectangles to approximate an integral. You want to use boxes to represent this weirdly shaped area, and it’s never going to be quite right, but the more boxes you use, the closer it gets to the real thing.”

Okay, let me try to explain what I was getting at.

So lets say this area under the curve represents the actual spectrum of people’s experiences. It’s complicated and funky-shaped (and really it should probably have at least 6 dimensions, but I can’t draw that). If we had an equation that represented the true shape of the graph we could do an integral to find the area, but we don’t, so we can’t.

Untitled drawing (1)

Instead, we have to do the next best thing we can and approximate by using boxy rectangles, which are a pretty good parallel for language. These boxes can never fully and accurately encompass what they are trying to describe. Some stuff parts get exaggerated, some stuff just gets left out entirely, and the complexity of the shape gets lost. But we try.

Untitled drawing (3)

Now we can also change the number of boxes. Having just a couple is a pretty grossly inaccurate representation of the shape and a lot gets excluded.

Untitled drawing (2)

But adding more boxes, which are more specific and varied, makes it more inclusive and closer to reality.

Untitled drawing (4)

Of course it will never be a perfect representation of the real thing unless you have infinite boxes. I think language always fails to fully capture reality–but each expansion of language gives us the option of failing a little closer to the target.

Like this


Side note: do all the people who say “who needs labels anyway” in response to other people’s identities actually think that everyone should stop using words to describe experiences? Because I would actually be totally down with a system in which everyone has to describe themselves through interpretive dance.

Side note 2: I think the new answer to “when are we going to use math anyway?” should be “to come up with strange and dorky metaphors for identity and language.”

Other People’s Words

Do you ever feel like real life gives sitcom writers some serious competition? Some things I’ve overheard in the past week:

In my dorm lobby:
Guy 1: Do you know when Halloween is this year?
Guy 2: Dude, it’s just the same day every year.
Guy 1: Naw, I would have noticed that by now.

The people eating next to me:
Guy: so I’ve seen you around a lot. Tell me a little about yourself.
Girl: let me recite a poem for you.
*Begins to whisper a sonnet*

Lobby:
Guy 1: So you’re like 75% straight?
Guy 2: Woah, too many significant figures.
Guy 1: 80?

Not that living people have a monopoly on “didn’t expect to hear that there” moments. From Saint Augustine’s City of God:

“Such people can do some things with their body which are for others utterly impossible and well-nigh incredible when they are reported. Some people can even move their ears, either one at a time or both together. Others without moving the head can bring the whole scalp – all the part covered with hair – down towards the forehead and bring it back again at will . . .  A number of people produce at will such musical sounds from their behind (without any stink) that they seem to be singing from that region” (14.24).

I guess this is what they meant by liberal arts education . . .

The Art of Over-Interpretation: Grease

Why do people go to fancy shmancy liberal arts schools? So they can read too much into things. Like this:

Yesterday (after we realized that there were no new/decent shows to watch on Hulu) my parents and I decided to watch Grease on Netflix. You know when you are really familiar with a classic movie because you’ve seen remakes and references everywhere, but you realize that you’ve never actually watched it? While I’ve seen this movie before, it was too long ago for me to have picked up on anything besides the songs (but I really know the songs) so this was, in a sense, my first real exposure.

My reaction:

Me: Well that made High School Musical seem low-key and subtle. But I didn’t remember it being so dark and satirical. I thought the social commentary was interesting. 

Mom: The what?

Me: It takes the typical, romanticized notion of the 50s as a “simpler, more innocent” time in our country’s history and turns it on it’s head, showing a darker, grittier, almost socially dystopian* world alongside the nostalgic imagery.

There’s sexuality which is not only overtly expressed and reckless beyond expectations of “innocence” or respectability, but also grossly violent on the male end. Double standards for male and female sexual expression (slut versus stud) are blown up and clearly juxtaposed. Relationships based on mutual disrespect and power struggles are seen as normal. The ridiculous amount of conformity seems to make everybody into a fairly awful person. And it says something the most seemingly healthy/cute/romantic relationship occurs in the first five minutes when the couple is removed from society–lets not forget that Sandy didn’t “have” to change to be with Danny until their social environment and expectations ruined everything. And those dance moves. They clearly can’t be serious about those dance moves.

(Now maybe audiences were supposed to see all of that stuff as normal/okay (gag), but it all just seemed so exaggerated and contrasting with typical idealized depictions that I was sure someone was trying to make a point.)

It’s saying that the past, despite the cutsy soda shops and sock hops, isn’t this perfect, sunshiny place that most retro films/shows liked to imagine it as, and aiming to return to the past isn’t really a way to fix contemporary problems.

On the other hand, they have school dances where people actually dance, which is pretty awesome.

Mom: No, I think it was just supposed to be fun.

Me: So they actually meant all of that earnestly?

Mom: Yeah.

Me: Oh. Well then it’s just pretty dumb.

What about the dance moves? Did people ever dance like that un-ironically?

Mom: Yeah.

Googling didn’t provide much in the way of support for my social commentary theories either**.

Come on people, is anyone with me? No? I’m just making stuff up again?

Yes, I know my contemporary perspective is different than that of the intended audience. But really, how can you listen to this and then this (Rizzo’s two main songs) and not think that someone was deliberately trying to make a really obvious display of the Virgin/Whore dichotomy for female sexuality, how it hurts women/girls on either side of the divide, and how the same women who help perpetuate these standards can also suffer from them.

No? We’re just supposed to overlook that?

Oh. Well at least the songs are catchy. 

*Slightly stronger word than I meant, but you get the point. Also, yes, I did just use the word “dystopian” to talk about Grease. You’re allowed to laugh.

**Another interesting fact I learned while Googling is that this movie was originally rated PG. Now, there was no PG13 rating at the time, so it was either that or R, but still, imagine these lyrics in a a PG movie today. It’s funny, people think of shows like Glee as being pretty racy, but when they do Grease covers, they have to tone down the explicit content a lot. What were we saying about a simpler past and recent moral decay?