PSA time!

Feb. 15th, 2010 08:36 pm
ishyface: (fuck you)
To the world at large:

No, I do not want to be "one of the girls."

I don't want to be "one of the boys," either.

I want to be "one of the skippy twee blue-haired pansy-ass genderqueer kids named Gerald," because that's what I am. I'm not a girl.* I'm not a boy.** I'm me.***

So stop trying to friggin' gender me already.****

With all due respect,
a skippy twee blue-haired pansy-ass genderqueer kid named Gerald



* Except when I am.

** Except when I am.

*** Except when I'm not.

**** Honestly, I could easily extend this to "stop trying to friggin' gender EVERYBODY already," because I have been reading queer theory lately and it makes me even madder about the gender binary than ever. And, um, I'm usually pretty pissed about it! AS YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED. Seriously, guys, can we just all chill out and be cool and do what we want to do without checking our Handy-Dandy Gender Guides to make sure it's okay first?
ishyface: (*beam*)
Tonight I was poking around on Genderfork, a very interesting bloggy type of place devoted to genderfuckery, and found this picture of Placebo fans waiting in line outside the Brixton.

You know that scene in the beginning of Velvet Goldmine where the glam kids are all doing their makeup in store windows and pulling faces at the BBC and there's this air of hope and freedom and glee and excitement that kind of makes your heart hurt? It reminds me of that. A lot.

♥_____♥

It also makes me miss the days when I was super androgynous. I need to rock that look again, even if I do end up looking like a cheap glam hooker.
ishyface: (*beam*)
20 Websites From Before The Internet Was Invented. #9 is my favourite. Oh, Oliver Cromwell, you were such a dick.

Lyn-Z and that nerd she married. ♥



(Also, Ellen DeGeneres and that nerd she married. ♥♥♥♥♥)

Man Called Zombie While Ordering Food, Punched Twice. There will never be a greater headline than that. Ever. Read it over a few times and savour its AWESOME.

'Skirt boys' make waves in wild world of Tokyo street fashion. I was going to make an anime joke here but then I decided it'd be a little too obvious.

The Kindest Cut: In Colorado, a surgeon helps restore feeling—and so much more—to victims of female genital mutilation. This whole article made me tear up a little. Especially this bit:

A California nurse, Ngozi, who was circumcised as a newborn in Nigeria and also had her labia entirely cut away, came to Bowers in August. She is already feeling results, she tells NEWSWEEK. "Before, I would look at my textbook and look at myself and they were two different things. I wasn't even human." Bowers performed not only the clitoral operation but also plastic surgery to create labia for Ngozi, 34. "Now when I look at myself I feel like a woman," says Ngozi, who says she has even experienced orgasms for the first time in her life. "It's beautiful, I just love it, it feels like you're melting. Before it irritated me when my husband tried to touch me, now I reach out to him."

♥______________; GUYSSSSSSSSSS

Going to school in boymode. )

This video about how science is magic.



The world is just awesome. <3

In unrelated news, since it seems I will be in university for a good long while yet (this is because I transferred and dropped a class and also God hates me), I am considering getting a certificate in Library Science as well as a diploma in Creative Writing. That way I will nourish both my lifelong dream of being a ~writer and my need to eventually support myself and any cats I may choose to adopt. Good idea, y/n/you're going to be in school until you die, aren't you?
ishyface: (oh my god!)
I have made a Very Important Decision.

Since I'll likely never be able to support myself by writing fiction- who reads fiction these days anyway? it's not even real- I have decided to write a self-help book instead! Not just any self-help book, though. Oh, no. My self-help book will be all about the dudes and the ladies, and how they are CRAZY DIFFERENT and need to read books (LIKE MINE) in order to live in the same world and breathe up the same oxygen without trying to stab each other. It will feature handy tips to smooth the rocky road of gender relations, such as "REMEMBER, GIRLS, IT IS NEVER TOO EARLY TO REPRODUCE" and "DUDES: BELCH IN PUBLIC, THE LADIES TOTALLY DIG THAT." And I will call it... something snappy, I'm leaning towards Men Are From Mars, Women Suck My Penis but I think there might be copyright issues, and I will go on one thousand talk shows to promote it and tell the world all about the dudes and the ladies, and the crazy differences between them. (For example, the dudes are all about the sex and the cars, while the ladies are all about the shopping and the tiny dogs!) IT WILL BE SO ENLIGHTENING, LJ, LET ME TELL YOU. And I will stir up a MEDIA FRENZY wrt: my amazing (NON-FICTION)(THAT MEANS FULL OF FACTS INSTEAD OF LIES LIKE ALL THE OTHER THINGS I WRITE) dude-and-lady book.

And then it will be published at a whopping 500 pages, and the very first page will read:

What the fuck is wrong with you?

No, seriously. Why are you even holding this book? What sad fucking sequence of events led you to conclude that the opposite sex is a cunningly disguised race of space aliens sent to this planet solely to confuse the shit out of you? Why the fuck do you think you have to read a goddamn book in order to carry on a conversation with someone who may or may not look different in the bathing suit area? Like that is such a goddamn astro-fucking-nomical deal, like the genitals are the seat of the personality. "Men are genetically programmed to fuck everything that moves while solving algebraic equations and eating steak. With their dicks." "Did you know evolution means women are naturally inclined to weep over Lifetime movies and covet expensive shoes?" "Oh, but, you know, chromosomes and-" FUCK. OFF. THAT IS NOT THE WAY HUMANITY WORKS. Women are people! Men are people! (Those of us who are neither men nor women: also people!) We're all just goddamn motherfucking people, and none of us really get each other, and maybe if we all put down the fucking wanky "help me understand the opposite sex without actually having to talk to them because ew cooties" books and tried to relate to each other as INDIVIDUALS instead of Mysterious Ambassadors of Testosteronia and Estrogenia everyone would breathe a little easier. We've got to stop putting so much effort into the battle of the sexes, maintaining these stupid boundaries that define who does what, to who, where, why, and how. It's a sham and it's a drain and it takes away precious time and energy that could be spent laughing or singing or falling in love or making something beautiful or, Christ, taking a nap. Go do one of those. Any of them. All of them. Trust me, you'll feel better about everything.

And for fuck's sake, stop reading self-help books.


The remaining 499 pages will be blank.

I am going to make a frillion bazillion dollars.
ishyface: (Default)
The fun thing about being genderqueer is that you just can't win for losing sometimes.

Lately I've been trying out a different aesthetic. Girl-cut shirts, eyeliner, skinny jeans, femmey stuff like that. And while I like it, and while I think it looks fucking nifty, I don't like the baggage that goes along with it.

Part of the reason why I've always gone for baggier clothes is because it hides my shape. I'm a pretty curvy person and a lot of times that bothers me- it's harder to pass when you've got child-bearing hips, and even though a lot of the time I don't pass anyway it's still nice to have that extra bit of security. For the past few years I've mostly bought things a couple of sizes too big for me because of that. Now that I'm getting into more form-fitting stuff that's not really an option. People can tell what my assigned sex is, and they treat me differently because of it.

It's the little things you notice. When you pass for a guy- or even just for a very butch girl- people do not maintain eye contact as long. They do not hold doors open or try to strike up conversations on the bus as often. They don't call you by pet names, and they don't ask if you need to be walked to your car. Masculinity gives you a kind of impenetrability, and I mean that in as many senses of the word as you like. Masculinity means that people assume you can take care of yourself, that no one will fuck (with) you. It means that you can move freely and that people won't ask as many questions. This, I suppose, is part of what they call male privilege.

The first time I noticed a difference was in the summer. I'd been playing around with eye makeup that morning and was wearing a pink shirt, and I went downtown for some reason or other. After an hour or two I went into a pizza place to get some lunch, and the guy at the counter smiled at me and called me "sweetie."

I'd been going to that pizza place for about four years, and that guy had been working there the whole time. He'd never "sweetie'd" me before. Never smiled. It was weird.

It's the little things you notice. People rushing to hold a door for you. A casual "honey" from someone who's known you five minutes. Profs passing you over in class. Questions about boys- which ones are cute, which ones are nice, which ones you're dating (and if not, why not?). People telling you that you "look nice"- not because you actually do, but because you look more like what they think you should look like. People assuming that you want to talk to them, or sit with them, or fuck them, because it's not like you're doing anything better with your time, right? People explaining things to you. Femininity opens you up in that way- or, rather, it lets people assume that you are opened up. Emotionally, physically, sexually, whatever, you're available and convenient and you'd damn well better be grateful, too.

It's all because of a few pieces of clothing and a stick of fucking kohl, and it pisses me off.

My biology is incidental to my personhood. I'm not a different person because I've got two X chromosomes instead of a Y; wearing eyeliner and skinny jeans doesn't make me a girl, any more than it makes fucking Pete Wentz a girl. It shouldn't carry so many gendered connotations. There's nothing female about makeup (the Celts agree) or tight pants (hey there, Shakespeare) or the colour pink (the "proper" colour for boy's clothing until very recently). There's nothing male about them, either. They're just things. That's all.

But people pounce on them and make judgments and decide based on their own preconceptions and insecurities whether you're a boy or a girl (and God help you if they can't decide). And THEN they decide how they should react to you, not in spite of gender but because of it. It's stupid, and it's fucked up, and I don't like it.

My identity's complicated. I'm not a boy (except for when I am), I'm not a girl (except for when I am), I'm not really both or a mixture or something in between (except for when I am). I'm Gerald.

I wish there was some way I could get that across without having to conform to a fucking dress code.
ishyface: (Default)
Hey, guys! Wanna see the transphobic shit that was printed in the Chronicle Herald?

Heck yes you do! )

He was specifically asked by one of the panelists not to write about the speakers, and, if he did so, to change the names. And then to not only ignore their express wishes, but to spew bigoted garbage like that? I call bullshit.

So I wrote him a letter. )

You can yell at email Duffy at pduffy@herald.ca, and the Chronicle Herald at letters@herald.ca.

Dude lives in Halifax, for fuck's sake. The whole queer community there is gonna be on him like a ton of (immaculately groomed) bricks.

ETA: Duffy just emailed me back.

His reply, under the cut. )

Oh, not Herald Policy? That makes it okay, then!

Way to not address... well, fucking ANYTHING, ya douchetool.
ishyface: (Default)
The first day in Anthropology...

Me: *settles down quite happily in chair*
Random guy, scooting up next to me: Hey.
Me: *noncommittal grunt*
Random guy: Yeah, you were the only other guy in here, so I figured I'd sit next to you.
Me: *noncommittal grunt*
Me, inside: OMG \:D/

I remember I was at somebody's party and the boys went to one wall and the girls went to another, and I had no idea where to go. )

Also... )

In other news, I wish I looked like Carl Barat. Or possibly Michael Pitt. Or both.

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