We know they love us dearly and want to make us feel comfortable... but sometimes they need a little help, amirite? Here are some do's and don'ts for our well-intentioned straight fams. DO: Going to buy gifts for your lesbian daughter, but don't know what she'd like? Stick with her list, even if it includes things from the men's department. DO NOT: Insist on buying her stuff from the women's department if she does not usually buy stuff in the women's department. (If you claim that the socks/sweatshirts/shoes are "just like men's," then you shouldn't care what department you buy them in... Right?) BONUS TIP: All lesbians love gift certificates. And money. And puppies. DO: Include her partner in everything, just as you would if her partner was male. DO NOT: Introduce her partner or girlfriend as her "friend." BONUS TIP: Not sure whether to use "partner" or "girlfriend?" Ask ahead of time. DO: Avoid contentious political discussion. DO NOT: Turn on Fox News, no matter how badly you want to watch it. They sometimes say hostile things about The Gays, which will make your dyke kid annoyed, angry, and/or uncomfortable. BONUS TIP: This goes for conservative talk radio, too. DO: Feel free to ask if she's dating anyone. DO NOT: Ask, "Are you keeping an open mind about dating men?" BONUS TIP: If a great-aunt asks her, "Have you met a nice man yet?" gently "remind" her: "Actually, Aunt Marge, Suzy dates women, not men." DO: Carry on with church attendance, if that's part of what you like to do. And invite your daughter--don't assume that she's not religious anymore. DO NOT: Pressure her. Some of us have a complicated relationship with religion. We might not feel comfortable with the folks at church, the church itself, or some aspect of it. Please respect this. BONUS TIP: Declining to attend church with you doesn't mean we're not religious or don't believe in God. Attending church with you doesn't mean we're religious, or that we identify with the church's religion. DO: Group gift exchanges, if you like. DO NOT:Make them gender-specific gift exchanges (e.g., women bring a "women's gift," men bring a "men's gift," exchanges happen within gender groups). For the gender-atypical among us, that can just underscore the fact that we're not exactly like everyone else, making us feel out of place. BONUS TIP: Nice scarves, coffee tumblers, a Kindle, a temperature station, or a unisex watch are all terrific gender-neutral gifts. DO: Compliment your daughter on her appearance, if the compliment is genuine--e.g., "That color looks great on you," or "Those are cool shoes!" DO NOT: Use a compliment as a back-handed way to get your sapphic offspring to be more gender-conforming or conventional--e.g., "Your hair looks really nice now that you've grown it out a little." And if you want to be really supportive, wear an awesome shirt like this one. What else would you add to this list? What makes you feel comfortable (or uncomfortable) when you're home for the holidays?
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Okay, I'm hesitating to post this because it makes me seem way more curmudgeonly than I actually (think I) am. Oh well. I should also say that at least for me, and maybe for other people, none of this applies if you're a close friend or close family member. It's more when acquaintances or (godfuhbid) strangers offer their advice that I blanch. What you say: There are soooo many options for people who want kids!
What I hear: You're probably too stupid to figure this out, but you can procreate without having sex with a man! What you say: But you'd be such a good parent! What I think: I'd also be a good race car driver, occupational therapist, or professional shoeshiner. Natural predilection does not a destiny make. What you say: Some people are too selfish to have kids. What I hear: You are selfish and shallow. Unless you have kids. In which case all is forgiven. But I thought better of you. Now you just make me sad. What you say: You could always adopt! What I think: No sh*t. What you say: Lots of lesbians are having kids these days! What I think: Lots of lesbians are also chain-smokers, alcoholics, drug users, glue-sniffers, head cases, doctors, truckers, and couch potatoes. So? What you (usually another lesbian) say: My mom didn't fully accept my partner and me until we had kids. But now that she has grandkids, we're closer than ever. What I hear: Your mother will never fully love you until you procreate. What you say: There are SO many children out there who need good homes. What I think: So why didn't you adopt instead of having biological kids? Oh--you're scared you'll end up with a crack baby or a psychopath from a Russian orphanage who's never been held? But I should go for it? Thaaanks. What you say: NO one thinks they want kids. Then they have them and they're glad they did. What I think: Am I the only person in the world who's ever heard of cognitive dissonance? What you say: Are you thinking of having a family? What I think: So, me + DGF + slightly swollen canine ≠ "family?" Screw you. What you say: You haven't lived a full life unless you have kids. What I hear: Your life is invalid. There's only one way to redeem yourself, and it smells like diapers. What you say: You may think you know what love is, but you don't really know what love is until you have kids. What I hear: All your feelings are pathetic, shallow, and invalid--mere shadows of what they could have been. Alas! Okay, so I'm being melodramatic, but you get the idea. I actually don't think the pressure is nearly as bad for lesbian and gay couples who don't want kids, as it is for straight couples who don't want kids. People basically assume that opposite-sex couples are going to have kids, and that if they don't, it's because there's something biologically "wrong" with them. Instead of just getting asked, "Do you think you'll have kids someday?", people will ask questions like, "Do you think you're going to... start trying?" OMG. I once asked my friend Erica what it felt like to want a kid. She said that when she saw other people's babies, she just wanted to steal them and have them for her very own.
I have never felt this way. Although, admittedly, I want to steal other people's dogs and take them home and have them for my very own. When I confided this to Erica, she was not especially impressed by my puppy-mothering instincts. "But doesn't that mean something?" I asked, forcing my mouth into what I hoped was a beatific maternal smile. "It might, um, mean that you should have dogs instead of children," she said. Of course, she is right. Baby dogs are cute to me in a way that baby children have never been. People say that babies are cute and smell wonderful. I maintain that even though babies *can* be cute, this is not always the case, and that they typically smell like poo. My lack of desire to procreate is something I've been thinking about lately, as I am solidly in my mid-30s, and it's now-or-never time if I want a tiny human to spring from my loins. Originally, my mother didn't want kids, but changed her mind and decided she was okay with it, and then she loved having them (and, truth be told, was the best, most engaged mom ever). So I have kind of assumed for most of my life that although I never wanted children at the moment, there would come a time when having children would go from seeming wretchedly inconvenient to seeming kind of fun. But this time has not come. If I had a partner who (1) was dying to have kids and (2) was willing to do four-fifths of the work, having kids might sound fun. But my DGF feels the same way I do, meaning that in tandem, we would still be sixty percent short of a parent. Don't get me wrong--I like kids, particularly after the age of fiveish. I've done a lot of teaching and coaching of various types and at various levels, and I think kids are awesome (my favorite being high schoolers). And if someone gifted me a baby, or something happened to a friend and he or she left me with custody of their kids, I guarantee I'd throw my whole heart and soul into parenting--I really would--and I'd probably love parenting, too. I can guarantee I'd be both open-minded and overprotective. And yet, I have no special desire to proactively become a parent. Not only does this make me feel like kind of a bad person, but it's also a little odd. After all, tons of babies need good parents and are up for adoption. Why don't I just adopt one? Is it really all that different from a friend leaving me their kid? Somehow, it feels that way. I also keep feeling as if, one of these days, the desire to have a kid is going to grab onto me, and then I'll "get it." But for now... I don't get it. Can anyone else relate to how I feel about all this? Next post: Well-Meaning-But-Obnoxious Things People Tell Lesbians Who Don't Have Kids. (Anything I should be sure to add to this list? Tell me!) Shopping at thrift stores is an art, a science, and a great way to try out new styles without busting the bank. I shop at thrift stores regularly, and have found some awesome deals there (highlights include a brand-new Banana Republic jacket for $20 and some Docs for $5).
The prospect, however, can be kind of daunting. The dressing rooms are often sketchy and dimly lit, the clothes aren't hyper-organized like they are at Macy's, and the salespeople are there to ring stuff up, not to help you find a shirt with French cuffs and a 15.5 collar. Here are my top ten tips for making the most of your next thrift store visit:
There is zero shame in buying stuff secondhand. Whether you have to do it for financial reasons or not, stand proud in the line at Goodwill!. If anyone gives you a hard time about shopping at a thrift store, just be like: BAM! So go forth and bargain-hunt! I'd love to hear your other tips in the comments, and would also love to hear stories about great stuff you've bought secondhand. This is a guest post by a good friend of mine. It deals with a question I've often received, but can't write about from personal experience: top surgery for non-FTM folks. Intrigued? Read on...
Top Surgery for Genderqueer, Gender Neutral, FAAB, or Otherwise Non-FTM-Identifying People By: KJ The decision to get top surgery—via a bilateral double mastectomy—did not come easy. I spent years agonizing over the fact that I had (quite large) breasts. I dumped heaps of cash into sports bras and binders, in search of the perfect containment vessel to make them less obtrusive. I spent years wishing boobs were detachable (like Wanda Sykes’ detachable v-jay), so I could keep them in a dust covered box in the back of my closet. Why all this suffering and agony over a pair of breasts? Why, as an ardent feminist, could I not learn to love and appreciate that part of my body? Well, for starters:
You know when you’re out shopping and you see the male mannequins in the windows, looking all dapper in their vests and button down shirts, and you think, that’s my style? So you step into the store (in all your butchy genderiness), and try some on. The shirt won’t button around your breasts, the vest hugs your boobs all wrong, and the fit across the shoulders is too broad (and too narrow around the hips). So for me, there was a disconnect between how I saw myself in the mannequin’s classy getup, and how the clothing fit my body. But fashion design is only part of the problem, since lots of cool designers are remedying this. It was also about how feminizing my boobs were—I’m blessed with fairly narrow hips that actually allow men’s pants to fit, and the curves of my boob-heavy upper body were psychologically unsettling. (Pro-tip: Post-surgery, shopping for tops in the boys’ section is where it’s at!) It’s a psychology I still can’t exactly articulate, even after many therapy sessions (one of the hoops to leap through en route to surgery approval). But basically, as I grew older and explored more of the world, I met all sorts of queers who broadened my horizons and made me aware of this thing called “top surgery.” Wait... you mean they ARE detachable? It was a big decision—especially since I’d never had surgery. That was the scariest part—letting someone cut me open, remove a bunch of tissue, and sew me back up. But the fantastic images running through my mind of having a flat chest, of throwing out the constricting undergarments forever, and of flexing visible pec muscles far outweighed my fears of surgery. Still, there were lots of other factors to consider. First, I do not identify as a man, and have no intention of transitioning. Big psychological fear: my gender presentation already confuses people; will top surgery cause greater confusion? I’m okay with confusing people, but sometimes confusing people makes them oddly violent, and some people like to hurt people who don’t fit their idealized gender norms. I was, frankly, afraid of increased gender violence and social taunting. How would I negotiate public restrooms when I could no longer point to my boobs to ease the concern of the woman giving me sideways glances through the mirror? What about locker rooms or dressing rooms? Would I be mistaken for a teenage boy even more than I already am? Note: Again, I don’t mind the “sirs,” but when people think you’re a teenage boy, they don’t treat you like a capable adult. (But one perk is getting the giveaway toys and prizes for children 16 and under at festivals and special events!) Well, here’s what I learned: People determine gender in sooooo many more ways than a glance at your chest. In fact, I am still mostly read as female and mistaken for male with about the same frequency as I was before surgery. Most people read me as female as soon as they see my face or hear my voice. They may silently wonder where my titties are hiding, but nobody has said anything about it. In the three months since my surgery, I could not be happier with how I feel in my body, how my clothing fits, and how my chest looks. Understandably, you might also be concerned about scarring your perfect body. I am doing lots of scar treatment to try to reduce and minimize my scars, though scarring was, to me, a small price to pay for living the rest of my life comfortably boob-free. Maybe surprisingly, I have actually grown fond of my scars; they’ve come to seem like a natural part of my body’s landscape, and my body seems more perfect with the scars than with boobs. Another concern is dating. Who would want to date you if you hack off your tits? (Well, I’m actually a bit of a misanthrope, so dating is the least of my concerns, but I can certainly understand how scary that can be to find a person who will accept you and your boobless body.) Guess what? There are people out there who will love you just as you are (with or without boobs). And if they don’t, you probably don’t want to date that person anyway. One big fear that persists is how medical professionals would treat me post-op. Sure, I’ve navigated doctors’ gender weirdness with my hairier-than-your-dad’s legs and armpits. But fear of seeking out medical treatment is multiplied when you’re living in a surgically modified, non-gender-normative body. Recently, I found myself in need of medical treatment (unrelated to my surgery), but I hesitated. What if the doctors and nurses were jerks to me and didn’t treat me well? Eventually, a loved one forced me into the car and drove me to the ER. After a moment’s hesitation, I told the first technician who was rigging me up to a machine that I’d had a double mastectomy so he wouldn’t be shocked when he had to stick some tabs on my chest. It didn’t faze him a bit, and we talked about gender and gayness and queerness and how much he enjoys boobs and sex with his girlfriend, all while the machine measured the electrical activity of my heart. When I put it out there and seemed comfortable explaining that I did it for gendery-type reasons, every doctor and nurse and tech I interacted with was pleasant and understanding. Will this always be true? Maybe not, but hey, you get better at navigating this over time, and in the end, as long as you can get treatment, it’s a small price to pay for the comfort of everyday life without boobs. This is all to say: for people who do not identify as FTM and want top surgery, you’re not alone. You may think it’s not an option for you, because of social pressure or because of the mistaken belief that you have to be FTM to get top surgery. But I want to tell you that you can make the choice that is best for you and you can safely navigate this world as a female, androgynous, non-FTM, etc. person without breasts. Yes, it is a great privilege to have access to top surgery (thank goodness for my progressive insurance plan), and unfortunately plenty of people who need and want it can’t access it. But if you can, and you want to—even if you don’t plan to transition or take hormones—it’s a viable choice. There’s plenty more information about top surgery (even specifically for non-FTM people) that you can Google, Bing, and Yahoo on the Internets, but I am also in the process of compiling a centralized comprehensive guide to top surgery for non-FTMs. In the meantime, feel free to ask me your questions or voice your concerns by emailing me at: topsurgeryguide@gmail.com. |
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