While no label can encapsulate you, labels can be useful descriptors of some of your traits and identities.  Letters from a couple of straight cis male fans (keep reading, guys--we love to have you here!) made me wonder about how you, dear readers, think about your identities.  Check all the terms below that you feel apply to you.  (And feel free to leave comments, too!)

 

Most of the girls where I grew up started wearing make-up in middle school.  By the start of high school, I still wasn't on the bandwagon.  I didn't understand why girls were expected to wear make-up, since boys didn't have to--and goodness knows there were dozens of boys at my high school whose goth-pale or acne-addled complexions would have been improved by a touch of foundation.  But since no one expected them to paint over their faces' imperfections, I was inclined to exhibit my own just as freely. 

Understanding that I was a pretty logical kid, my mom chalked up my aversion to makeup (as well as to carrying a purse) as old-fashioned, practical minimalism.  As my overloaded tie rack now reveals, this was off the mark, but given the evidence available at the time, it was not an unreasonable hypothesis.  Although my mom didn't want me to be Barbielicious or anything, she sometimes commented on my lack of interest in makeup--or, as she put it, in "putting on a little color."  E.g. (pleadingly): "Don't you want to put on a little color?!?"

Playing to my "minimalism," my mom would try to give me makeup survival tips.  "Instead of carrying around separate blush, you can just put a dab of lipstick on each cheek and rub it in," she might advise conspiratorially.  Or: "In a pinch, you can always use mascara to darken your eyebrows."

I was highly doubtful that I would ever be in a "pinch" involving insufficiently dark eyebrows.  But gamely, I gave both strategies a shot.  I wore makeup on and off for several years.  Putting it on always felt like putting on a costume, but I could look at myself in the mirror and see that I was pulling off a conventionally feminine look.  I figured that this was how all women felt--that it was one of those burdens that she-creatures have to bear, like menstruation or writing thank-you notes. 

When I was married to my DXH, every time I applied what seemed to me a LOT of makeup, I'd ask him if he thought it was okay.
DXH: Is what okay?
BW: My makeup.  Too much?
DXH [looking at me; tilting head]: You're wearing makeup?
BW: Obviously, YES.  And possibly way too much of it.
DXH [squinting]: I literally cannot tell that you're wearing any makeup.
BW: I don't believe you.  I look like a clown.
DXH: Sweetie, what seems to you like a LOT of makeup is not exactly what the rest of the world considers a LOT of makeup.
BW: Oh.  Well, now I just feel stupid.
DXH: Sorry.  In that case, you look like a two-dollar whore.

As a kid, I tried to humor my mom's suggestions to look more feminine, which often involved compromise on both our parts.  Because I threw a huge fit at the prospect of putting on a skirt, my mom tried to persuade me that culottes (thanks to Bee Listy for the correct spelling) were JUST like shorts.  "Then why can't I just wear SHORTS?" I'd ask, incredulous.  (My mom and I are still very close, by the way--which is proof that, despite occasional frustrations on both sides, a butch dyke NPR-loving daughter and a conservative, Fox-News-loving parent can still find enough common ground to want to spend time together.)

It wasn't that I objected to the style of the culottes (though I should have).  Nor were they physically uncomfortable; they felt like well-ventilated shorts.  But there was something I hated about other people seeing me in a skirt.  It felt wrong, uncomfortable, humiliating.  Some butches say that in childhood, they "felt like a boy," and didn't want people to see them in the "wrong" clothes.  But I didn't feel like a boy; I felt like a girl who wanted to wear pants and a tie and have everyone think I looked dandy that way.  From a very young age, I wanted sex and gender to get a divorce.

(A brief aside: This is what I mean when I say that there's something "visceral" about masculinity.  My DGF doesn't like me to use the word "masculinity."  She says it's too tied to maleness, and that part of the fun of being a butch woman is turning maleness on its head by co-opting its trappings.  But for me, "masculinity" refers to a style of dress and way of being that is not tied to biological sex--although for the rest of the world, there happens to be a very strong correlation.  For me, maybe masculinity is more of an aesthetic?)

Anyhow, the other day, for the first time in years, I slapped on a touch of makeup, just to see what it felt like.  And you know what?  A bit of lipstick and some eyeliner looked kind of kickass with my masculine glasses, haircut, and clothing.  It was enough of a pain that I don't plan to do it again anytime soon.  But it was pretty funny that after so many years of resisting makeup, it finally didn't feel "wrong." 

It makes perfect sense, though, doesn't it?  Since I'm at a point where I feel free to dress as masculine as I want to, a tube of lipstick isn't a threat to my core being.  It's just--well--a little color.

I've been reading Kristen Schilt's book, Just One of the Guys?, which details FTMs' workplace experience.  She interviews more than 50 trans men about their transitions' effects on how they were received in their places of employment.  About half the men she interviewed applied for their current jobs as men, and weren't out as trans at work.  The other half transitioned while in the workplace, so their co-workers knew them as women,  then as men.

Schilt,  to her own surprise, finds that the majority of FTMs have very positive workplace experiences, and--here comes the disturbing part--report that they are treated better by their co-workers once they start presenting as men.  This was true for both sets of trans men, even those whose co-workers previously knew them as women!  Straight cismen in the workplace embraced the FTMs "as" men--for example, inviting them to play tackle football with other men in the office, taking them to Hooters, or offering to teach them how to do "man stuff." 

On one hand, this study is encouraging, and somewhat hopeful for the acceptance of trans men in the workplace.  But on the other hand, as Schilt says, the idea that the same person is treated much better when presenting as a man than presenting as a woman really highlights the continuing presence of gender inequality in the workplace!

Also, since a lot of the trans men presented as butches before transitioning, I wonder: were FTMs treated better post-transition because they were no longer seen as women, or because they were no longer seen as gender-deviant women specifically?  Maybe it's easier for people to understand a trans guy than a butch because (in terms of physical appearance) the trans guy fits into the gender dichotomy and the butch lesbian does not.  So maybe this study doesn't show gender inequality as much as it shows inequality on the basis of gender conformity.  I don't know.

I met an awesome, youngish scholar today who's (sort of) in my academic field.  We got to talking about the job interview process, and she mentioned that she has a bunch of butchy lesbian friends who were on the fence about wearing a tie to their interviews.  And if no tie, whether to wear a suit jacket.

In the end, her friends didn't wear ties.  They didn't want people to think they were male-identified (since they're not), nor did they want to be perceived as "too aggressive" (what?!).  Sure, there's a whole "angry butch lesbian" stereotype out there, but do people really subscribe to it?

Apparently so.

This person told me, "Men's suit jackets on women are perceived as aggressive."  AND, because of increased trans-visibility--a wonderful thing, definitely--but in progressive circles, women with "male" fashion markers are increasingly assumed to want to be men.  Not in the butch-lesbians-have-penis-envy sense, but in the I'm-taking-testosterone-and-have-a-double-masectomy-scheduled sense.

Wow.  I'm fine with people who meet me thinking I'm trans, I guess (I'm not, but who cares?).  But aggressive?  Angry?

So what do I do in a couple years when I go on the job market?  What have YOU, dear new readers, done?  I'd love to get your advice.

I had a phone argument with an insurance company this morning.  As a result, I decided to wear a tie to work.  Wearing a tie puts me in a good mood.  Today's selection was silver plaid on grey--a Calvin Klein tie I picked up last year either at Ross or Macy's, and a Geoffrey Beene shirt I found at Goodwill.  I've been liking monochromatic look lately, with a loosened tie.

It's strange to feel as though I look my best, but simultaneously know that others  think I'm trying to be nonconformist.  I don't mind *being* nonconformist, but I don't like that that people might think I dress as I do to TRY to be nonconformist; I'm just being me.

The unhappy fact, though, is that when I *do* put on a tie in the morning, I  spend a few moments mentally combing through my schedule, making sure  my attire is appropriate for every setting I'll be in.  Not just the level of formality--which I'm guessing everyone thinks about--but the appropriateness of my apparent "deviance."  I'd like to say that I don't care what other people think, but in a professional setting, that's not always true.  I want to do what's best for me AND my career AND my self-esteem, and sometimes these paths don't align.

I also don't like that wearing a tie makes some people assume I'm trans.  I'm not.  I support people who want to transition; I'm just not one of them, and I don't like people thinking I am.  I'm not sure why I care.  Maybe it has to do with the centrality of gender identity.  That is, just as it's (often) important to trans men to be perceived and recognized AS men, it's important to me to be perceived and recognized AS a woman.