thats a good daughter: on gender as an illusion

not ten minutes after i put up a facebook status about preparing to hitch hike my mother was texting me asking me where i was going.  i tried to reassure her in that poor media that i was just headed out to twin oaks and had safely and successfully done the trip many times before.  and then i offered to text her when i was safe at my destination.  she wrote back, “that’s a good daughter,” and i couldnt help but laugh.  i quipped back and told her that “i am a bizarre twist on the good daughter.”  she laughed.  touche.

it has been awhile since i’ve hitched and i was that mix of nervous and excited as i tried to figure out what to wear.  i was afraid that my new hair cut–half the hair got buzzed to a quarter of an inch recently–would render me more gender ambiguous than i usually am and diminish my hitch hiking success.  so i threw on a wild bright pink dress and packed some strappy sandals to change into after i’d biked to my sisters place.  but more and more the act of dressing to my gender is becoming increasingly stressful.  it’s not that i dont love throwing on a dress and embracing everything i love about being a woman, but when i have to present myself as a woman in hyper-scrutinized circumstances like hitch hiking, i remember how absurd the gender binary is.

my gender identity is with some frequency a point of contention with strangers.  yesterday, i was walking to my sisters house and stopped to chat with a little girl on her power ranger.  we talked a little bit and then she abruptly and adamantly told me, multiple times, that i was a man.  because men can wear their hair long and only men have mustaches–which is what she considered the whisker like hair on my chin.  i tried to counter her certainty but quickly realized that i didnt actually want to be defending my definition of gender with the arguments at my disposal and, anyways, she was pretty clearly convinced.

but it reminded me of a conversation my housemate relayed to me.  she works at a local market that i frequent and one day a co-worker who had seen her and i together asked about me.  stumbling through a conversation with awkward questions, he asked if i was a transitioning transgender man.  she reassured him that i was woman bodied and identified and i still grew out my chin hair as a nod to embracing my body, every part of it.  until my housemate told me of his line of questioning, i hadn’t even considered the possibility that i would be confused for being transgender.  i found it amusing and frustrating at the same time.

we are still so stuck in the rigidity of gender stereotypes, gender roles and gender presentation that the only wiggle room we get is an ambiguous understanding of that it means to be transgender.  i have been considering playing with that more.  for awhile i’ve been wanting to do something with this unusual physical appearance i embrace.  the idea would be to pluck the hair from one side of my chin, tape down the opposite breast, and create some costume outfit that was part stereotypically male and part stereotypically female.  it seems like now is the time to do it, while my head reflects that split gender presentation.

and even this doesnt feel like exactly what i want to be doing.  i want to represent the possibility of a spectrum of gender identities and there’s something limited in the split presentation piece.  i would be interested in working with others to play with this.

not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.

so i’ve been letting the hair on my chin grow out for the last several months, after realizing i’d been subconsciously plucking it for many more.  when i decided to let it grow, i was living mostly in the context of intentional communities, and so the cultural shock factor was not as profound as it is in the rest of the world.  it gave me a grace period to grow comfortable with my miniature beard and then to fully celebrate it.  it doesn’t grow all the way together at the bottom of my chin, just two little tufts on the side. there are some dark hairs in it, but mostly they’re light.  so that it’s definitely a stand out characteristic, but not so bold as it could be.

today as i walked along in the sunshine, eating through a kiwi, singing to myself and licking the sticky juices from my fingers, i was stopped by a couple of men waiting for the bus.  they asked me about my chin hair, made approving noises and nobly offered, if i couldn’t find one, to be my date.  i told them i did alright and, after alexander appreciated me again for “being myself,” i kept walking.  only to be stopped at the very next bus shelter, where a woman–who seconds before had been enthusiastically making out–asked me if my chin hair was real, which i thought was an interesting question, since it seems to assume that i would go to the effort of wearing a fake and incomplete beard.

i’ve had other men assume that my chin hair means i’m a lesbian.  i’ve had 80 year old women come right up to me and touch it.  my dad thinks i only grow it out for the shock factor.  but it’s not all that simple.  of course, i love the shock factor, but it’s not actually enough to keep it for me.  it started as an experiment in body image, could i incorporate this part of myself without shame or embarrassment?  and then it did actually evolve into something i liked about myself.  i find that i play with it, consciously and subconsciously, that i pull at it when i’m thinking or as a nervous tic.  sure, sometimes i still notice it in the mirror or become anxious when i’m entering a situation where i think it will be particularly off putting.  but mostly i forget its unusual.  until someone reminds me, kindly or not so kindly.

recently a friend of mine asked me if i would trim it.  i was a little taken aback, because i’d never imagined doing such a thing.  like all of the hair on my body i was happy to let it grow wildly as it wished.  and i guess i’ve never imagined myself trimming a beard.  maybe i’ll try it, but for now i’ll just stroke it down and consider myself groomed.

oh, and i love when people just come up and touch it.  without asking or hesitation.  just in case you wanted to know!