In which I don't want to talk about my feelings any more

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym not their full name (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

Hey there. So, last week I came out to one of my professors. I also got called ma'am approximately eighty-four thousand times. And I confirmed with my mom that next weekend we're gonna go to DC for several days of solid "girl time." So, last week, I was exhausted; this week, I just have nothing more to give.

So, rather than rely on my utterly-depleted emotional resources for a post, I'm just gonna fact-dump on you and talk about binding. I assume somebody will be interested, anyway; I feel like a lot of people want to know The Details but very few ask. Caveat: this is very much about my experiences. I'm pretty sure things are a little different for everyone.

The first time I bound my breasts, it for Hallowe'en. My senior year, my gay ex-boyfriend was Belle, my best friend (female) was the Beast, and I was Gaston. My girlfriend helped my best friend and I bind in the morning before school, with duct tape. The critical thing with duct tape is not to put it directly on your skin! We took control-top pantyhose and cut off the legs and crotch, and used the waist part as a sort of tube-top. Then, starting at the top, we wrapped the tape around and around over top of the hose. I actually just stood there with my arms up and let my girlfriend do all the work, because I wasn't exactly shy about having her touch my breasts; I think I got much better results that way, because I didn't have to worry about twisting around and potentially dislodging things.

The results were quite good, and not too uncomfortable-- while they lasted. Duct tape, it turns out, doesn't exactly breathe! I started to sweat underneath the binder, and the whole tube started to work its way lower and lower on my torso. Suddenly, in the middle of Scripture class (really!), my boobs popped free over the top of it, and I had to sit through the rest of the class with a duct tape tube hanging loosely around my waist and bare breasts jiggling under a flimsy shirt. Luckily, I had lent my ex-boyfriend one of my bras to hold his fake breasts, so I didn't have to go the rest of the day bra-less, but I did still have to get the binder off. Which meant... cutting it off. I had to borrow some heavy-duty scissors to have a hope of cutting through the multiple layers of duct tape, and it was still a slow and sticky process. A slow, sticky, process happening immediately next to my skin. And my boobs. For that reason alone I could never recommend binding with duct tape regularly: when the scissors get stuck in the tape, and you're trying to force them out, there is no safe course of action. You just have to be lucky.

I tried Ace bandages next, the three-inch-wide ones that I already owned due to my weak ankles. This was years later, and I was binding in order to explore my own gender identity. I was never satisfied enough with the results to leave the room with them on, though, so I ordered a binding shirt from Underworks. The first one I got was basically just a long tank top made of nylon and spandex, and I really liked it. To put it on, I have to step into it like it was a skirt and then work it up my body (it's really right!). It's an awkward process but eventually I'm able to put my arms through the straps and then reach into the shirt to arrange my boobs. The compression is really powerful and the shirt smooths everything out and doesn't show under clothes, so I really love it.

At least, until it starts to roll up... the bottom of the shirt is supposed to be near my hips, tucked into my pants, but dude pants aren't exactly tight around the hips so the bottom often rolls up to my natural waist. The thick roll of bunched-up shirt is quite tight and uncomfortable, and I always feel like it emphasizes my natural hourglass shape. (If you've ever seen me fidget with my shirt a lot, or "go to the bathroom" several times for extremely short trips, I am probably trying to fix this. It hurts!)

Sometimes to pre-empt this problem, I put the shirt on and then immediately pull the bottom of the shirt up to my chest (as if I were going to turn the shirt inside out and take it off) and wear it with two layers over my chest. I feel like it's hard to describe-- I roll the bottom up over the main shirt, so the hem is at my collarbone. Of course, from this position it can slide down, bringing me back to the same situation as before, but I find it easier to tug it back into place before catastrophe strikes when it's doubled up.

The best solution to the rolling problem, though, is the version of this shirt with little shorts attached to the bottom. I step into it and pull it on the same way, but because the bottom is actually attached to something that can't move, there's no rolling. There's no need to fidget with it, so it's so comfortable I forget I'm wearing it at all... until I have to pee. To go to the bathroom, I have to undress completely. This is extra-annoying if I am wearing a suit. So many layers! It gets in the way of enjoying myself because I'm always worrying about whether or not I'm going to need to pee.

I've been getting more frustrated with my Underworks shirts lately, and less willing to put up with their drawbacks. So one night, when I'd left both binding shirts at my girlfriend's by mistake and needed to wear a suit, I tried binding with the Ace bandages again. Unexpectedly, I was really happy with the results.

I used two three-inch-wide, several-yard-long bandages of quite nice quality. (Most transmen online recommend six-inch-wide bandages but I'm using ones that I already had for my ankles.) Starting as high as possible, and pulling tight, I wrap them around my torso. I don't wrap too far past the end of my boobs (which about where my ribs end, thanks to the squish factor) and when the second bandage runs out, I tuck the end up underneath the bottom of the binding. I've never had a problem with the bandages slipping down like the duct tape or rolling up like the binding shirts, but I trade those for the problem of... potentially causing myself serious harm. I'm pretty sure men have actually fractured their ribs, binding too hard with Ace bandages. To reduce the risk, I breathe in deeply before I start wrapping and try to keep my chest expanded the whole way through. I also make sure not to pull the bandages to the very tightest they can go. It can sometimes be uncomfortable, and look lumpy under a thin shirt (especially if I'm sloppy), but with the multiple layers of a suit it doesn't show very much and I've grown to like it, because it's not fidgety and it doesn't make me feel like my entire body is encased in a cocoon.

I'm gonna go ahead and open the comments section up to all your questions, especially any you might have about the practical aspects of transition. If you're curious about transwomen, my girlfriend has agreed to answer questions as well. And if you're embarrassed, you can always comment anonymously! I love to hear from you.

In which I have a lot of wine at Christmas

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym not their full name (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

Merry Christmas, folks!

Transgender Day of Remembrance was a while ago now, but I've found myself almost haunted by a question someone asked. I attended a reading of Gender Outlaw at the Regulator, and a woman in the audience said, "I want to raise my children to be gender neutral, but what do I say if my son asks for a Barbie?"

At first, I thought she was objecting to Barbie on feminist grounds, and I found it a really interesting question-- should you allow your sons access to toxic marketed images of femininity that you wouldn't give to your daughters?-- but then it turned out she didn't actually have a problem with Barbie. She had a problem with boys playing with girl toys. She didn't want her son to be picked on by other kids, she said; wouldn't it be better to teach him to fit in?

I have kind of a lot of problems with this.

First, I really object to the idea that a child's gender is readily apparent. Mine wasn't. How do you know it's your son asking for a Barbie? If it's your daughter, you're only going to break her heart if you deny her gender expression just so she can fit in with the "other" boys. This was my girlfriend's experience, and it caused her a lot of pain for years.

I lucked out a bit due to another flawed assumption-- the idea that "male" is somehow "gender neutral." It's way more okay for a girl (or, in my case, a "girl") to act boyish than the other way around (good ol' sexism!). So, if your goal is to give your kids a gender-free environment but you ban Barbies for the boys... you have epically failed to understand gender. Honestly, if you banned Barbies for girls, you'd still be failing at "gender neutral."

But I think the most difficult thing for me to swallow was the idea that, somehow, if the rest of the world is going to disapprove of your kid, it would help if you disapproved, too. This is the argument my mother still uses when she tries to convince my brother and I to stop dating people of the same (or in my case, "same") gender. She claims to have no problem with gay people, but wants us to be straight to make our lives easier.

Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I've always felt that I could deal with everybody else in the world with no problem if I knew I could count on supportive parents at home. I would almost certainly be going as Lawrence in class by now, for example. No problem is easier to overcome if you think your parents can't accept who you are as a person.

I'm actually a little intimidated by the prospect of ever having children, just because childhood is so full of gender policing, and I couldn't possibly protect my children from all of it. I can't bear the thought of the kids on the playground picking on my child for liking Barbie. I might go on a one-man crusade and talk to all those kids' parents. I might just give my kid a lot of pep talks about how some people are terrible. I would probably spend a lot of my time very worried. But I would still give my kid the Barbie. For me, that would never be in question.

And, you know, I don't give my mom a lot of credit for tolerance (largely because she remains "devastated" that I like girls, six years later) but she was pretty good about letting me just be myself. And this today we had a conversation that gave me hope (for the first time ever) that when I finally tell her I'm trans, maybe I won't have to be estranged from my whole family.

I usually get some nice new clothes for Christmas. Usually it's fancy dresses, shoes, or maybe a really stylish coat. Always in hyper-feminine prints and colors. This year, it was pajamas and some nice shirts from J Crew. Two or three of them had a few ruffles but they were all in earth tones, and they were probably the least-feminine clothes my mom had ever bought me.

"I noticed you were sort of dressing more neutral," she said, "so I tried to do that."

I didn't even care that she was conflating "masculine" with "neutral." I was just so, so happy. I'm pretty sure this is the first time my mom has had anything nice to say about my unfeminine tendencies. Usually it's a constant stream of criticism because I don't shave, she liked my hair better when it was long, I should wear earrings or my piercings will close, etc. But this time... when I mentioned that the ruffles were maybe too much, she said we could go exchange them tomorrow for something I'd like better.

And then, she asked if I had dress pants for an upcoming fancy dinner; I told her I'd outgrown my last pair, and said that I was just planning to wear a dress. I groaned when I said it, but I'm not sure I needed to. She immediately dismissed the idea of wearing a dress and insisted that we'd get dress pants. This is a huge turnaround from this summer, when she nagged me into waxing my legs specifically so I could wear dresses.

And you know-- it really does make a difference in how I feel about tackling the rest of the world. So I'm only more convinced that no matter what kind of consequences it has everywhere else, parents have to resist gender-policing.

As always, I'm just chitchatting about what's on my mind to get a conversation started. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them here or email me at lawrenceevalyn (at) gmail (dot) com. I'd especially love to hear from other gender-non-conforming folks to hear your point of view. Come on, queer up my break for me!

In which it gets complicated

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym not their full name (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

It's still Friday night, right? It's not Saturday morning until the sun rises.

I feel like "it's complicated" has been my mantra ever since I started questioning my gender. Today I want to untangle my identity a little, but I want to be clear that all this is only true for me, personally. I make no statements, or even guesses, as to how other transgendered folks relate to these things.

So, I guess I think of myself as having three selves. There's me, which is whoever I am when I'm completely alone, and then there are the slightly-processed versions of myself that I allow to be seen in public. I don't want to make it sound like these are totally different identities-- I think it's pretty normal to have a private-self and a public-self. You know, like, maybe your private-self likes to eat peanut butter out of the jar with your fingers, and thinks your boss is ugly. But your public self doesn't show this side of you to the world. Normal! Right?

Except for me It Gets Complicated, because right now I have me, my girl-public-self (whom I shall call Lavinia), and my boy-public-self (Lawrence). Lawrence is basically me, plus underpants, and minus nose-picking. Lavinia, though-- hoo boy, is Lavinia something else!

Lavinia is the perfect daughter my mother always wanted, plus all the coping mechanisms required to get me to go along with the act. Lavinia is high femme, and totally straight. She has an incredible work ethic. She's unfailingly polite. She's ambitious.

But in order to be that person I could never let myself make any close friends. It required momentum to keep Lavinia going; it broke my heart every time I had to put Lavinia back on after leaving a friend; I couldn't imagine going through the world as anyone other than Lavinia; clearly, the friend had to go.

Lavinia got a little tainted by my misery. She was a snob and a cynic and kind of a bitch. She was very aggressive and not very empathetic. She was so, so self-absorbed. I didn't like Lavinia, which only made her more unlikeable.

In a particularly tough period of my life, I tried to kill Lavinia. They made me stay in the hospital for a week. This was, as you may imagine, a bit of a wake-up call. I decided that I didn't care if I had no idea how to live without the facade, I obviously couldn't live with it, and I gave myself permission to find out what was underneath.

I am afraid I became an even more unbearable person at this point, as I removed all my self-censoring instincts and thus spewed my drama onto any and all unsuspecting passerby. I quit and re-joined all kinds of groups and projects, and changed majors every week. I flirted mercilessly with a cute girl and never called her back. I ate three gigantic ice cream sandwiches in a row one night, and skipped class to watch Avatar: The Last Airbender.

But gradually-- so, so gradually!-- I began to put myself together, and make myself presentable to society again. And I found out that I don't really care about making money, that I don't like to be in charge, that I do care about social justice -- and, oh yeah, I found out that I'm a guy. Surprise!

I am working hard to put Lavinia behind me, and to become a better, happier, truer person. A lot of this doesn't really have to do with transitioning at all -- though I don't think I could have gotten so carried away with the facade if I hadn't been so deep in denial about my gender.

It's not so bad, really, pretending to be Lavinia, now that I know that's what I'm doing. She's less of a bitch now that I'm less miserable. And hey, that work ethic is great!

But the rapid switching I have to do on campus causes its own stress. I have to be on the watch for people who "don't know," and if just one shows up I have to immediately switch to Lavinia. When they leave, I try to work her off again, but it's a slow process, and there are a lot of people on campus who know Lavinia. This is why, if I introduce myself as Lawrence to someone, I refuse to tell them my legal name (which is not Lavinia) -- they can't expect a facade they don't know.

I do have to "put on" Lawrence as well, but mostly this involves consciously rejecting Lavinia. I don't think I'd notice changing my gestures, voice, posture, etc. if I didn't have to change them from something radically different, several times a day, at a moment's notice. And, well, I have to put on pants to go out in public, too. So I don't worry too much right now.

But anyway, that's why I don't really feel a connection to my former, girly self. I am kind of the most effeminate guy in the universe, but Lavinia never got to have fun with her gender expression; all the terribly stereotypical love for fashion, Lady Gaga, and camp-- that's all me, and I'm Lawrence. The more baby steps I am able to take towards transition, the more I feel... congruent. And Lavinia has nothing to do with it.

In which I take Mulan a little too seriously

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

When I get stressed out, I like to indulge in the things that I couldn't get enough of as a kid. I color. I draw spirographs. I eat bigsquare crackers (as my family still calls them). And recently, I watched Mulan again.

Mulan came out when I was nine, and I watched it obsessively as a kid. Since realising I am trans I've been joking that it should've been a hint that the only "Disney princess" I ever identified with spent half her time as a man. But I haven't actually seen it since coming to my epiphany, and... well, I cried. A lot. But mostly in the good way.

I think Mulan might be the perfect movie for gender-non-conforming kids whose families expect them to be girls. Let me tell you what I see when I watch Mulan.

First, this montage is pretty much about drag for me:

In my mind, much of femininity (like masculinity) consists of a performance, and this sequence highlights that. (I'm trying to draw a distinction here between gender and gender expression. It's the latter that involves the most social construction.) For a lot people the performance comes naturally, feels congruent, and is even enjoyable-- if this is how you feel about the gender you were assigned at birth, congratulations, you're cisgendered! It probably doesn't even feel like a performance to you. I still feel like many of my gendered actions (like my choice in clothes) are performative, but because they feel congruent now, I simply feel like I am expressing my gender, rather than going around in drag.

Mulan, here and elsewhere in the movie, is pretty unhappy about having to perform femininity, and it seems clear to me that it's not really an expression of who she is. Which is why, to me, the montage is about drag.

In the next sequence, with the matchmaker, it becomes clear that Mulan isn't just uncomfortable with femininity-- she is a big failure at it.

I always really empathized with Mulan here, as a kid. She is trying so hard! It just doesn't come naturally to her, so she fails, fails, fails. Just like I always did. The clumsiness is particularly familiar to me-- I am incredibly clumsy, and nowadays I attribute it to my fundamental discomfort with my body. I bump my too-large hips into corners and doorways, and I actually knock things off my desk with my breasts with embarrassing regularity. It's hard to be graceful when you're fundamentally uncomfortable in your own skin.

And now, for the song that makes me cry every single time I hear it:

Seriously. Those lyrics. Literally every single line deserves to be quoted, as the narrative of a young transboy's coming out:

Look at me.

I will never pass for a perfect bride

Or a perfect daughter.

Can it be

I'm not meant to play this part?

Now I see

That if I were truly to be myself

I would break my family's heart.

Who is that girl I see

Staring straight

Back at me?

Why is my reflection someone

I don't know?

Somehow I cannot hide

Who I am

Though I've tried.

When will my reflection show

Who I am inside?

Yeah, I choked up just typing that. I was going to say something about the vocabulary-- passing as a daughter, playing the part, etc.-- but it's too close to my heart for an English-class close reading. This was the song my heart sang for ten years. It speaks for itself.

The best part of Mulan, though, is that it offers hope. Mulan's father tells her to learn her place, and she goes, "Okay, you know what my place is? The fucking army." And... she does it! Ping becomes a fucking war hero! Ping succeeds at masculinity just as much as Mulan originally failed at femininity. Sure, it's a little rough at first, but it's rough for all the men, and the movie explains how to get better:

Isn't that, like, the least-toxic definition of How To Be A Man that you've ever seen? This song is the song of my heart right now. Swift as a river, force of a typhoon, strength of a fire, mysterious as the moon. Gotcha. I can do that!

The parts where Ping is in the army are my favourites of the whole movie, because they just make me so happy. I always feel that I am watching the story of Ping, as he embraces his identity and kicks ass. That moment when all his friends cheer on the snowy mountaintop, after he has saved the army, the country, and his boyfriend-- it's such a perfect crowning moment.

Except, of course, for the fact that the movie keeps going. Here is where I begin to feel conflicted. The story requires Ping to become Mulan again. It always breaks my heart, just like Christine Daniels' transition back to Mike Penner. I just can't understand how Ping can go back. I mean, I definitely understand the societal pressures, and once Ping has been outed he doesn't exactly have a lot of options, but-- how can I accept this as the best possible ending for him?

Mulan gets everything I wanted as a kid. She gets to hug the emperor and she gets to hug her dad, and they love her. She gets the guy, and he loves her. But she only gets the happy ending because she puts the dress back on. Can't people love me when I am myself?

Like with the reflection song, I lose my facility with words at this point. So I am moving on.

This scene is super gratuitous in the movie-- seriously, they didn't have to get all dressed up just to climb those pillars, as Shang himself demonstrates-- and so my inclusion of the clip is also gratuitous:

I particularly like the reprise of the "Be A Man" song. Sure, maybe for most people it's seen as ironic-- but to me, it's saying that maybe "being a man" can include wearing dresses just for fun.

So maybe the movie doesn't give us a perfect transgender narrative-- but it does seem to imagine a radical re-definition of how we understand gender expression, and I think that can be enough. If nothing else, I am glad to have had this:

A montage that makes transitioning look epic. With swords! Everything a nine-year-old needs.

In which I do not discuss the many awesome parts of my vacation, in favor of whining

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

And now we discover the danger of assigning me to Saturday mornings: I like to sleep in late. Especially when I'm feeling a little unhappy.

Luckily, though, I bring a revelatory insight: the closet sucks, y'all.

At Duke I generally don't tend to feel closeted, because at Duke I don't actually pretend I'm a girl. I just don't always correct people when they make the wrong guess. It's not exactly comfortable, but who really expects to be their most genuine, authentic self in Chemistry class? And if the wrong guesses start to get to me, I can just talk to a friend (or my girlfriend) to get called the right name, or bind for the day, and I feel better. It's not my fault people don't see the obvious, so it's not really the closet.

No, the closet is when I encourage people to misgender me. Which is... this weekend. My mom likes me to bring laundry when I come home (seriously, if I don't she'll complain that I don't need her any more and spend the vacation trying to bury me under cups of tea) but I could only bring my girly laundry. So, today my mom asked why I brought thirty pairs of underwear, ten shirts, and some pajamas-- "You do... wear pants, don't you?"-- and I told her yet another half-truth: "The laundry was all over my room, so I only grabbed some of it." Sure, I heavily implied that the selection was random, when in reality I obsessed over every article of clothing to make sure it conformed appropriately to her standards (that is, I checked everything for rainbows before putting it in the suitcase) but it wasn't technically a lie.

The rest of it is lies, though. Lies, lies, lies. I think this is the heaviest irony of trans life: you know how people generally imply that trans folks are lying about their gender? Like, the "trans panic" defense, used (successfully, alas) in so many murder trials: "when I found out it was really a man, I just had to kill it!" Or, the murder mystery I watched with my mom last night-- "it turns out he was really a she!" There's the transphobic idea that the gender you were assigned at birth is your real gender, but there's also this idea that if you say you're anything else, you're lying and deserve what's coming to you. Well, I do feel like a liar, all the time-- when I tell people I'm not a man.

I'm not a religious person even a little, but I have a strong sense of honor. I hate lying.

Part of it is that I'm not a very good liar, so to maintain the facade I have to forget the truth a little. I grew so accustomed to the facade that I showed the rest of the world that I actually had no idea what was underneath until this semester when I decided to drop it. (Turns out: there was a man under there! Other than that, pretty much the same.) But I've always had a special facade for my parents. I wasn't just their daughter, I was the daughter they always wanted-- which means, I was straight, I was femme, I didn't curse, I didn't drink, I definitely didn't have sex, I wasn't a feminist, I wasn't an activist, I wasn't an atheist... I got to be a geek, but that was pretty much it, in terms of resemblance to my actual self.

And today, right now-- that's who I am! Sure, I've holed myself up in my room to write this, but I'm wearing pearls. It's only been a few days but I already feel like my sense of identity has been eroded away. (Not just my gender identity-- my whole identity.) I called my girlfriend last night-- from inside a literal closet, with three closed doors between my and my family-- just to hear her say my name. My real name. Which is Lawrence.

So, to remind myself who I am for the rest of the weekend, I open the comments up to all your Trans 101 questions. Just call me by my name, my real name, and I'll answer anything you want to know. Don't worry about dumb questions, personal questions, or even unintentionally offensive questions-- I did a lot of 101 in my lesbian days and I know what I'm signing up for. If you're nervous, that's what anonymous comments are for.

So ask away! I think it'll help both of us.

In which I get more serious than I intended

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

Well, hello there! My name is Lawrence, and I'm a transman. Lawrence is not a pseudonym (though it's also not my legal name), but as I hope you can tell, this is a pseudopic. I'm not putting a picture up because I'm trying to keep more control of who I am out to, but if you think you know me in person based on what I write, feel free to approach me and ask. I find it emotionally exhausting to tell people, but it's comforting when people know, and if you're the one bringing it up I'll know that any freak-outs have already happened where I won't have to deal with them.

Also, Ping is pretty much The Best. I watched that movie eight thousand times as a kid trying to figure out why Mulan chose to be Mulan when she could have been Ping. (Realising I was trans meant suddenly understanding like 80% of my childhood obsessions. Alanna! Ozma! Mulan! These stories have something in common!)

However, I actually have a specific topic I want to write about today, and it's pretty serious: the goddamn TSA. If you haven't heard about what they're up to these days, Jeffrey Goldberg has a pretty good introduction.

The short version: if you get randomly selected for additional screening, you have a choice between having the TSA use a machine to look at your naked body and take photos of it-- naked photos which are not secure from being saved and leaked-- and having your junk and/or boobs groped. The TSA has been brushing the backs of their hands over boobs for years, but it is now done with the front of the hand, and they have to feel under the breasts, too. Also, they're going to run their hands up your legs until they meet "resistance."

Imagine you're transgendered for a second. Which way would you prefer to be outed? Detailed photographs of your genitals, or a good old-fashioned grope? Remember, if they don't like your naked photo, they can force you to put up with the grope anyway!

I actually plan to opt out of the backscatter machine, and put up with the groping, but it's a complicated decision for me. I've made this choice because this way nobody will actually see my body, and because I hope it will annoy the hell out of the TSA. But then, I do not believe I will be in danger, because everyone will assume I'm a girl anyway. If people actually saw me as a man, I'd... well, I probably wouldn't fly in or out of the U.S. anymore.

The thought of a stranger handling my breasts brings up all my most violent feelings of body-hatred. To be blunt, it makes me want to cut the damn things off, or at least bind for the next thousand years. But binding would probably be "suspicious", and my parents would definitely notice and freak out. So I'm going to wear a damn bra, and let them touch me, and try not to be sick, because I know that the TSA is only doing these invasive pat-downs to bully people into accepting the backscatter imaging devices, and I refuse to be bullied.

It's definitely easier to just let them take your picture. It doesn't feel any different than going through a metal detector, really. It definitely feels less invasive than having someone touch you. But a stranger is still looking at your naked body, and I don't know about you, but I thought I was supposed to have civil liberties protecting me from that.

There is no reason for these machines to exist. There's no proof they would have prevented the attempt that supposedly necessitated them (which, let's remember, failed.) They endanger transgendered fliers by outing them in potentially-hostile environments (Don't think it's dangerous? Four words: Transgender Day of Remembrance.) They also take explicit pictures of children's genitals, which I thought we'd agreed was a Bad Thing.

Opting out of the machine is the best way to bully them back; if enough people do it, the one selling point of the machines-- convenience-- will be negated. So, if you're flying home for Thanksgiving, and you get selected for additional screening... think about opting out.

If I can do it, you can do it. Seriously.

WOMYN Wednesday!

[WOMYN magazine is excited to announce that we are featuring polls from our community in the magazine! We want to hear what you have to say about LGBTQ issues, queer women and Duke. The general goal of WOMYN magazine is to increase the visibility of queer women on this campus.]

This week we would like to annouce that we have WOMYN bookmarks! Let's make WOMYN one of the first things the incoming students see! Click here to download them directly, (or click here to access them on the WOMYN website). If you're a RA, work at a location on campus, or you're just plan awesome, print out some WOMYN bookmarks (be sure to print them double sided with SHORT edge binding in Microsoft Word), and leave them in locations around campus or hand them out to help let others know that LGBTQ individuals are welcome here.

(Need a little motivation? Do it for the Class of 2014! Think about how different your first year would have been if one of the first things you saw during orientation was a bookmark for a LGBTQ women's magazine. It would have been amazing.)

This week's WOMYN poll is:

"Who is your favorite character on the L-Word?"

Click here to vote!

(You can view the results of the poll in WOMYN magazine when it hits campus late fall semester!)

(Note: This piece contains a small *spoiler* of the 6th season of the show.)

"Everybody's straight until they're not." - The L-Word

The L-Word was originally produced by Ilene Chaiken, an openly lesbian screenwriter, and the show ran on Showtime for 6 seasons from 2004-2009. (Fun fact: Ilene Chaiken also coordinated The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air before her work with the L-Word.) The television series takes place in Los Angeles (although it was filmed in Vancouver, Canada) and focuses on the lives of a rotating group of lesbian, bisexual and transgender characters who live in West Hollywood.

Whether you love it or you hate it, the L-word was one of the first primetime television shows that focused almost solely on queer women. In this way, the L-word was a major success, but in many other aspects it failed to live up to some of the expectations viewers had about the program. The show lacked an accurate portrayal of diversity in almost every way possible. Ethnic/racial diversity, socioeconomic status (they live in West Hollywood), gender expression and bisexual and transgender characters all seemed to be missing in the primarily white, lesbian and affluent cast of the show. In addition, some viewers thought that the show's final season, which ends with the murder of one of the main characters, fufills the stereotypical older LGBT literature plotline of the tragic lesbian ending.

But despite its flaws, it was arguably one of the most successful and popular LGBTQ-women's series to date. Due to its wide popularity, this week we wanted to focus on the show that placed queer women in a much more visible section of the media. Who's your favorite character? And what did you love/hate about the show? Let us know in the comments field your opinions and ideas about the L-Word. (If you're comfortable with your quote appearing in the magazine, feel free to add your name and your Duke affiliation.)

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Want to submit to WOMYN magazine? Don't wait until all of the schoolwork hits this semester-get your submission in now! (Remember how difficult Physics 53 and History 190C were during the school year?) The submission deadline is September 15th.

Check out our website for more information, and feel free to email us with any questions you might have: womynatduke@gmail.com. All are highly encouraged to submit - LGBTQ and straight-allied. Anyone with a Duke affiliation is eligible to write for WOMYN, including alumni, staff, faculty, undergraduate and graduate students alike.

Beyond "Lesbian" Fashion

“Forgive me father for I have sinned
I have broken the commandments of the fashion world
Shaming my LGBT brother, with his muscled body and one-of-a-kind tennis shoes
I am without direction, doomed to think impure thoughts
About what clothes I will buy and wear
A mullet atop my head
A flannel shirt and ill-fitting jeans loosely slung on my body”

When I told my mom I was going to write about lesbian fashion for the Our Lives blog she replied “Lesbian fashion? You’ll really be able to write a whole article about that?” My sweet mother is not exactly immersed in current fashion trends, because if she was she’d know that I could write an entire book about lesbian fashion. In the early 1990s K.D. Lang ushered in the era of “lesbian chic.” After that, a distinct “lesbian” style went mainstream. Now LGBT women are an integral part of the fashion world, whether as models, stylists, or fashion bloggers. Unfortunately certain ideals about beauty still persist. Masculine lesbians, no matter how dapper or handsome they are, still don’t get the same positive attention as glamorous fems. In my articles on fashion I will often focus on female masculinity, because I find masculine women as beautiful and fashionable as feminine women.

If you’ve ever seen me traipsing about campus you know fashion is something I have a passing interest in. My style is trendy though subtly androgynous. Though “keeping” up with richly dressed fellow Dukies is not an endeavor I’m proud of, my love of fashion extends beyond just looking like the typical Longchamp toting Duke girl.
I like to think that my style is guided by myriad sources, from street fashion blogs to magazines to music to different cultures. (Sometimes it's just by what I can find at used stores.)I also can’t forget how indebted I am to my fellow queer women. From them I have learned not to be too literally feminine or impractical in my fashion choices. I also learned not to wear clothing that overpowered me, or clothing that was trendy but unflattering. The desire to look good, whether by wearing clothing intended for men or for women, is a hallmark of “lesbian” fashion.

Short-haired, beautifully androgynous women are presented as the “ideal” face of lesbianism. These are the tombois, hipsters, rocker chicks and power lesbians. It’s no surprise that Ellen DeGeneres makes the cut in addition Kate Moennig, Beth Ditto, K.D. Lang, Jackie Warner, Kim Stoltz (!!!!), Joan Jett, Leisha Hailey and Samantha Ronson, What unites all these women? They wear men’s clothing, often in creative ways. Most have short hair. They wear suits, leather, bright colors, muted colors, ties, fedoras, sports-bras, sneakers, low-slung jeans…If fashion is all about contrast then these women are masters of the contrast between masculine and feminine. No gender expression can be overpowering.

Ever since YSL made the first woman’s suit, androgyny has been a fixture of women’s fashion. The right kind of androgyny is difficult to achieve; so difficult that lesbians have an unfortunate history of fashion mishaps. Lesbians are able to wear just about anything they want, from sensible shoes to skirts to camo cargo shorts, and as a result must choose their clothing with great caution. Men on the other hand must not only avoid wearing dresses, skirts and heels, they also have difficulty finding clothing that uses creative proportions or colors. Jean-Paul Gaultier first presented skirts for men in a show in 2006. Now men in skirts (along with men in tights) are common in fashion shows. Street fashion blogs often feature men in high heels and skirts carrying hangbags previously reserved for women. While the fashion world has become more accepting of men who boldly cross gender-lines in their attire, American cities, and especially Duke’s campus, are much less accepting.

If you’re a tomboy you probably have trouble finding clothing that fits. Men’s clothing hides your body while women’s clothing emphasizes it too much. Many fashion lines are now being crated that fill these needs. If you’re the fashion-conscious tomboy with loads of cash, check-out Made Me Clothing. Unbound Apparel sells gender-neutral t-shirts. Dykes In the City carries a wide range of clothing for masculine and queer women. While in our particular moment in time and place a woman in men's clothes in assumed to be a lesbian, masculine clothing choices were not always tied with queerness in America. Other cultures have different ideas about the relationship between gender expression and sexuality. I've noticed that East Asian culture is more accepting of avant-garde fashion for women and women that crosses gender boundaries. Just around Duke's campus I have seen more Asian women dress in men's clothing than any other ethnic group. On a campus where gender expression is severely limited, these women stand out to me.

If you’ve ever been to www.xxboys.net, watched an Athens Boys Choir video, or seen Lucas Sliveria of the band The Cliks, you know that transmen are a diverse and attractive bunch. One of the most important clothing items for pre-op or no-op transen are chest binders. Fun fact: Taiwan is leading the world in chest binder production. Queer and trans friendly sex shops tend to sell chest binders, and they are easily found online.

Though I don’t have trouble buying my clothes at non-specialty stores I have had problems with getting my hair cut correctly. I stopped going to cheap hair cutters because I would always get a tame, femmed up version of the hair I desired (even when I brought photographic evidence!) Bianca Jimenez was the first hairstylist I had who understood lesbian haircuts. I told her all my business. I even made her a mix CD of post-punk music! Then one day I called the salon and I was told that she had left. Dejected, I bounced around to different salons; even trying out the local Aveda before I finally came across Doo or Dye, unquestionably the only punk-rock hair salon in San Antonio. (Its motto: 110% pure Texas fury!) I’ve become so attuned to the minutiae of my desired hairstyle that I don’t think it matters who cuts my hair, as long as they aren’t hell-bent on femming me up.

I feel like I have it easy because I’ve been out about my sexuality from an early age. I have an intuitive grasp of “lesbian fashion”- to the point where no one has ever accused of being “too femme” or asked me what I was doing at a gay bar. Has anyone felt like they were being ignored in a queer environment because they didn’t look or act queer enough? Do you feel like you dress in a “lesbian” way even if you don’t intend to? Do you not believe you dress in a “lesbian” way, even if you wear jeans, Converse and t-shirts every day? Do you think that the whole concept of “dressing like a lesbian” is ridiculous, outdated and sexist? What stereotypes pertain to how bisexual and queer women dress? Are they radically different? Finally, from your experience how does gender expression differ from culture to culture?

XOXO
Veronica