Why I Demand Trans Feminism

Trigger warning: transphobic shit to follow.

This exchange occurred after tweeting about my complete belief in the future of feminism including, supporting, & validating trans feminism.

It's taken me a month to boil down, suss through, & address all of the messy assumptions in this exchange.

Firstly imbuing any body part (like a phallus or say large breasts) with inherently threatening or dangerous qualities places people's bodies and body parts into a hierarchy. It makes some bodies and body parts "more okay" than others and hence more deserving of our support validation and defense. A person's body should never be the grounds for deciding what levels of solidarity they deserve.

Insinuating that a penis or penis haver is inherently threatening is as fraught as insinuating that too much cleavage is dangerous or say causes earthquakes.

The idea that a phallus or phallus haver is inherently threatening to a vagina or vagina haver uses the same broken logic as is used when blaming women's bodies and "sluttyness" for the actions or motivations of an assaulter/harasser. Assumptions that the size, dress, race, and shape of a woman indicates her sexuality run rampant. So too does the assumption that expressions and qualities we deem  masculine are inherently violent. Both of these assumptions are of the same type and are damaging. They serve only to offer security by separating people from one another. Which is not a form of security I believe in. It comes from a place of personal fear for survival/not getting hurt.

This tweet objectifies and ultimately limits the potential motivation of both groups of people indicated. They are either penile (threatening) or vaginal (deserving of protection). It's a well accepted and wise rule of the queer world and trans world that we accept that someone's identity and humanity are bigger than their body or what we can perceive about their bodies. Reducing people and their possible motivations and ways of being to their body parts is straight up oppressive objectification. It tells them that they are indeed just their body parts.

If the focus on penis vs. vagina is removed, the tweet above merely becomes someone saying that one person's concerns are more important than another's just because they have differing body parts. This tweet’s emphasis on the concerns of a particular group being more important than another’s requires that we believe there is a scarcity of concern and a hierarchy for compassion. Anyone with half a hope for intersectional politics knows that this idea is broken.

I understand that some folks have have traumatic associations with certain body parts, but personal trauma does not justify censoring or excluding the people whose body parts are associated with that trauma. I've been assaulted by two redheads, this doesn't mean I have a right to assume that all gingers are dangerous/threatening to me.

Having a traumatic association with a particular body part does not mean those body parts or objects are always to be harbingers of trauma. Past performance of one member of a group does not determine future performance of all members of that group.

The idea that the phallus (or any other male-associated body traits) is inherently threatening actually reinforces paradigms of of violence against women (a la evolutionary psychology so familiar in the rhetoric of rape apologists). It essentializes violence as inexplicably connected to male bodies. Believing that the phallus/masculinity is inherently violent creates a closed loop definition that makes confronting actual instances of violence perpetrated by men defensible because "well having a penis/testosterone just makes you more violent." This is absurd. It casts all those with masculine traits as irredeemably violent and not worth intervention.

Casting the phallus itself or those who have a phallus exclusively as violators who need no support or protection becomes widely and obviously incorrect when you consider the terrifyingly high rates of violence and exclusion trans women experience. Our legal system has already enforced the assumption of trans folks as violent perpetrators. This objectifying assumption actually enables such violence against both women AND trans people. 

It is totally fucked up to say that some folks (those with vaginas) have a right to feel unthreatened while others concerns for safety are disregarded completely (because they're cast as inherently threatening due to their body parts).

When I strap on a phallus I don’t magically become less of a feminist or become more dangerous to vagina havers. A cock is not a gun. It's a tool. One that can be used for violence but it isn't inherently violent any more than it is inherently pleasurable. It is just a body part.

Statistically speaking, having a phallus makes one likelier to have privilege BUT having privilege doesn't in and of itself, make a person violent or entitled. 

I understand that what most trans excluding feminists fear is this stereotype of phallus-related violence & entitlement. But employing body-based stereotypes like this is not only discriminatory but a downright inefficient way of screening for violent behavior.

No person's body or body parts is better or more inherently deserving of concern or protection. As a radical feminist and vagina haver, I personally resent that other folks seem to think myself or my body parts need to be protected from those scary phalluses.

I know that as a person with vagina I'm at higher risk for sexual assault than a cisgender man and that statistically that assault is more likely to be perpetrated by a cis guy. But I have been physically assaulted by cis women with higher frequency than cis men. Based on this history I resent the assumption that I am “safer” around cis women. I want to be allowed to use my own ability to discern who my allies are. I don’t need this arbitrary body-based separation and I certainly don’t approve of it.

My writing this is NOT an effort to tell those with traumatic experiences related to masculinity & the phallus to "get over it". That trauma deserves space and support. But when we work for intersectional politics (which the future of feminism must be) a single narrative of trauma cannot always be the focus of our actions.

I know this seems callous on some level but it is necessary. But as I’ve written before nobody is entitled to the be listened to or to have the attention/protection of the community. No one has a right to feel safe. It is always a privilege. In order to distribute this privilege effectively community members must

1. Acknowledge that others have trauma and that all trauma is valid even if not addressed and processed.
2. Accept that the personal experience of trauma one person has doesn't map onto the experiences others have with their trauma.
3. Accept that no experience of trauma is more or less deserving of our compassion.

Excluding those who have body parts that have been fearfully defined as dangerous robs our feminist communities of solidarity and the imperative discomfort of bearing witness to the trauma of trans folks.

I want demand these experiences be welcomed into my feminist community.

Dear Dad*

*I just sent this letter to my dad over facebook after he commented on a picture of my new hair with the words "Too short!"

Hey, I didn't like this comment. I'd like for us to talk about this in person in the near future, but because this is the second time I've felt the need to delete your comments I wanted to let you know why.

I do not appreciate the majority of your comments about my appearance. Especially when your words encourage me to appear "prettier" or more "girly/womanly". I've decided to look the way I look because it feels right to me. I like my hair short. I like my armpits & legs hairy and my belly and thighs a little fatty!

I love these things about myself and would appreciate it if you would comment no further on the choices I make about my own physical appearance. In other words: 

Unless I ask you directly (even if I am asking all of my internet community) I am not soliciting your opinion of my appearance.

When you tell me that I should have longer hair or that I should lose weight I feel afraid that you want me to feel ashamed of or doubt the choices I make in about to my own body. This fear is out of sync with the person I know you to be. You are and have been an incredible father and parent to me. I feel mind-bogglingly lucky to have you in my life. Truly, I love you more than I can say.

I am asking this of you because I trust in the person that you are and I believe in the relationship we share as as adults and friends. As my father & friend, I know that you don't want to hurt my feelings or pressure me to do something that doesn't feel right to me, because I know that you love me (this is never in doubt) and that you want me to love myself (this is the part I am afraid about).

The ways I've chosen to appear and how I treat my own body are the best way I know to love and express myself. It saddens me to think that you dislike the ways I am finding to love myself and my body. But I can live with the dislike. (people who love each other often do things that the other dislikes!) What hurts the most is being asked, cajoled, & hinted to about how I should change or stop doing things that clearly make me happy because of that dislike. 

If you dislike my hair that much then don't look at it. Stop telling me to grow it out. I love you the way you are. It doesn't mean I have to like everything about you. I request the same courtesy from you.

I know that you and I have differing opinions about fashion & appearance. But these are differences of aesthetic opinion. And I would love to discuss these differences with you more in depth when I see you at Christmas. But for now, can we keep our conversations about fashion and appearance general/philosophical & not about me in particular?

Thank you so much for being my Dad! There is no thanks that could be enough for that! I love you so much and can't wait to see you over the holidays. Give my love to Mom!

BIG HUGS! 

Wendy R.M.

This was difficult to write. But important. So glad I did.

I don't go by "Lady" anymore

This is a new decision, one I find myself talking about with increasing frequency and length. It first popped in a previous post as an innocuous, itchy declaration that edged on subconscious. It's since been growing.

There is a lot of cultural expectation attached to the term "lady".

I am beginning to recognize it as a coded term for compulsory femininity and consumption. The easiest and most apparent way to recognize this is to think about traditional femininity. It's easy for most people who've grown up in highly gendered western culture to conjure up a vision of a lady as someone living in a different time; a role played by Elizabeth Taylor or Marilyn Monroe. We think of lace and poise. The word dainty comes to mind. There is a level of control, artifice, and illusion (corsets and make up) with which the traditional lady presents her body. While I see nothing inherently wrong with these things, I personally don't make it a habit to treat my body the way a traditional lady would.

The manifestation of "lady" in modern times is definitely built off of these old forms and habits of ladyhood in the form of casual slut shaming & agency discouraging aphorisms: a lady always crosses her legs; a lady always waits for the third date; a lady waits to be courted etc. But these days there are many more confusing and often contradictory standards about being a lady one must appear "ladylike" (aka expressing sexuality) at all times but neither be "too forward" (AKA sexually available on her OWN explicitly specified) terms). The habits surrounding ladyhood have expanded (from corsets to shapewear & eradicating pubic hair) and been branded as "liberating" choice, but women's compulsion to participate in lady culture has remained constant.

There is a set of consumer habits a "lady" is expected to engage in. This is particularly apparent in not just beauty magazines but in places where women gather online like the r/twoXchromosome on reddit or on pintrest. Where lots of cool discussion happens and also a ton of posts about hair, crafting, design, & menstrual cycles. I don't want to discourage women from posting things they like and are proud of, but one of the most common words included in the title and content of such of posts is the word "ladies". Much of the time in this context "lady" is meant to be a call to attention for all of those folks who engage in the consumer and social habits of being of stereotypically feminine and usually heterosexual.

The one thing both that traditional and modern sense of "lady" share is their commitment to deference & to being dependent on men's expectations. The traditional "lady" is extremely direct about this. Whereas the modern "lady" brands her deference and dependence as an empowering "choice" to present in ways that are in line with cultural beauty standards defined by the male gaze.

In a pamphlet put out recently at a GOP event attended by Paul Ryan women were explicitly instructed to be modest, responsive, and gentle in spirit:

All women, whether married or single, are to model femininity in their various relationships, by exhibiting a distinctive modesty, responsiveness, and gentleness of spirit.

The term lady is least often coded as meaning these things so strictly and explicitly, but it still happens all the freaking time in mandates as simple and unspoken as "girls can't ask boys out." 

For both the traditional and contemporary lady standards for the consumer and presentation habits are inexorably tied to both class and race. On some levels fitting into the role of lady means completely masking your  racial and/or socio-economic background. The humor commonplace around a working class dinner table would be deemed "too dirty" or "lowbrow"; The way you learned to eat (with your hands, talking while eating) may be deemed gross or unladylike.  The ladylike women in our fairy tales are valued for being "fair". 

In the past I too have longed to fit this mold, to have an effortless air of "elegance". One of my previous partners used to work in politics. When we'd go to formal dinners we would comment unknowingly about how some of the women at these fancy functions just seemed "better suited" to elegance how I wanted to be a lady like them. Neither of us knew then that the coded language of lady was at work there, telling me I was too "rough" too "unsophisticated".

For me being a lady often means suffering clothes my body does not know how to wear without wrinkling or itching. It means smudging goop on my face. It means apologizing for and suppressing my burps. I means pretending I don't poop or fart. Conforming to such habits usually means being uncomfortable and pretending to like it. 

I used to feel shame about both my gender and my socioeconomic background because of the expectation that I be a lady or else be undesirable. I'm working to no longer feel this way. Crucial to this is no longer being called a lady when I am not asking to be called one. 

Dressing up and behaving like a lady feels like a costume to me on so many levels. It can be fun sometimes, I do like pretending and trying on ways of being and presenting that aren't necessarily comfortable or natural to me (it often opens my mind in awesome ways!) but I refuse to move through the world in a way that feels foreign to me and have others say that it is natural or the way I prefer to be. I can take on the role of "lady" and I can have fun with it and be proud while I am doing it but unless I have explicitly said otherwise I would prefer to no longer be called a lady.

My Big Bad Gender

This X-posted from modernpoly as part of a series of personal stories about Poly and Gender. Thanks go out to all the modernpoly folks for inspiring me to write this all down!

I became a gender non-conformist after discovering polyamory, and delighting in its demand for explicit communication about feelings and relationships. I soon adopted that level of communication in my relationship with myself; in many ways, polyamory inspired and fueled the more conscious exploration of my identity which followed. That journey eventually led to regularly choosing and redefining my gender. In this sense, I've tossed off the traditional role of “woman” that my culture has assigned me, and have been creating new ways of being a woman that I can call entirely my own.

I approach romantic relationships with the goal of staying open to possibilities of deep, flexible, and varied connections. This is also how I approach my relationship with my gender. I have a lot of traditionally “butch” qualities, but that doesn't mean I need to find “femme” in my partners or in any place outside myself. I feel lucky to have a wide range of potential partners and roles to explore, and a relationship model that demands I voice my choices explicitly. These factors create repeated opportunities to challenge false absolutes of gender: I don't just get to choose my partners explicitly and enthusiastically, I also get to choose how I present myself! I get to choose what I'll call this combination of qualities I exhibit, regardless of how it compares to others' placement on the “gender spectrum”.

Being the woman I am pushes at the boundaries of who people have leaned to call a “woman” a bit. I let my body take up all the space it wants without apology. The wide shoulders I flaunt rather than conceal make me no less girly. I don't like being called a “chick” or “bitch”. I can't stand being “baby,” and I am decidedly not a “lady”. But I am not a tomboy; Being into machines and beer and sweat does not make me one of the guys.

My clothing and behavior choices have never comfortably fit within the traditional definitions of the feminine. For now, as a feminist vagina-haver comfortable being called a “woman”, I've taken it on as my personal project to be a woman in ways that are unexpected & unapologetic. I want to make the social construct of what a woman is bigger. Not just for me (although I do like taking up space); if I can get folks to see and respect that I am a (hairy, loud, greasy) woman, maybe it'll be easier for other unconventional women to be seen and respected. To that end, I always expect that people I interact with recognize that I am what I say I am when I say it.

I am extraordinarily lucky; this usually goes over pretty well. I've never had anyone say, “Oh really?” or question my womanhood outright. This privilege has made my life as a woman much easier. But I have had men balk, disgusted at my “manly” pit hair or other 'less womanly' attributes. I've witnessed incredulity on people's faces when I've expressed an attraction to men or put on a pretty dress. It's as if being recognized as a tough woman requires me to look and behave like a butch lesbian at all times. In some ways, I totally look like the “butch lesbian” they assume I am. I love looking and acting this way, but I am more complex than what people think I look or act like. Everyone is.

I choose my womanhood to be big: big enough to be both vulnerable and tough. This isn't something categorically female at all; It's just most comfortable for me to call myself a woman while navigating the bigness of my identity. I claim all my chosen actions as female; when someone insinuates that I or my actions are anything but, it disrupts my comfort.

This bigness isn't always easy to carry, either. The challenges I face in balancing and expressing my womanhood are usually small, but are damn insidious and pervasive. I live in constant denial and critique of the roles being thrust on women by society. They come from a lot of places, but especially from ad culture. I regularly question my clothing & presentation choices. I spend a significant amount of energy trying to make sure what I put on and into my body are things I really want, and not just echoes of the ad industry or my gendered upbringing.

Unfortunately, messages about my womanhood being too big are also buried deeply in my relationships. I can't deny that I get a self-righteous rise out of living in a way that combats ideas that I'm personally & politically opposed to, but I'd be telling a half-truth if I didn't confess that it wears me down. My mother wrinkles her nose and tells me that the pubic hair taking up sparse residence outside the reach of my swimsuit is “embarrassing.” My father touches my stomach and suggests I “get rid of” the bulging belly I've come to love. I love my parents, and we have a great relationship. This is just how close it gets.


The way my gender identity stacks up in my romantic relationships is much more rewarding. I live with one of my male partners, and we usually take about the same amount of time to get ready before going out. He spends more time on his hair than me; he uses product. I don't. I love the outdoors, while he prefers the outdoors “stay out there.” He's wonderfully fussy and detail oriented (which makes him a fabulous editor). I sometimes refer to him as “princess.” This isn't an insult at all, between us; he is beautiful, high maintenance, and far more likely to wear glitter. And I like getting to be prince charming, whether it's for him or someone else.

To be clear, this sort of gender playfulness is just that–play. My partner and I both like playing with gender. Neither of us like that the divisions of binary gender have been made so mandatory in our culture. In my ideal future, the social construct of gender would disintegrate into nothing more than a massive roleplaying game (AKA gender anarchy). But I figure,before that can happen, a strategic vagina-having human like me should start setting their sites on making the boundaries between genders bulge and swell. I want to distend perceptions of gender. I want to show people that the stories they've been taught about “real” men and “real” women are completely made up.



I'd like to think I bring a healthy, important uncertainty to the choices I make about my gender identity and presentation. But sometimes the divisive doubts of the outside world do press into my skin. In the secret holds of my subconscious, the doubts mix into the uncertainty I use to daily choose my feminine self. I sometimes begin to believe I am ugly, fat, or unworthy; that I am not “doing enough” to deserve to be who I say I am; that all I'm doing is forcing my selfish fuss onto others. This often ends in a bawling heap of an anxiety attack.

This isn't every day (or even most days). I'm getting better at recovering back into my own cycles of choosing. More importantly, I'm learning how to tell off folks (men mostly) who try to shove me into their box of compliant, smooth, nurturing, and pretty woman. It's not that any of those words are ones I don't like to be from time to time (I am a world class nurturer, for one), but they are not the qualities I want defining me indefinitely.

I'm much bigger than that. I'm a woman.