Today’s words: Fresh, Soup, Husky, Upheld
Word count: 656
Summary: Gender roles and stereotypes are stupid (story is not about Ellen Page, contrary to the picture below...)
Lots of people upheld the view that to be a girl, you need to fit a certain criteria.
You need to be emotional, passive, ‘pretty’...if not, you get tagged as more ‘boy’ than ‘girl.’
This wasn’t, and isn’t, okay.
The word ‘boy’ was always squeezed in somewhere to describe me: ‘tomboy’, ‘boyish’, ‘like a boy.’
I have a husky voice, short hair, baggy jeans to hang from my ‘barely there’ hips, baggier t-shirts that my mother said did nothing for my boobs. Just because I associate with boys doesn’t mean that testosterone is contagious, or that I’ll wake up one morning with a dick; just because I am perceived as more boyish than girlish doesn’t cancel out my femininity; just because I don’t wear make-up, dresses, or high heels doesn’t mean I have a gender identity crisis.
To qualify as female, the real deal, do I need to play up to society’s definition of what a female should act or dress like? If I splash out on a puffy pink dress for prom and fuss over whether my eyebrows touch or not, will I get the green light? Please; I already look fresh as fuck.
I’ve met girls who embrace the word ‘tomboy.’ They like being seen as ‘one of the guys’ because they think it makes them special. Shopping in the male section of the shop makes them stand out from the other girls; they feel empowered. Not being a girly girl meant that they were being non-conformists, real revolutionists.
They never stopped to think that rejecting anything to do with being ‘female’ fed patriarchal society.
Well I’m
sorry, but my name isn’t Tom and I’m not a boy, not even
close.
Don’t automatically shorten my name to ‘Alex’ because you think ‘Alexandra’ doesn’t suit me.
Don’t ‘forget’ to invite me on a girls’ night out, saying that you didn’t think I’d like it.
Don’t assume that I must be transgender or a lesbian.
That shit’s offensive.
Wearing Doc Martins and cut-off jeans doesn’t reverse my gender.
Let
me decide who I am.
I once poured hot soup on a guy’s lap because he insisted,
insisted, that I was a boy trapped in a girl’s body since I acted ‘just like him.’ He scrutinised the way I spoke, my clothes, even the way that I sat.
“A real girl isn’t like this; you’re a dude, right?”
A ‘real girl’ wouldn’t dare to dress the way she liked and not how society urged her to dress...
There’s no way a ‘real girl’ wouldn’t want to show off her womanly curves, am I right?
No chance in hell that a ‘real girl’ would stand up for herself by pouring her own soup on a guy’s crotch, yeah?
The only time that people attached anything feminine to my identity was when they called me ‘she.’ That was the only thing that people threw out for me; the only thing I could hang on to.
When birthday cards with ‘daughter’, ‘niece’, and ‘aunty’ were sent to me, I felt an artificial sense of relief...quickly followed by immediate irritation; it’s 2013, why is blue still for boys and pink for girls? It’s sad that it would be ‘making a statement’ if someone designed a pink card for a guy. “But he’s not gay” right? Don’t worry your homophobic little head – I’m sure your macho son won’t switch teams upon receiving something pink that isn’t a vagina.
What I’m trying to say is, gender roles are bullshit and I feel sorry for people who feel they need to embrace those roles in order to fit in.
You’re a boy? Grow your hair out and wear make-up if that’s what you want to do.
You’re a girl? Play-fight with your friends and wear boxers if that’s what makes you smile.
You don’t identify as either? Do both, do neither, I don’t give a fuck.
This isn’t a film audition, this is life.
