Lead, Fight, Or Get Out Of The Way – This post raises some great points in response to people (usually women) who – having successfully transitioned – consider themselves no longer trans and don’t like being lumped with LGB in LGBT
Put On Your Tranny Wheels – I still don’t love the word “tranny,” but this post (the followup to the above link) raises more great points
Femme Invisibility – Particularly interesting as I consider whether or not I identify (or want to identify) as femme
Gender Conformity And Deviance In The The Uncanny Valley (A Hypothesis) – Butches are zombies! (OK, it’s slightly more nuanced than that, and definitely worth a read)
I’ll leave you with this image, shamelessly stolen from the first link:
In line with my previous, super positive and up-beat post, I’ve been thinking more about why I have this horrible block on viewing myself, or anything I do, in a positive light.
I know that a lot of it stems from regret and self-loathing at having waited to long to transition. I’ve mentioned how “Rebecca” used to yell at male-me to get off my/his ass and do something about being trans other than mope. But it never really worked. I have a chunk of that in the show I’m working on, and it’s sort of ridiculous – I’m playing myself (Rebecca) telling myself (16-year-old-male-me) that if I/he only took some action he’d “get to be me!” The dramatic irony is obviously that I do end up as Rebecca.
Except I’m realizing that I feel like the transition has gotten ahead of me. That, for so long, it was this secret thing that I didn’t talk about except in very private situations. The fantasized and idealized possibility of actually transitioning seemed totally out of reach. Even if I did transition, so I thought, I would never end up pretty or successful.
People tell me I’m both of those things. Objectively, I’m forced to acknowledge the second is true, even if it doesn’t feel like it, but sure as hell not the first.
I haven’t had a chance to catch up with the transition, to internalize and think of myself in the way everyone else seems to. I’m not sure how… I still feel like I’m playing pretend, putting on a costume. I’ve been bemused recently by the women in my life – coworkers, my roommate, friends – who feel comfortable sharing information about their periods with me in a way that they never would have a few years ago. They obviously see me as a woman. Why can’t I?
I just got done with a meeting about Trans Form (Dec 11-13, 2009! Plug plug plug!), with a friend who came to see my work-in-progress showing on Monday.
Talking about the specifics was just fine – she’s a great artist, which is why I invited her and wanted to hear her thoughts. She had good suggestions, and asked some useful questions that I need to think about, in terms of blocking and motivation for certain actions. (Hi, J, if you’re reading this, and thanks again for the meeting!)
But, near the end of the meeting, I realized once again how unable I am to take (and believe) any sort of compliments. I’m so ridiculously self-deprecating, and I hate it.
Continue reading 'Playing Pretend'»
I had my showing last night of Trans Form, the show I’m working on for Dec 11-13. (Obligatory plug.) A few friends and artistic peers came to see it, and I really needed their feedback. I hadn’t shown a lot of the new material to anyone, so it was an absolute relief to hear that, on the whole, the show works (and is worth $10). I also really appreciated the feedback they gave last night, and hope to talk more with all of them about places it could be improved.
I bring all that up because I am feeling better about the show, but I’m still feeling like I’m in something of a funk more generally. And, with a recent comment on an older post about trans fiction, I’m reading some new stories and finding them feeding some of the same escapist urges I’ve mentioned in the past.
Continue reading 'The Siren Call of Trans Fiction'»
Recently, I realized that I’m OK with nicknames in a way that I never was with my old name. That is, I’m OK with Becca, Becks, Rebsie (don’t ask), whatever. (Although I’m not OK with Becky.) But I was never really comfortable with variations or riffs on my old name.
It reminds me of my comfort with (and even pleasure from) shopping for clothing since transitioning. It makes sense – since I’m happier with my body and my appearance, of course I’d be more willing to try on clothing – but was nevertheless unexpected.
Today is the Transgender Day of Remembrance, a day “set aside to memorialize those who were killed due to anti-transgender hatred or prejudice.” There’s an expectation that The Trans Community is supposed to come together and mourn our dead, celebrate our living. (Indeed, I’ll be performing tomorrow night at Center on Halsted’s Night of Fallen Stars, set up to do just that.)
I mentioned last year that I felt really disconnected from the TDOR, and I’m not sure my feelings have changed.
QueenEmily at Questioning Transphobia wrote a post, the drowned and the saved, today in which she said
There was an Italian atheist Jewish writer called Primo Levi who wrote about his experience of Auschwitz, over and over. In his last book The Drowned and the Saved, he drew up a distinction between “the drowned” (those who died) and “the saved” (those who lived). He argued that only the drowned could give true and full witness to the horror of the Shoah.
I’m not comparing the murders of trans people to the Shoah directly – the murder of trans people, which horrific, is not institutionally organised towards genocide in quite the same way. But what I want to point out is the structure of witnessing. Even Levi, a man who lived through the camp, at the end of his life felt inadequate to witnessing, unable to have fully experienced the violence he wrote about. Even his proximity was not enough.
She goes on to say that, even with her own experiences of transphobic hatred, it is impossible to properly give witness to those murdered, particularly across cultural or racial lines (most of those murdered this past year where latino or black, and in Central or South America). But that we should try, anyway, because it is our duty and responsibility to the dead.
Continue reading 'Transgender day of what?'»
Didn’t sleep well at all last night. Particularly a shame because I got to bed early-ish, and was hoping for a good 8.5 hours of sleep…
My first nightmare was set at some sort of bar or club – dim lighting, lots of people drinking, that sort of thing. I was performing burlesque. which is enough of a nightmare that the dream didn’t need to go any further… I was on some sort of couch on a raised platform, facing the rest of the bar.
I began taking off clothing, article by article, and the crowd was going wild. I could feel a charge from the crowd, from their enjoyment of my body. I was putting myself on display, and I was enjoying it.
But as I got down to just underwear (topless, but doing my burlesque best not to show everything) I started to hear upset murmurings from the crowd. It dawned on me that I was in underwear that made it obvious I was trans, so to speak. The crowd – mostly men – was angry at this deception, this offense, this outrage.
I got up from the couch in tears, covering myself with a pillow, and ran to a stairwell. A friend came to try and comfort me, but didn’t understand why I was upset and did a miserable job at calming me down, at which point I woke up.
Continue reading 'Nightmares'»
I just got home from a Ladies of Chicago Theatre evening (I think the first). Two Executive Directors from large(r) Chicago theatres invited women who are Managing Directors, General Managers, and Executive Directors at other Chicago area theatres and arts organizations to one of their homes for food and drinks and networking.
I was worried that everyone would be considerably older than me, that everyone would be from larger theatres than where I work, that everyone would know I was trans and reject me from this “women’s only” space, that everyone would already know each other and I’d sit alone to the sidelines, that I’d leave feeling a more heightened sense of a lack of communities in my life.
I had a great time, and left feeling really good about the whole experience.
Continue reading 'Community'»
I’ve noticed I still get some hits from older posts about hair removal, and wanted to give an update. I’ve had a full treatment (I think 4-6 sessions?) of laser on my face, which cost some unknown mom-financed amount of money. I’ve also finished 5-out-of-6 of the package of sessions I bought for my arms/legs/chest/stomach, which cost $4,300. On top of that, I’ve had some touch-ups on my face, for the niggly hairs below my lip and on my jawline that just can’t take a hint – maybe one touch-up a year, at $50 a pop, for the last few years. I also wouldn’t be shocked if I choose to do touch-up sessions on my arms/legs/etc, even when I finish the 6th session sometime in the next month or two. So easily $5,000 or $6,0o0, of which I paid for about $4,500 with my own money.
I’ll cut to the chase: Was it it worth it? Hell yes.
Continue reading 'Hair Removal Done Right'»
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