The (basic) text of the piece is below, but I first want to talk about the experience of the performance. It was a nice space, maybe 60 or 70 people, so not too overwhelming. Likewise, I could see everyone, something I really like when performing. My current show, Trans Form (obligatory: only two weeks left – buy tickets today!) has a section where I change in and out of different tops, and am in a bra for a few minutes, but tonight was a whole different realm. It was scary, it was nerve-wracking, and it was incredibly empowering.

I’ve talked before about being topless while trans, and a follow-up conversation I had with my dad. I’m still seriously thinking about going topless sometime next summer as a political act. I consider tonight part of that, of saying, “I get to define who I am, and what about my body I reveal, not anyone else.” It also felt very much to be a way for me to state pride in and power over my body, to celebrate it and refuse to have it be hidden.

There wasn’t really a sexual component, though, which was interesting to discover. I wasn’t expecting there to be, but I discovered a big difference between empowerment and exhibitionism, at least for myself.

I’m still reflecting on all this, and coming down off the high of a performance that went well, so I’ll probably post more about all this later in the week. I’m having difficulty putting into words exactly why using my body in performance in this way felt so good, made me feel so good about myself. As those thoughts start to settle, I’ll definitely fill you in. In the meantime, here’s the basic text of the piece I did. For those of you who have been around for a while, you’ll recognize a lot of the text and stories comes from other events I’ve posted about.

As a transgender woman, something not many people know much about, I’ve chosen to become an advocate and educator on behalf of myself. As such, I’ve spoken to a lot of high school and college students. This past spring, I was speaking to a high school group in the area. I love high school students: they’re old enough to ask good questions, and young enough to not realize they ‘shouldn’t’ ask certain things.

This one group had been great, and was asking a lot of good questions. As an example of how funny people can get when you’re freely saying ‘penis’ and ‘vagina,’ though, I’ll give one hilarious example.

A student, near the end of the discussion, worked up the nerve to ask, “You, um…you said you hadn’t had…the surgery yet, right?”

I feel like, in an educational setting, it’s important to be straightfoward. “No, I haven’t.”

“But you, um…” (He was super awkward) “You…like girls, right?”

“I identify as a lesbian, yes.”

(Huge pause.) How would that…if you did have the surgery…how would that…work?”

Without saying a word, the girl in front him – with a look of utter disdain and disappointment - turned around and waved her fingers in his face, displaying one way that “that” could certainly work.

Another question the kids asked, and something I’ve been asked before, is whether or not I regret anything about transitioning. Usually my answer is either a simple “No,” or to say that I regret not transitioning even earlier. And, indeed, that’s the answer I gave these students.  But the question was bouncing around in my head the rest of the weekend. It was the first beautiful weekend of spring, a weekend that reminds you Chicago will eventually have warm weather and going to the beach doesn’t seem quite so far out of reach.

And I realized, I really missed being able to go to the beach topless.

It’s sort of a shame: back when I was presenting as male, was hairy, didn’t like my body, I could display it in the tiniest Speedo I should so desire. But now that I have undergone hair removal, grown breasts, like my body, I have to cover it up whether or not I want to.

Last may I was in the hospital to get my gallbladder removed. (This is the point where I removed my shirt.) You can see the scar – here’s where they removed it, and here and here and here are where they inserted the camera and tiny tools. I was in the hospital from a Monday to Friday – the longest I can remember ever being in a hospital – and it gave me lots of time to think about my body, what it means to be trans. My mom stayed by my bed the entire time. Afterwards I asked her why, said I was an adult and could take care of myself, and she said all the stories I’d told her about trans people mistreated by the medical community made her not want to let that happen to me.

And it’s true: It would have been easy for a doctor or nurse or administrator to refuse to respect my identity; to listen to what’s between my legs instead of what’s in my heart.

Being in the hospital also made me think about what it means to be strong in one’s body. I was weak, literally to the point of being unable to sit up or go to the bathroom on my own, and I had lots of time to reflect on what discomfort can do to a person.

When I got out of the hospital and healed up, I was finally able to go to the beach. But not topless. I did some research, and found that the City of Chicago doesn’t allow for women to show their nipples. Men can. I could when I was presenting as male, hairy chest and all. But now, presenting as a woman, I could be ticketed. If I’m really unlucky, I could be arrested. Taken to jail. The criminal justice system doesn’t have a history of treating trans people very well. It’s all too possible I could be beaten, raped, killed. Yesterday was the Transgender Day of Remembrance, memorializing the dozens of trans and gender non-conforming people killed this past year, and countless more who weren’t reported. I’d love to get arrested and argue with a judge about what it means to be a man or a woman, but am scared of the potentially dangerous ramifications.

All tor doing something as simple as removing my top. (As I say the line, I removed my bra.)

I really want to make a stink, to try and get a ticket. I thought long and hard about whether or not I should do that, this past summer. Because what does it mean to be a man, to be a woman? My drivers license says “F,” but only because I lied at the DMV. My insurance says “F,” but only because I left that section blank and they assumed “Rebecca” means “Female.” My birth certificate says “M,” but only because Illinois requires The Surgery before changing it. Which of those documents ‘wins?’ And why doesn’t my own stated identity factor into it?

All my life I’ve been told it means this to be a man, this to be a woman. You should feel this way about your body, not that way. This document doesn’t match that document doesn’t match what this person says doesn’t match what that person says doesn’t match what I see on TV doesn’t match what my family tells me doesn’t match what the government tells me.

But I get to decide what my body means. How its gendered. I get to decide what my flesh signifies to the world, not the other way around.

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password: