December 15, 2016 - 00:59
Over the course of the six-week project I did with Kate Weiler, which was meant to explore the question of what it means to attend a historically women’s college while not identifying as a woman, we conducted many hours worth of interviews to get a variety of perspectives on our central question. One interview in particular, with a nonbinary Film and Media Studies major stands out, as they had a particularly interesting take on the process of embracing one’s gender identity. We were talking about why we both disliked the prevalence of the phrase, “It gets better” as a means of comforting LGBTQIA+ youth. We agreed that the phrase was a bit condescending, and they spoke about the importance of not placing some special privilege on the future, and instead giving LGBTQIA+ people the tools to improve their present situations.
Their advice for trans, nonbinary, and questioning youth who may still be struggling with their gender identity is to “let it be fun.” As a queer woman, I’ve heard about a lot of different approaches for addressing one’s sexual orientation or gender identity, but they almost all revolve around the assumption of it being a difficult and tortuous process. While dysphoria, transphobia, homophobia, and other factors can certainly make the process difficult, I was intrigued by the idea of allowing it to be fun. I asked them to elaborate on how this idea manifested in their own journey as a nonbinary person. They said that, “I treat my gender like a game I’m always winning, because I’m the only one who’s playing. No matter what I do, no matter what I look like, it’s right. I think that the sooner I let it be affirmative in that way, and not be like ‘if I put this shirt on, is this right? Is this wrong? What do I look like? What do I read as?’ I just don’t give a fuck. I don’t care, because I’m always right … I don’t need the affirmation of strangers, I’ll leave that to people I love, and who love me, and me.” This idea that the process of transitioning, coming out, and embracing one’s identity could be fun, however simple it may seem, struck me as radical. So many of the narratives we’re presented through the media about trans lives end in tragedy, or turn their struggle into something inspirational while reducing them to a stereotype.
These portrayals have an impact on the way trans people are perceived in real life as well. I came across this most recently while in the midst of doing the six-week project. I was talking about my project with a friend from back home, and when I mentioned I was interviewing a number of trans and nonbinary students, he responded by noting how depressing that must be. While it may have been well-meaning, the idea that a trans person’s life story must be inherently depressing is incredibly dehumanizing. Even with my relatively small sample size, there was an astonishing amount of diversity in my trans and nonbinary interviewees’ experiences. Certainly, plenty of them talked about the discrimination and exclusion they face on account of their gender identities. But they also talked about the bond they feel with their friends who have had similar experiences, the people who have given them advice and support during their journeys, and the hopes they have for the future. As another interviewee said, “[Trans people] can also have happy endings; we can have marriages, we can have partners, we can have love, we can have friends, we can have sex, we can have families, we can have careers - it’s possible.” These may all seem like simple facts, but you’d be hard-pressed to find examples of trans people doing any of those things in the mainstream media, without being punished with illness, death, or other tragedies.
That’s why I wanted our project to not be focused specifically on transphobia or changes that need to be made at Bryn Mawr to accommodate diverse gender identities. These topics are certainly important, but I also wanted to highlight the experiences of trans and nonbinary people in general. I was never expecting to get one clear answer to Kate and I’s question of what it means to not identify as a woman at an ‘all-women’s’ college. At the end of the project, it seemed that we had accumulated an entire list of different answers to this question, which expanded for every person we interviewed. The complexity of this contact zone leads people to navigate it in a variety of ways. However, I would like to return to this idea that this complicated navigation can be aided by fun, or by approaching it as a game.
Earlier in the semester, we discussed the importance of play, and the ways in which it is often undervalued by adults who see recreation and productivity as being inherently at odds. In the adult world, play is seen as a luxury. There’s an expectation that as you grow up play becomes a lower priority, despite the benefits of increasing communication, imagination, and gaining a better understanding of reality. I argued in an earlier paper that play needs to be seen as more legitimate and recognized as having value to people of all ages. After my six-week project, I want to expand that idea, and say that play can have an important role in the process of identifying and living as an LGBTQIA+ person. While many parts of the process can be difficult, the normalization of the idea that figuring out your identity necessitates a struggle is harmful. Being LGBTQIA+ shouldn’t be seen as inherently tragic. There’s joy to be found in exploring your identity and finding community based on that experience. To deny that joy is to deny our humanity.