Barney's -- So Much More than a Big, Purple Dinosaur

Do you all know about Barney's spring campaign  “Brothers, Sisters, Sons & Daughters,” featuring 17 transgender individuals and photographed by fashion-photographer icon Bruce Weber?

You can watch the five-minute video below.


There's also a 36-minute film about the project, which can't be embedded but can be watched at Brothers, Sisters, Sons & Daughters: The Film.
 
Finally, you can read about the models starting here.

And, yes, Barney's is the store that was caught racially profiling, which begs the question: if any of the black models were to shop there, would they be frisked on the way out?

Janet Mock vs Piers Morgan -- a Different View

So, by now we've all heard the story. Janet Mock goes on Piers Morgan to plug her new book. Morgan conducts the interview, they shake hands, and then Mock begins to complain about the interview, saying to the Huff Post "He really just called me a man to my face." Mock and Morgan traded some nasty tweets, then she went back for a second interview, this time live, that left both host and guest unhappy.

Mock's primary complaint seems to be that Morgan, instead of focusing on her life as a successful transgendered woman--she is an editor at people.com and a respected activist and advocate for the transgendered community--he honed in almost entirely on the fact that until 18 she was physically a boy.  Indeed, if you watch the first interview, you see the sub-title "Was a boy until age 18" underlying parts of the video.

My problem is two-fold.  First, she accuses Morgan of concentrating on the fact that she used to be physically a boy while pushing a book entitled "Redefining Realness: My Path to Womanhood, Identity, Love & So Much More" which, though I haven't read it, would seem to be about that very thing, that she used to be a boy.  In fact, if she hadn't once been physically male, she wouldn't have had much to write about.  After all, reading about the path to womanhood of a born-woman is hardly groundbreaking, must-read literature.  The fact that she used to be a boy is probably the reason she got the publishing deal in the first place.

Second, I am getting a bit tired of people in our "community" biting the hand that feeds them.  Morgan complains--and rightly so--that he is on our side, and yet she jumps all over him.  What?   There aren't enough real bigots around that she has to manufacture one?  Was that Duck Dynasty asshole unavailable for an interview?  We have to stop slamming our allies and concentrate on our real enemies.

But hey: what do I know? You can make up your own minds.  Here are the two interviews, courtesy of the fabulous YouTube.com.

A Tale of Two Plane Rides

As I wrote about in my last post, I am not a big fan of androgyny, or more precisely, my presenting  androgynously.  Over the past few weeks, I I've begun to rethink this, at least a little.  On my recent trip to Seattle, I flew home as Liz on the way home, and I described the less-than-earth-shattering results here. 

On the way out, however, I was fairly androgynous in my presentation, without being over-the-top.   I was wearing my women's coat and a pair of baby-blue New Balance sneakers, and I carried the bag

I did NOT look like this guy

that my wife refers to as a man purse.  I was pleased, and felt relaxed ... I was at home with myself, and though there might have been some raised eyebrows, I didn't see them.

On the way back, I was full-on Liz, and felt, what?  Somewhat nervous and afraid of being read, though I don't think I was. I was aware that I was Liz, and that I had to be on my guard, thinking about voice and movement.  I went to the bathroom and panicked when I saw how bad my face looked in the horrible, convinced that I was surely read by everybody I came across, and that I was being laughed at--or worse!--behind my back.  When I got to more normal lighting, I saw that it was fine, and my paranoia had simply been working overtime.

Which of these experiences is more positive?  Which did I enjoy more?  As Liz, I reveled--as usual--in being "one of the girls," sharing in that easy camaraderie with other women. smiling at each other knowingly, etc.  But at the same time, there was an underlying sense of unease at the thought of discovery, as remote as the chance might be.

When I was androgynous, there was none of the anxiety, but none of the camaraderie either.  I was able to express femininity without the worry of discovery.  I felt relaxed and with no worries, but I did not that special satisfaction of being perceived and treated as a woman.

Two different flights, two different experiences.  Although on balance, I would rather be entirely Elizabeth, anxiety and all, androgyny allows expression of my dual nature when I can't be completely Liz.  Hopefully, I can move toward a more day-to-day mixing.  Can I do this on a regular basis?  Will it help me to feel more at ease, more complete?

I don't know, but I'm on the journey to find out.  Film at eleven.

Androgyny?

I don't like being androgynous -- if I want to be a woman, I want to go all the way. If I am in guy mode, I want to be all the way guy. Or as all the way as a guy with a feminine haircut and plucked eyebrows can be. I realizing that by insisting on being one or another, I am doing my bit to perpetuate a gender binary that's kept free expression in check for millennia, but I can't help it. In the words of the great Aristotle (or maybe it was somebody else), I yam what I yam.

Younger trans-folk are experimenting with gender as never before, doing their best to obliterate that ol' binary. A good friend of mine, who I'll call Sue, is offended by this ... she doesn't want to obliterate the binary, just to live on the pole opposite from that which she was assigned at birth. I think our reluctance to gender blend is in part generational -- we were raised up with pretty rigid gender roles. Womanhood was defined by 50s icons like Donna Reed on one end and Marilyn Monroe on the other. Neither, of course, were in the least androgynous.

Today, pop icons mix n' match with abandon. One of the earliest women to do so was, of course, Madonna, who at 55, I am happy to say, is still kickin' it. Spiritual descendant Lady GaGa is currently on top, and on the male side, Andrej Pejić has graced more trans blogs than Ru Paul (thank God). Popular culture has loosened up tremendously in over the past couple of decades, and young trans-whatever's willingness to play around in the middle of the continuum is a direct result, and a great thing.

It's just not for me ... until recently. In the next post, I'll let y'all know what I mean.

Posted with Blogsy

Somewhere Over Idaho

So I'm coming home from Seattle to Cincy, and flying as Liz for the first time. It is ridiculously easy. I debated whether or not to go through security completely dressed, but realized that I didn't have a bra without metal clasps, and I didn't want to get wanded (I have to remember to get a sports bra for next time). Instead, I put on foundation before I left the apt., with a sparkly blue tunic and leggings underneath my male khakis. In my carry-on, I put my forms, bling, a pair of comfortable flats, and the rest of my make-up. I went through security with no problems, and changed he rest of the way in the first uni-sex bathroom I saw. Easy-peasy.

The biggest problem is that I have an extra carry-on, besides my purse, and of COURSE, we flew out of D8, the absolute furthest D-gate at Seattle, and there was no people mover. And in Chicago, I have a tight connection with another long walk. Thank goodness for those comfy flats

A lots of trans-folk make a big deal of this. There's even an entire blog dedicated to the experience (which, don't get me wrong, I adore). The truth of it is that it is not as big a deal as we tend to make it; airport personnel have seen it all, and there are even TSA directives on how to treat trans-women *vis-a-vis* the whole body scanner issue (I wasn't scanned in Seattle, though I was in Dayton on the way out.)

The moral if my story? Though it was a thrill, it was also kind of ho-hum at the same time. If your're on the fence about "flying pretty," don't hesitate. Just do it.

Posted with Blogsy

Ghost No More

Geez Louise, it's been almost two years since the last post to this blog. During that time, I've moved (twice!) and changed jobs (only once). I've started to get out as Liz a lot more, and my skills at what Stana would call femulation have matured. I rarely get read any more, and when I do, it's more an uncertainty, like "there's something different about her, I wonder ..."

The thing is, it doesn't feel like emulation to me, whether with an 'f' or not. When I'm Liz, I feel like me, and when I'm my male self, I feel like me, too. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel like a born woman when I'm Liz, I have to be a bit careful in public, mindful of my "t's and q's." I guess what I do feel like is a trans woman. If I were to put a label on what I am, it would be dual-gendered, perhaps two-spirited, I don't know, but mainly just me.

Well. Reintroductions aside, I will be posting here again, general t-stuff, and over at my new blog, TransSpiration.org, where I'll write things of a more serious, spiritual nature. I hope you'll check it out!

Posted with Blogsy

Ghosts in the Machine

So.  I've been out and about, as countless trans-picture albums put it, for a number of months, since mid-September, really.  And I have precious little to show for it, at least in terms of that tgirl currency supreme, the photograph.  That's because I'm always by myself, there is never anybody out there with me.  I visit coffee shops, malls, thrift shops, malls (and, uh, malls) all without noticeable incident -- one or two odd looks, maybe, but nothing ugly.  But setting up a tripod or asking a stranger to take a picture are not exactly ways to blend in, so I never do.

Once in awhile, I see other ghosts in the machine, other lost t-folk flitting amongst the civilians, and I wonder if they're as lonely as me?  I remember one poor woman, in the Salvation Army store, who kept her eyes straight ahead, never looking at anyone, never drawing attention to herself, and I wanted to say "I've been where you are, my friend, I understand."  But I didn't . . . I was in drab, and being approached by a strange middle aged man with a knowing look isn't conducive to ones equilibrium.  Although perhaps she guessed, as I was perusing the women's shoe section at the time.

Why do we do these things to ourselves?  Why do we isolate ourselves from the only ones who understand?  Fear is the key . . . fear of rejection, of exposure, of ridicule.  Fear that if we are exposed, we will lose everything, all we think we love and cherish, gone in one frightening second of recognition.  As Frank Herbert wrote, "fear is the mind-killer."  It's also the soul-crusher and the spirit slayer.  I salute those who have overcome it, who have come out in the face of terrible condemnation and been their true selves, and hope someday to join them.