Many people don’t know what being transgender means. I, not being transgendered, don’t fully understand every aspect of it either but my fiancée is in the middle of transitioning so I want to express what I do know. Here is some information I’ve gathered about people transitioning from one gender to another.

Being transgender means feeling that you are a different gender than your physical biology. It means that a person does not see themselves as the biological gender they were born into. In other words they do not feel that their gender matches their sex (their body parts). Some people (like my sociology professor) refer to a person transitioning as “man to woman” or “woman to man” because (as he describes it) people transitioning are only transitioning their gender, not their sex, and that even if they change their actual sex organs their DNA is still the same. I asked my fiancée and he disagreed with my professor. Genetics are very complex and a lot still remains unknown about them. Scientists are not sure about all the genes that work in brain function — it is unintelligent to state that someone’s physical and mental biology is solely determined by an X or Y chromosome. New ideas are surfacing that a person’s biological sex may not be the sole factor of things like one’s physical strength, emotions and intelligence level.

We as a society have trouble differentiating between sex and gender, and I think that is where a lot of the confusion surrounding being transgendered comes from. A person’s sex is their biological organs but gender is affected by society in many ways. Society can have great influence on what a person’s gender is and is not supposed to be. People’s gender can be influenced without them even knowing it. Take for example masculinity. Men are pressured to be masculine through society and media. Masculinity suggests that boys must be strong, tough, powerful, and not weak, wimpy, emotional, and especially ‘girly’. These ideas do not derive from the XY chromosomes in a male’s body. Without masculinity, society and the media would be very different and that would lead to different views of gender and what it means to be a man.

Present day media rarely represents people who transition from one gender to another. Most people hear about children transitioning from male to female or female to male and do not consider adults who recently feel they have the ability and social support to transition and pass. We especially don’t hear about individuals who are FTM (female transitioning to male) as often as we hear about MTF individuals. The media puts the spotlight on little boys that want to wear dresses and love pink. Why? Once again I bring up masculinity. These children are questioning masculinity and that is seen as a threat to the patriarchy. Threatening patriarchy means a possible loss of control of the sexist status quo. Once control is lost, those in power feel that they will lose control of everything. So how do they keep control?

First consider who controls the media and keep in mind our patriarchal culture. White, heterosexual, affluent men largely control our capitalistic society. They generally want to obtain as much money and power as possible and eliminate all threats to that goal. They do this by creating unrealistic ideals, like for men to be incredibly strong and women to be extremely skinny (sounds like a bad combination); they also enforce the idea that for people of color light skin equals privilege (which in our society it does) which creates a hierarchy. They do this to turn us against each other so they can continue to make money off of people trying to reach that unreachable ideal. Getting back on topic, trans people blur the lines of gender. They threaten patriarchy just like any person of color or any non-heterosexual person does. What is most important in all of this is that everyone deserves equality and the majority of people do not receive it.

It’s important for us, as feminists and as people in general, to understand what being transgender means. We need to support the transgender individuals in our lives, because it’s the right thing to do, but also because it’s been shown that having peer support and counseling groups among LGBTQ people leads to less bullying and lower suicide rates. It’s vital that we all become educated, visible and reliable allies.

Meryl Streep and Margaret Thatcher

Being the avid history nerd that I am, I was basically counting down the minutes until the opening of Iron Lady, the new film chronicling Margaret Thatcher’s life, starring Meryl Streep. I mean, what could be better than Meryl Streep (who is awesomeness in human form) taking on a complex, fascinating character like Prime Minister Thatcher, right? Regardless of your politics, Margaret Thatcher’s story is an exciting one.

I was expecting a few things from the film. First, I was expecting a kick-butt performance from Ms. Streep. Second, I was expecting to learn more about Margaret Thatcher’s political and personal story, since I don’t know that much about her. Third, I was expecting to be thoroughly entertained.

Unfortunately, only one of my three expectations was really fulfilled. Meryl Streep’s performance was above and beyond what I had hoped for. She did an incredible job conveying subtle aspects of Margaret Thatcher’s character, and portraying her throughout at different ages. I also just have to give props to Meryl Streep for taking on this role and helping to bring to light the story of a political trailblazer.

Sadly, I feel the film didn’t give Meryl Streep much of a chance to delve into certain aspects of Thatcher’s character. The film touched on events that occurred during Thatcher’s time as Prime Minister, but glossed over many.

I wanted to see more explanation of how Thatcher came to believe in her conservative politics, whether she ever questioned them, and how she became interested in politics in the first place.The film alludes to Thatcher’s early ambitions with a scene where she dreamily watches her politically active father deliver a speech, but skips over Thatcher’s time at Oxford, showing us her run for Parliament before we know why or when she became interested in politics.

Instead the film focuses mainly on Thatcher’s life as an old woman, after her husband has died, as she is beginning to lose her mind. In most of the movie, Thatcher is coping with the loss of her husband. She hallucinates that he is with her when he is, in fact, dead, and for most of the film refuses to throw out his belongings.

At the end of the film, she finally lets her hallucinations go, as she imagines her husband walking out the door. However, this is done with much crying and saying that she is scared to be alone. I thought the film’s choice to include these hallucinations was especially interesting, as it highlighted Thatcher’s dependency on her male counterpart, rather than focusing on her independent strength.

One positive aspect of this portrayal is that it debunks the idea that Margaret Thatcher was, well, an Iron Lady. Showing Thatcher as vulnerable and reliant on her husband humanizes her to some extent. However, it frustrates me that it is necessary to portray a female leader as dependent on her husband to humanize her or make her seem likeable.

I found myself wishing that the film had focused on a stronger, more independent Thatcher, rather than trying to make her hard exterior soft on the edges.

Maybe it’s because I can be a bit of an iron lady myself sometimes, but I think Thatcher would have been even more likeable and relatable, had more of her firmness and independence been portrayed. I was expecting a lot from this film, and frankly, I left somewhat disappointed. While I commend Streep and the others who worked on this film for highlighting the life of such an interesting woman, I hope that someday filmmakers will not feel the need to soften such a powerful character simply because of her gender.

Pass.

“Let me buy you dinner,” he said with a smile. He looked at me with confidence. He was close to me in age, and handsome. His actions were presumably innocent. On the surface, there was no reason for me to refuse. He thought he was simply asking me on a date, but it implied a deeper meaning.

He didn’t phrase his proposal as a question, but I still had a choice. I could say yes and smile endearingly; I could take the sandwich he wanted to buy me and thank him for his generosity. But I knew that if I wanted to live with myself, the answer would be no. I could not carry on as a hypocrite. I could not relinquish my self-respect for a sandwich.

“Why?” I asked him. He was uneasy now. There was a possibility that I was going to turn down his advance. “Well,” he ventured, “I was hoping we could eat together. And you know…you’re a girl. If I’m in your company, I have to pay for you.”

He seemed so clueless. There was no reason he couldn’t just ask me to sit with him. I didn’t want to be rude, but I needed to make my point. I wanted him to see that I was as capable of caring for myself as he was. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll pay for myself.” I turned to the cashier, “Can I get that to go please?”

The cashier’s scowl conveyed her annoyance. She didn’t see me as a person standing up for my right to equality and self-determination. She saw a stuck up, unappreciative girl. She silently handed me the sandwich and my change. I took both and made for the exit.

I am expected to adhere to a set of unwritten rules that men are not subject to. From an early age I was taught that the meaning in my life would come from the man I marry. The law says that I am allowed to work, but if I dedicate all of my energy to bettering myself instead of caring for others, I am considered unfeeling and selfish. If a man makes the same decision he is applauded. Double standards are rampant in this society. People cling to twisted traditions. I am going to take a different road. I want to use my talents to change the world. I won’t be lulled into just settling down with someone exceptional – I am going to be exceptional. And I won’t let a few admonishing glances get in my way.

The number one question my high school friends always ask me whenever we chat now is, “So are you sick of being around all those girls yet?” Despite the fact that I have attempted to explain my decision to attend a women’s college a seemingly infinite amount of times, I always answer no – that being around women has been a really supportive experience, a nice change of pace and a really beneficial academic experience so far. Or at least that was my answer up until finals.

The thing is, I go to an extremely competitive, academically rigorous school. I don’t really care what the official rankings are, all I know is that I am surrounded by the most hyper-motivated, incredibly intelligent people I have ever encountered. This was something that I immediately loved about my school. As a giant nerd myself, I felt (and still do) feel at home in this environment, with these women. But then finals rolled around, and those girls striving for perfection, those girls I had related to, started to scare me.

My peers go hard for finals – in all senses. One girl I know practically OD’d on energy drinks (I guess the label on those drinks that advises against drinking more than a certain number over a certain period of time is less of a suggestion than it is a serious warning). One girl was thought to be missing until she was found in the library – which she hadn’t left in over two days. In fact, she wasn’t the anomaly: it suddenly became trendy to post pictures of yourself and your friends surrounded by stacks of books and snacks in the library at 3 am on Facebook. The overwhelming conversation in the dorm halls became an ongoing contest to see who had studied more hours and more subjects that day, each otherwise interesting girl conversationally confined to little more than a checklist of her academic duties. And, unsurprisingly, that hard-core studying was accompanied by some hard-core partying.

I realize the case could be made that this is the environment at any academically rigorous school, not just a women’s college. But somehow it felt different to me. I spent a lot of time during finals studying with a friend of mine who goes to an equally rigorous co-ed university in NYC and somehow having guys around made it different. It seems that while guys may take their studies seriously, they approach their work with less of a sense of cutthroat competition and perfectionism – they worry about themselves, know their own limits and are able to approach the whole thing with at least a little bit of humor.

Girls are used to trying to live up to impossible standards, to trying to tear each other down in seemingly mindless competition to get ahead in all other areas of our lives. Be it our bodies, popularity, competition for boyfriends – whatever the (admittedly stupid) thing may be, we’re constantly striving to be the best no matter what the cost. When put into an academic context, our goals and approaches are no different – if anything, they’re heightened. Guys, no matter how motivated or ambitious they may be, don’t seem to approach achieving their goals in the same cutthroat, intensely perfectionist way – at least not as overwhelmingly as girls do, and at least without detrimental repercussions for themselves. While girls don’t second guess harming themselves to get ahead (energy drink ODing, complete lack of sleep, etc) guys seem to at least try to protect themselves a little.

While I had always been aware of this reality, finals seemed to put it into a new, glaring context for me. I tried to keep up, tried to be the perfect girl that my peers were all striving to be, but I just ended up exhausted, angry and frustrated. I tried to play into the competition, tried to go to the library longer, tried to make more intense study guides, but somehow I always ended up back on the Hulu homepage. I realized that I’d rather keep my sanity than win some ridiculous competition to be the Perfect Girl, a decision that ultimately ended up working out just fine for me. I just wish some of my peers had reached the same conclusion.

Books: not for guys, apparently

Flashback: It is the first week of 11th Grade. Having gone to the same school since kindergarten, I have no need for first day back-jitters or thinking what to wear to impress my peers. I wear what I like and that usually ends up being some lurid mod dress I bought at a thrift store because I enjoy wearing happy clothes when I seem endlessly angsty.

There is a new kid in our grade. Let’s call him Andrew. I do not make any effort to talk to him because, honestly, I generally don’t talk to people outside of the small set of friends that I already have. Perhaps this is due to my aspirations as a fashion journalist or the fact that growing up an only child has made me this way, but I have always had a highly anthropological take on my peers. Either way, I won’t sugarcoat it: I make observations about people based on their appearances and the behaviors I observe. This makes me sound super creepy and possibly even shallow, but I like to think of myself more as The Harriet The Spy type character. The kind that sits with her notebook, takes notes on the people in her class and then writes about it.

Anyways, judging by “Andrew’s” appearance we don’t seem to have anything in common. He wears extra-small t-shirts to show off his muscles and I’ve noticed that he rarely eats which I’m told is so he can make it into a lower weight class for wrestling. Oh, what the hell, I figure, he’s new and sitting alone, I’ll give him a chance! He’s not so bad.

A week or so later, I check back in on him in a free period. He’s in the midst of a conversation with my friend and I decide to eavesdrop. I overhear them talking about books. I like books so this seems to be something we all have in common. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all. But then he opens his mouth again.

“What do you mean you are reading Pride and Prejudice?” he says to my (guy) friend. “Guys don’t read books.”

I can’t help myself. I burst out laughing. It’s one of those bizarre statements where you’re not sure if the person just has an unusual sense of humor or if they actually just said the most stupid thing that you’ve ever heard. Apparently it is the latter. It is not my conversation but I cut-in anyway.

“Wait, what? What do you mean guys don’t read books?” I say.

“I mean that girls actually read books. Guys shouldn’t have to. They should just SparkNote them.”

I think this is such an eschewed, sexist perception of reality that in no way makes sense to me. Hobbies don’t have genders…especially something as basic and necessary as reading.

One of my favorite quotes of all time was said by Daria, a cartoon character from 1990s MTV: “People call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute.” You see, it’s as if my parents prophesized that at the ripe old age of 16 I would proudly call myself one. Being a feminist has nothing to do with what you wear or your sexual orientation, it simply means that you believe men and women should be treated equally. Period. The boy, “Andrew” that I was telling you about and I get into a verbal match that escalates, until finally he walks away. Whether or not he acknowledges the rhetoric I’ve just spat at him, I nonetheless feel triumphant like I have suddenly overcome something big. I don’t know what then but I will soon enough.

Emma also has her own blog, The Emma Edition

You’ve seen the signs I mean – silhouette figures of two children about to cross the road: one boy, one girl. (How do we tell? One’s wearing a skirt.) (That’d be the girl.) (Really, do most girls still wear skirts to school?)

So, yes, let’s emphasize sex. Boy and Girl. Ms. and Mr. Nothing else matters.

And nothing else is possible.

Note that the boy is taller. ‘Oh, but they are.’ Not at that age! Taller suggests older which suggests more mature, wiser. And just in case you miss this not-so-subtle suggestion of male authority, look, he has his hand on the little girl’s shoulder – guiding, protecting, patronizing. It will be there for the rest of her life.

Just to make sure of that, we have this social understanding that in a couple, the man should be two or three years older than the woman. Such an arrangement gives the illusion, and the excuse, of the man being in a position of authority over the woman – after all, he’s older. (But since, as they say, women mature two years ahead of men, such an arrangement merely ensures the two are ‘equal’. If they were the same age, they’d see in a minute that the woman should take the lead, being more mature intellectually, emotionally, and socially.)

And to really really make sure the message of male authority gets through, mothers encourage their boys to be the man of the house. So a fourteen year old boy comes to consider himself more knowing, more capable, than a woman twice his age (his mother). Is it any wonder that at eighteen, he assumes he’s more knowing, more capable, than all women?

Now I confess that if the crossing sign had things the other way around, a taller, older girl guiding a younger boy, I’d protest the nurturant mommy-in-training role model. Which just goes to show we can’t win. As long as we insist on pointing at everything and saying ‘male!’ or ‘female!’ As long as we live in an apartheid of sex.

The ironic thing is that the signs point the way to (or from) school, the institution at which we supposedly become educated, enlightened. Looks like we just learn how to colour – in pink and blue. (In black and white.)

male bisexuality = unicorn? I don't think so.

I know a lot of people – gay and straight – who believe that bisexuality, specifically bisexual men, exist about as much as they believe that unicorns exist. It seems that there are people who believe that only women can be bisexual and that women are more fluid than men when it comes to sexuality. They believe men can’t be bisexual, but are either gay or straight. Hell, a few years ago I didn’t even believe bisexuality was real and now I identify as bi.

I have big problem with this, and I mean a BIG problem. You might ask, “Why? You’re a woman, why should you care about bisexual men?” I care because I think the gender stereotypes and gender roles that trap men are wrong.

Men are expected to show that they are real men by getting as much ass as possible. They are expected to be promiscuous, sleeping around with as many women as possible. If a man even thinks about not adhering to this stereotype/gender role, then he’s considered gay by others around him, which in our society is still not considered a good thing.

I know tons of men who are secretly bi and are only out to their partners. I know some who are bisexual but don’t want to come out because they’re afraid that no woman would ever want them and worry women will only see them as interested in men. They’re also afraid of gay men not believing them and telling them that they’re gay but are afraid to come out.

Women and gay men who do this don’t realize that their harsh judgments are what keep men (and women, too) from fully realizing their bisexual identity. If we had an open society, where everybody no matter what was welcomed and not ostracized for being “half gay” as one person told me, if we stop telling people how to be or who to fall in love with, and just let them be themselves, I’m sure that we could stop bigotry in its tracks.

I sometimes get very disappointed in the LGBT community. I feel that we often judge each other and accuse each other of “not doing it right.” We are all human beings. We are all unique in our own little way. We need to stop throwing stones at each other, and passing horrible judgments. We need to stop excluding people that aren’t “gay enough” or who are really afraid to come out as gay and don’t want to admit it. This includes people who are trans as well, who I know often feel as left out as bisexual people do.

I’ve said it once and I will say it once more: united we stand, divided we fall! So let’s all please stop this horrible gender role stereotyping that bisexual men are really just gay but afraid to admit it. We need to instead view people who are bi as the missing link in sexuality. We prove that being gay is just as normal and natural to everybody as being straight is: that one isn’t better or more important than the other. At least that’s the way I see it.

So if a guy you like comes out as bi, don’t shun him or say, “Gross, no thanks.” Just go for it. You may be surprised!

[WARNING: this video contains profanity, sexual references and all that fucking shit]

Eloise At The Plaza

We all have a favorite children’s picture book – one we read over and over, or that our parents did funny voices for. After revisiting my childhood and experiences growing up through Harry Potter, I wanted to look to some of my earlier literary experiences.

When I was in my local bookstore last week, I perused through the Children’s section and picked up some books clearly aimed towards girls. One, the Girls’ Doodle Book, included pictures you could finish – mostly structured around things like butterflies, flowers, baking, and nesting. Boys, on the other hand, had a doodle book where they drew inventions, action scenes, machinery. The other was geared towards “tomboys”, showing that it’s OK to like worms and sports and hate wearing dresses – but in that book, the “girly-girl” was painted as a villain, while the boy and the tomboy, were fun and carefree. No children’s book is perfect, I know that. Our society’s gender stereotypes and expectations are so ingrained that it’s reasonable to expect them to leak through to children’s stories.

But it made me wonder about the lessons that my favorite picture books as a kid taught me. I plopped myself on my basement floor in front of my bookshelf of old picture books, and fell in love all over again with my favorite book and favorite children’s character: Eloise.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Eloise series, here’s a very quick synopsis of her origin story (via Salon):

Eloise, the beloved nuisance of the Plaza Hotel, was born when her creator, Kay Thompson, an actress, singer and vocal arranger, showed up for dance rehearsal 10 minutes late. “Who do you think you are?” demanded Robert Alton, MGM’s dance instructor. Thompson responded, “I am Eloise. I am 6.” Several years later Thompson teamed up with illustrator Hilary Knight, and in 1955 “Kay Thompson’s Eloise” was published.

Eloise lives at the Plaza, and is everyone’s favorite sassy 6 year old. She has a pot-belly, stringy blonde hair, and a pink ribbon. She is rawther important and she has a busy schedule of things she absolutely must do every day: she bothers the Desk Clerk, calls several people on the House Phones, takes the elevator up and down, and writes her name in magenta crayon all over one of the most famous hotels in New York. As a little kid, I used to pretend to be Eloise. I said things three times like her Nanny, and begged for a turtle to name Skipperdee. I relished in her active imagination (sawing her doll in half and then taking him to the hospital), her pride in what she can do, and her “rawther full” day where she adjusts thermostats, helps the switchboard officers, spies on Hotel Officers, and pretends she is an orphan to get a piece of melon. I took her motto of “getting bored is not allowed” and loved her proper English Nanny’s fondness for boxing.

My love for Eloise taught me to be smart and helpful, to keep my days busy, to never be bored with my life, and to be a little bit sassy. She wasn’t classically pretty, but she was rambunctious and beloved by all. I credit her with giving me the confidence to become who I wanted to be and busy myself doing what I wanted to do. Oooo I absolutely love Eloise!

I believe that a small element of Eloise should be placed in all of our children’s picture books today – an air of whimsy, or a love of adventures, or an excitement for each day’s activities. One of my favorite things about Eloise is that it was originally written for adults and doesn’t talk down to the reader. Some of the most successful Kid Lit has grown out of that intended for adults; in fact, the author of Diary of a Wimpy Kid had a piece on it in Time a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps that’s the lesson to be learned: in order to make strong, independent women – write for them.

What were your favorite picture books as kids? Did any of them set you down your path to becoming a feminist?

Becka also writes for her own blog, Becka Tells All.