Recently I got a message from a woman who took issue with me speaking on feminist topics in other forums. I dealt with it the same way I deal with all the other messages that say I’m not a “real woman” and that I should kill myself or just be male (a different way of saying the same thing) — I deleted it.
So I can’t quote from the author directly. But paraphrasing broadly, she felt that since I had the option of just washing my face and taking off my wig and putting on boy clothes and being accepted as a man, that my loss of male privilege was illusory and I was therefore unqualified to speak on matters of female oppression. Read the rest of this entry »
In June of 2016, 49 people were brutally murdered at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida. This graphic novel is an anthology of stories inspired by that event.
Comic book writer Marc Andreyko organized a team of creators from around the industry to contribute to the project. It’s a collection of one and two page stories, all dealing with the shooting or related themes.
DC Comics helped launch “Love is Love” in cooperation with IDW Publishing, and their signature characters are here, but this is not a book focused on superheroes. This is a book of comic creators dealing with tragedy in a range of ways, some of them polished and controlled, some of them a cathartic release of emotion. Read the rest of this entry »
Quick side note: I still identify as gender fluid. However, the minute the barriers were lifted, most of my fluidity immediately flowed to the feminine side of the scale and is sloshing about there. After taking some time to evaluate, I’ve decided to initiate medical and legal measures to affirm it.
Summary: gender-fluid, yes. Woman, yes. Female, yes. Transgender, yes. Lesbian… I know I said I didn’t want to irritate other lesbians who can get a little proprietary about the terminology, but I can’t deny it. Yes, I’m a lesbian.
I can throw in more labels that may or may not fit, but I’ll need a few glasses of wine first.
The following is a presentation I prepared for a Pride event at my workplace. The format of the event shifted, and I won’t be able to give my speech, so I’m posting it here.
My name is Samantha. I speak from the shadows.
The year is 1976. The place is Kenai, Alaska. I’m at a school Halloween party, wearing a blond wig, blue blouse and white skirt, along with a calico superhero cape I made myself and a green mask. Mom insisted I wear the wig, blouse and skirt. I think she knows they’re the exact pieces of clothing I’ve been sneaking from her closet and wearing whenever I’m home alone. She probably thinks she’s teaching me a lesson, and she is, though not the one she intended. The mask is a paradox – I’m not concealing who I am tonight, I’m revealing it. Read the rest of this entry »
True confessions: I take provocative photos of myself and post them on my Facebook page. And this behavior intersects with my life in any number of interesting and troubling ways.
Read the rest of this entry »
These are my work shoes. The one on the left is a women’s size 12E, the one on the right is men’s size 10 1/2.
Both of these shoes fit me quite nicely, The men’s shoe can accommodate my foot with a thick sock; the women’s shoe, a bit more snug, requires thin hosiery.
The women’s shoe is noticeably shorter than the men’s. Part of this is due to the fact that it’s tilted upward by the heel, but it also has less room at the toe. It’s not cramped, it’s just designed to fit my foot more closely. By the same token, it’s also narrower.
So why am I prattling on about footwear? Read the rest of this entry »
So I’m out and about in the world, having spent an inordinate amount of time to get my new bangs just right, my dangling earrings swaying in the breeze, a hint of lipgloss and an ambiguously femme shirt on… maybe not presenting all-out female but certainly strongly hinting in that direction. And I’ve got that little extra sway in my step and arch to my eyebrow because it’s a nice day and I’m a happy girl.
Then I step into the drugstore to grab a Coke or something. I walk up to the counter, looking at all the colorful geegaws, waiting my turn, then I set my bounty down and reach for my wallet. The clerk locks eyes with me, and in a voice as cold as a winter night in Fairbanks says, “Can I help you, sir?”
I wilt. Behind the polite words of that simple phrase is judgement, and contempt, and constrained rage. I mutter and duck my head, pay for my purchases, and scurry out into a day whose magic has been rudely dispersed. Read the rest of this entry »