The Gender Police: Abercrombie & Fitch

As if walking into Abercrombie & Fitch wasn’t a nightmare enough, this is what greets you when you walk into the dressing room.

Yes, dear average reader, while you’re undressing and pulling on a $70 pair of jeans and a $50 tshirt, you get to gaze upon these bodies that you will never attain without divine intervention. And, of course, you are reminded which items of clothing belong on each sent-from-the-heavens-above body–just incase the cologne stinging your throat was too distracting and you forgot your years of gender instruction.

And look a little closer, dear reader.

Tucked in not-so-subtly within the folds of this woven top, we are reminded, yet again, what kind of body this garment belongs on. A male body–but not just any male body. A “muscle” body (the top is even labled MUSCLE, in case you couldn’t see the picture in the sexy darkness of the store) Rippling abs, stone defined pectorals, broad shoulders–and no breasts. Absolutely no breasts. This is a MAN’s shirt, for a REAL MAN. And obviously, this is what he looks like.

Sure, I know that I’m not going to change the fact that, in every store, there is a women’s and a men’s department. Would I love it if I could? I’m not sure I’d love anything more. But I’ve accepted that for now, 9 times out of 10, you’ve got to go to one side or the other (or both, but not at the same time).

However, is it too much to ask that the Gender Police please step out of my private dressing area? Look, A&F, I get it: I’m not meant to wear this shirt. Trust me, there’s a reason why I’ve never set foot inside your store and, surprisingly, it’s not because the darkness behind the giant blue shutters makes it seem like the inside of your store leads to the wrong end of the Bermuda Triangle. I know I will never fit into your clothing and considering that compiling one two-item outfit will cost me over $100, I’m not really losing any sleep over it.

A&F (and its evil stepsister Hollister) take great pains in order to make sure that you know on which side of the store you’re supposed to shop. The entrance to Hollister, aside from looking like a nightmarish version of a Disney World Resort, even has written indicators pointing to each side. There is a wall–a literal, physical wall from floor to ceiling–between the men’s and women’s sides of the store. And on each side, at least in A&F, there are only pictures of the half (and sometimes fully) naked, headless bodies that you, fair shopper, are supposed to want to look like, if you don’t already (which you probably don’t unless you’ve figured out how to Photoshop reality, and if so, you should probably leave the mall and start capitalizing on that, shouldn’t you?).

Aside from fervent and totally unnecessary Gender Policing, this is called objectification. Here, let me spew some theory at you.

The models in these photographs are just bodies. There is no connection with them as human beings. The closest thing we get to a face shot is the bottom half of the woman’s face in the dressing room photo, but even then, the most humanizing piece is left out–the eyes.

When you make eye contact with the person in a photograph, they become a subject. You start thinking, even subconsciously, about their emotions. What was she thinking when they took this picture? What emotion is he conveying right now? And even if you don’t ask these questions explicitly, the message that you are sent is skewed by your perception of the emotions portrayed by the model.

When you take that connection away, there is no subject anymore. There is only object. You know that this is a person, this photo is of somebody’s body, but you don’t know whose body it is and it ceases to matter. The focus of the image isn’t on the person but on the body. It doesn’t matter if Shirtless Guy is laughing or crying, looking at the camera or caught off-guard, because what matters is his chest and the way his manjunk is almost peeking out of his unbuttoned jeans.

In terms of Gender Policing, this sends a really interesting / upsetting message. When you identify people solely by their bodies, and then you use those objectified de-humanized bodies to dictate which pair of jeans someone should be buying, you are equating gender expression with biological parts–and on this blog, that is a big no-no.

It reminds me of that saying which I actually really don’t like but which is a nice accessible introduction to gender theory : “Sex is between the legs, gender is between the ears.” If we take this to be true, at least in part, then cutting off what is between the ears and emphasizing what is between the legs is merely another way of being told that not only is your body the dictator of your mind, but it is also not your personal business. The rest of the world does and should know what is going on under your fly because of what you’ve covered it up with.

Meaning is created at the moment something is viewed, and when I walked into that dressing room, I was immediately told: “This is what you wear because this is what you look like.” No, I don’t, Abercrombie & Fitch. In fact, I don’t look like either of those bodies, and I hope I never do, so suck my disco stick.

Also, $59.95 for a pair of jeans is not a sale. It’s stupid.

Situational Identity? Say It Ain’t So!

I had a really interesting and enlightening conversation via Facebook yesterday that I want to share with all of you. I’m really hoping that these ideas will stir up some kind of conversation, so if you have anything to say on the topic, please leave your thoughts here! Plus, comments let me know that someone, somewhere is reading this and that makes me feel really cool.

Who defines your identity?

This relates back to the labels post, sort of. If someone else’s definition of “lesbian” does not include what you do, but you consider yourself a lesbian, who’s right? Whose identifier reigns victorious?

I argued that your own does. I mean, if you assert that you are something, as long as it makes some semblance of sense, then why wouldn’t it? Of course, other people are going to label you things that you don’t agree with and deny you labels that you think fit you like a glove. But, in that case, are our identities situational? Are we only who we are to the people that we are around? “Oh, man,” begins my internal monologue, “if that’s the case, just put me down now, get me out of my misery.”

The people I was debating with (one a philosophy professor at my college and another a graduate) said, yes, identity is situational. Using the example of gender, and the concept of all gender as a form of drag, your identity is entirely constructed around your ability to “pass;” and passing, as those who attempt to know, is entirely decided by the people with whom you interact.

This is a perfect example from my own life recently:

I identify as a transguy (yes, with the space left out–I acknowledge and accept my gender transgression as an intrinsic part of my identity). Explaining all that is complicated, so if someone asks/I have to refer to myself, I just use the term “guy.” But, as Jessica Who pointed out, “guy” is sometimes an ambiguous term; a group of women can (sometimes) be referred to as “you guys” without the bat of an eyelash.

I was at work the other day and a customer asked if a purse was on sale. I told her it wasn’t. She was a young customer, not very much younger than me, probably late high school/early college. I am most comfortable with customers around my age because they are usually not rude like the pre-teen customers and not condescending like the parental-aged customers; therefore, I tend to be a bit of a goof around them. My manager quickly corrected me, saying that the purse was, in fact, on sale.

Knowing I was going to make the customer’s day with this news, I went over to her and said, “Guess who’s going to tell you that the purse is on sale? This guy.” I pointed to myself.

She let out a bark of laughter and said, “You’re not a guy.” Then she walked out of the store without a second glance at the purse.

Even had she given me a chance for a witty retort, I couldn’t think of one. I was dumbstruck, left speechless and paralyzed on the sales floor while flurries of grandmothers with credit cards tangoed around me with chubby grandsons.

No, I hadn’t bared my soul to this girl; in fact, I’d simply employed a bit of slang that I thought she’d be hep to (ya dig?). But considering the fact that I had just recently come out to some friends as not-really-totally-actually-so-not-at-all-a-Girl, basically being told by a total stranger, “No, don’t even joke, you are so totally a girl” was… well, it felt like a wrecking ball. Straight to my face.

I don’t try very hard to “pass,” I’m at that point where I just do and wear what I want. If I feel that I have to pass, in an unsafe place where “genderqueer” won’t cut it, I will do what I can to appear innocuously male. But other than those situations, I’ve basically stopped giving a shit about “asserting my masculinity to others.” If I want to bind, it’s because I’m feeling self-conscious about my chest that day. It has nothing to do with convincing anyone that I’m anything or not something else (“but your self-consciousness only comes from your hyper awareness of others!” you argue; well, shut up).

But is that enough? If I want to identify as something that goes against the status quo, do I have to start asserting it in order for it to be recognized? Is it not enough for me to say, “I’m a guy and yes, those are my boobs?”

Furthermore… if our identities are situational, if gender really is just drag 24/7 (and I won’t argue that it isn’t), if the only validation our identities have is that which we get from others… then why bother even identifying ourselves as anything at all? Why should I bother coming out as a “transguy” if people are going to call me whatever they want anyway?

The optimist inside of me tells me, yes, it’s still worth it, because asserting our own self-identification is the only way to broaden the spectrum of this dreary binary that we continue to live upon. By telling people that I am a transguy–no, not a man, not a trans man, a transguy, I am opening them up to the possibility that one’s biology does not dictate anything but just that–their biology.

But, shit… is it all in vain?

The Kids Really Are All Right–I Swear

Okay, so the topic of “The Kids Are All Right” might be an old one. I might be totally missing the Hot Topics boat on this one. “Old news,” you bark at your computer screen, “Move on already!” But, dear reader… I have to do this, if only to show the rest of the world that the queer community is not entirely insufferable and whiny.

(Yeah, so maybe I’m not the best person to pick to prove that, but whatever.)

Pay attention now, because I’m about to give you an objective summary of the plot. Yes, comrades, I’m about to be completely objective for about two paragraphs. Get your cameras ready if you must. Okay, here we go:

Jules (Julianne Moore) and Nic (Anette Bening) are two women who have been in a marriage-like relationship for ~10 years. They have two children, Joni (Mia Wasikowski) and Laser (that other kid), from the same sperm donor (Nic birthed Joni, Jules birthed Laser). As Joni prepares to leave for college, Laser pressures her to get in contact with their donor because he is too young to do so. She does, and they meet Paul (Mark Ruffalo), a lady-magnet bachelor who works on an organic farm. Paul enters the family’s life and Nic, who does not immediately warm to Paul like the others do, feels that she is losing her family to Paul. Paul’s presence illuminates the myriad problems that Jules and Nic have been shoving under the rug and Nic decides that she will stop blaming him and instead work on fixing the problems. At a dinner party at Paul’s house, Nic forms a bond with Paul over Joni Mitchell that is completely destroyed upon finding evidence that Jules has been sleeping with him. This discovery causes everyone in the family to  sever all ties with Paul in order to focus on the problems, old and new, within their home. The family brings Joni to campus a few days later and upon leaving their eldest child at school, the couple drives away holding hands with Laser in the backseat.

Great, so now nobody has to spend $11.00 to see the movie, I’ve already spent it for you. You’re welcome. Now, let’s talk about it.

Lots of lesbians are up in arms about this. The Lesbian Mafia podcast created an entire Trending Topic about their disgust with this movie, aptly titled #kidsshitted. They petitioned GLAAD to write a statement denouncing the film’s “defamation” of lesbians and lesbian lifestyle, which GLAAD responded to with this mature and totally awesome blog post. You can get a really good recap of the various reactions on there, so I won’t go any further on that here.

Based on all of this, I was expecting to leave the theater enraged, white-knuckle clenching my overpriced cup of soda, furiously racing to my computer to write this post about how lesbian identity is always a joke or a ploy to the entertainment industry, concocting various alliterative insults like “poisonous patriarchal penis of pseudo-pleasure.”

I’m honestly a little sad that I won’t get to use that one because I actually really liked the movie.

At its base, its heart, its core, its soul of souls, The Kids Are All Right is a film about family. No, seriously, it is. It’s not a movie about lesbians or sexuality. To say that it is would be just as accurate as saying that it’s a film about organic farming. Doesn’t that sound silly?

Jules and Nic are a couple just like any other. Their kids are growing up and they can’t seem to keep up with it. Nic can’t seem to separate home life from work life, and she copes with that through bottle after bottle of red wine. Jules is unemployed, feeling unproductive and unappreciated by Nic, who prides herself in being the breadwinner of the family. Both women have suppressed their gripes with each other for the sake of family life, and with that suppression come imaginary projections of what she thinks the other feels about her, which sometimes blur the line between reality and paranoia (e.g. Jules claims that Nic never supported any of her past attempts at employment because Nic wanted to be the one “in control” of the family and this is why none of those endeavors succeeded; an accusation never proven or evidenced with fact).

When Paul enters the picture, he becomes a catalyst for all of the other problems within the family to surface. Joni takes to Paul immediately; Laser is wary at first, but eventually warms up to him. Jules is on the same page as Nic, making fun of Paul’s “new age, bad ass” image, but he offers her a job landscaping his backyard and the more time she spends with him, the warmer she grows to him.

I see Jules’ attraction to Paul the same way I see the kids’ attraction to him. Kids, let’s not forget: Film is constructed. Every line, every angle, every costume, every everything has been chosen by a team of people with a vision and nothing is a coincidence. The fact that Paul rides a motorcycle, which Nic is staunchly and specifically against, is not an accident. The fact that he is all about organic food and Joni claims that she has tried, unsuccessfully, to convince her moms to start composting is not a coincidence. Paul is supposed to be appealing to the kids because he is everything that their moms are not–which is also irresponsible, unsafe, and selfish.

Jules sees Paul in the same way. When she arrives for her first day at work on his backyard garden, her vision for the landscape is to “not try to tame the space.” If this is not a metaphor for Nic and Jules’ relationship, I don’t know what is. When Jules is with Paul, she does not have to tame herself–and neither do the kids. Laser can videotape his friend skateboarding off the roof of a building with Paul without consequence. Joni can get dirty on Paul’s farm and then ride home on Paul’s motorcycle. Jules can let her imagination take over and be in control of something for once–whether it be the garden in Paul’s backyard or the sex that she has in Paul’s bedroom.

Yes, that’s right, I did it. I defended the sex that Jules has with Paul. No, really, go back and read it again. I totally did it. Go ahead, take my Lesbo Street Cred card and toss it in the shredder. I’ve been meaning to get rid of that thing for a while, anyway.

Jules’ affair with Paul has nothing to do with sexuality. It has nothing to do with identity or penises or defamation. Just like the kids go overboard spending their time with Paul, so does Jules. They are intoxicated by the amount of control they regain when they are with Paul, because with him, there are no responsibilities. Paul can’t send the kids to their room without supper and Paul can’t make Jules sleep on the couch. Do the kids love Nic any less because of the time they spend with Paul? No. Nic is still their Mom, and no matter how frustrated with her they get, they still love her. If you have ever been a teenager with a mother, you know exactly how that feels.

Jules, for lack of a better metaphor, is an overgrown teenager. Paul is something new, something exciting, someplace where she can take control and have fun, not because he is a man but because he is not her home. At the end of the day, she goes home to Nic and she loves Nic. This is never more evident than after Nic finds out about the affair. Jules immediately cuts all ties to Paul. The children shun both him and Jules, furious at the pain that the two have caused Nic.

Now, here is the turning point where you realize that this is not the movie you thought it was; the movie where the lesbian realizes that a dick is all that she’s been missing in her life. Paul tries to convince Jules to take the kids and make a life with him, because, hey, they’re really his kids anyway, aren’t they? Jules does not even take a second to consider this option. She hangs the phone up in disgust and that is the end of their interaction for the rest of the movie and, seemingly, the rest of her life.

Jules fucked up. We all fuck up sometimes. It happens. If we didn’t fuck up, we wouldn’t be human. The fact that Jules fucked up by fucking a man is completely inconsequential. Why did it have to be a man, you ask? Well, let’s see, considering the movie is about children finding their sperm donor, I don’t really see how else you’d like this story to go. All my other gender binary bullshit aside, if you’re dealing with a sperm donor, your character has to be somebody who produces sperm. So… yeah, the pickings are slim in that arena.

But, of course, this is going to hit home twice as hard for any queer person/person creating a non-traditional family. The film highlighted the tension between biological family and non-biological family and I found this to be the underlying subtext of the film, as opposed to lesbians vs. men.

The kids’ personalities reflected the personality of the mother who birthed them: Joni is a hardworking overachiever like Nic and Laser is a somewhat irresponsible but lovable goof like Jules.

When Paul enters the picture, the kids flock to him and seem to get on much better with him than with their moms–at least, temporarily.

When Jules first realizes her attraction to Paul, she comments on how she can see her children’s expressions in his face.

When Nic and Jules talk about the affair, Nic asserts that Paul is “not just another person.” She is hurt not only because Jules cheated on her but because the person she cheated with was the person who helped create their children. Nic is threatened by Paul’s penis but not simply because he has one. It’s the fact that this penis was the sole provider of the children that they both birthed; Nic is afraid that biology is going to trump the emotional bonds that they have forged as a family and as a person who has worked herself to the bone to provide for and strengthen this family, there is no question that this penis is going to threaten her.

Jules could not simply have had an affair with another woman. If you take Paul out of the movie, there is no movie. If you insert a random woman into the movie, there is no movie. This movie is about family: what makes a family, what breaks a family, what puts a family back together and what keeps a family together. And I’ve found that the answer to all of the above is, simply, love.

As they drive away from Joni at college, Laser says that he doesn’t want his moms to break up because “you’re too old.” The women laugh and they drive home hand in hand.

This is not a victory for lesbians. This is not a victory for straight men. There was never a competition. This is a victory for family. But, considering the recent news about Prop 8 and the conservative backlash, I’d say that this is a small victory for lesbians. Hey, look–two ladies can make a family and California hasn’t been swallowed up in a giant sinkhole yet! Hooray!

Hey, remember that “genderqueer department store” I asked for?

Well, it’s kind of happening.

The awesome folks over at http://www.theboisdepartment.com are looking to start up a business making clothes for genderqueer people. Basically, they are my heroes, and I am trying really hard to get in to collaborate with them.

Anyway, they need YOUR help to get this thing going!
Go to the website and take the Queer Fashion Survey. This will help them tailor the business to their clients’ needs. (see what I did there? gosh, I’m punny.)

So, yeah, you should totally do this and support awesome things

VICTORY (for now)

By now, I’m sure you’ve heard of California Judge Vaughn Walker’s decision to overturn Proposition 8.

I won’t bother giving a long post about it because it’s a news story being covered basically everywhere and the only feelings that I have about it are “it’s about fucking time” and “NOM you can go ahead and suck on my disco stick” because I’m mature.

So yeah. This fucking rocks. Let’s see where it goes from here.

Coming Soon:
- my response to “The Kids Are All Right” and the people who hated it (hint: I really liked it)
-  being Gender Police’d by strangers at work
- cynicism, bitterness, and vulgar language galore (cause seriously why else are you here if not for that?)

Movie Trailer Sexism – Round One!

DISCLAIMER:
You know that thing I do where I ruin everything for everyone?
I’m about to do that again.
Sorry.

I’m probably the worst person to go to the movies with, for a plethora of reasons including but not limited to:
- complaining audibly about prices in front of ticket sellers
- complaining audibly about snack prices in front of snack sellers
- running up and down the aisles waving my arms and yelling
- laughing inappropriately loud during previews
- complaining audibly about sexism/classism/everything during previews

I plan on doing all of these things again the next time I go to the theater.

Except for the last one.

That one, I’m going to start doing right here.
(Yeah, you knew it was too good to be true, didn’t you?)

- – -

July 29th, 2010
Film Viewed:
Inception

Trailers Shown: 6

Charlie St Cloud
Charming yet troubled teen sailor lets go of the memory of his dead brother in order to save his girlfriend, lost at sea.

Life As We Know It
Couple goes on horrific first date and vows never to see one another again, only to find that must raise their mutual friends’ infant together after the parents die.

The Other Guys
Cold, competent cop gets paired with bumbling cop. Hilarity ensues.

Wall Street
Young man tries to get involved with his fiance’s family by seeking out her estranged father, a notorious stock broker who was recently released from jail.

The Town
A woman is taken hostage in a bank robbery and unknowingly falls in love with one of her captors after she is released.

Dinner For Schmucks
Man finds complete idiot in hopes of winning his boss’s favor in a game that involves bringing the biggest idiot you can find to a dinner party.

Let’s break this down.

- All 6 trailers were for films with cisgender male protagonists.
- 1 trailer included a cisgender female protagonist, Life As We Know It, with a plot that centers around family, romance, and child-rearing.
- 3 trailers included cisgender female supporting characters–Wall Street, The Town, Charlie St. Cloud–all playing the role of significant other/love interest to the male protagonist.
- 1 trailer included a short appearance by a cisgender female character–Dinner For Schmucks–shown in a scene centered around sexual behavior.

- – -

I know that Inception is marketed as an action movie on top of any other genre it might penetrate, so logically, the advertising is going to be marketed toward movies of the same caliber.

But then what the fuck is Charlie St. Cloud doing in there? Life As We Know It is not an action film, unless Katherine Hegel is going to don military gear to protect against projectile baby shit. Dinner For Schmucks looks hilarious but I can’t think of a movie that has less in common with Inception than this one, except maybe The Other Guys. And they had guns in The Other Guys so, actually, no, I can’t think of another one.

Alright, so they threw in the comedies to lighten up the mood and to pander to the comedy-inclined members of the audience who came to see Inception because of all the hype, right? And they threw in Life As We Know It because it was the most relatable romantic comedy they could find that would still hook the ladies but not send the guys running to the bathroom to make sure their balls were still attached. Yep. Hollywood marketing, you’ve done it again. Left me speechless.

Just kidding, I’m never speechless, you know that.

Do you see how easy it was for me to write one sentence plot summaries for those movies? I used IMDB.com once in this entire post and it was to check the correct title of Life As We Know It because I almost published it as I’d Rather Be Clotheslined By A Giant Penis With My Mouth Open Than See This Movie.

We’ve seen this all before. Men doing manly things. All-American golden boys swooping in at the last second for redemption and a kiss. Men arguing with one another for 2 hours until they resolve their differences no homo. Women in distress. Women as maternal figures. Women as sexual objects. I’m fucking tired of it. Is anyone else tired of it?

I know, there are other movies out there. Someone’s going to bring up Salt to dissolve my irritation with male-dominated action films. Someone’s going to bring up The Kids Are All Right to refute my theory of heteronormativity (and I will have so many feelings on this after I see the film on Monday). But I had the same exact things to say the last time I went to the movies, and the time before that, and the time before that…

But, hey, Inception was fucking awesome. You should go see it.

And tell me what trailers you saw before the movie.

Moving Day!

Well, hello there! Nice to have you in our new home. Oh, what’s that? You brought a housewarming gift? That’s too sweet. No, really, you didn’t have to–aw, gee, well, thank you!

It’s been a big day. Moving from the two-room apartment on Blogger to this house on WordPress has been one hell of a trip. There are a lot more options here at WP, but as we all know, the more options there are, the more upkeep there is. But I’m pleased with the new look! I hope you all like it, too.

There will probably be a few more tweaks here and there as I explore and figure things out with this new interface, so take some time to look around each time you come back. And let me know what is/isn’t working out, feedback is encouraged and accepted with open arms.

I’m gonna go play around with shit and then maybe I’ll find something to get riled up about and write a real blog post.