And that’s all folks!
*record scratch noise*
By definition, androgynous is having both masculine and feminine qualities both.
By my definition, it is the Yes answer to the question “Are you a guy or a girl?” in the great many answers that exist in the gender world today. In this regard, agender, which means neither male or female, is “No,” and demiboy/demigirl would be “Sometimes.”
Okay, so what are your pronouns?
*tugs at collar* *realizes my cardigan has no collar* *panics*
I…don’t really have any.
And its weird. It’s the same feeling I have about not being able to currently wear any of my old comfy jeans. Everytime I go to try something on, nothing really fits right. A lot of the gender-free pronouns just look like something from a sci-fi novel to me. When I look at them, my editor brain turns on, and all I can think is “man, if I saw that in a manuscript I would think we were talking about an alien species,” and in a world of gender stereotypes and sexualized culture, I feel really, very alien enough as it is. I don’t need another dig to wear away at me.
For me personally, both pronouns work. Because I am both masculine and feminine, so you could argue that in identifying as both you could call me both, and that’s cool. I don’t actually mind being called she. Sometimes it irks me if I’m having a more masculine than feminine day, or if I’m just being hit on awkwardly. “Girl” is really the one word that gets under my skin. I’m not a girl, and definitely not a little girl at that, so please for the love of fuck don’t call me one, straight white man.
I might, might give the Spivak pronouns a go this year. It still feels weird to force people to do “please call me by this or this thank.” I just feel like I’m being way too demanding on people, but I also know that part goes into the mental illness side of my life and the many long years of abuse and all of that garbage.
The Spivak pronouns are: ey/em/eir/eirs/eirself
And just because I can acknowledge that I am a shade of gender queer does not mean I don’t still fight my own mental gender norms. Because I do. Every fucking day. I haven’t worn florals since coming out in 2016. I can count the times I have worn them last year on one hand and have a lot of fingers left over. And its STUPID because ANY GENDER CAN WEAR WHATEVER THEY WANT and I FUCKING LIKE FLORALS I THINK THEY’RE GREAT AND SOMETIMES THEY EVEN LOOK GREAT ON ME but my brain is a douche and just hasn’t been about it. I’d be wearing a binder everyday if not for the hell-weight I put on, and I’d rather work it off and buy one than buy two and one I can’t fit into anymore (binders ain’t cheap yo). Some days I’m not even okay in dresses-which fucking sucks when its summer and hot as hell and I just want to be a lazy bastard and be comfy in my goddamn maxi dress.
(And I look damn good in my dresses, damnit.)
I don’t like my curves, even though everyone says I look great because they are feminine curves and I gained weight in all the right places. My chest is bigger. My thighs are wider. My ass is larger. And I hate exactly all of it. Even though I know I shouldn’t, because I don’t have to look like Rooney Mara to be androgynous. I don’t have to compress my chest to pass for anyone. I don’t have to prove myself to the world that I don’t identify as my chosen gender by wearing sports bras and loose-fit clothing. And yet.
But seriously, you call yourself an alien a lot. What gives?
Ah, a lot of things. The big one for me personally is that my gender does not dictate my sexuality–which is true of everyone! But my problem with this is that, if I distributed a survey among fem-born andro-identifying individuals about their sexuality, the majority would come back as being attracted to women. I am not. I identify as androgynous, but I am only attracted to men. But because I am not the general norm, I get lumped into the lesbian category or other woman-loving category.
And I’m not.
I get “oh that person is your girlfriend,” when no, they are not. I feel more or less undateable. And while I have no interest in dating or pursuing a love interest right now, it still hurts. It digs at me. It digs with the florals and the curves and the Why Can’t I Just Be Me and not feel awkward about it.
So, that’s me, your androgynous lizard alien. Trying to stay comfortable in my body and not have dysphoria days and be me in a world where I often feel like I’m not allowed to be. Some days are good, some days are shit. Some days my boss calls me “an it,” and I’m not sure if I want to scream or cry or throw something, or all of the above.
But every day I get to go home at night and curl up in bed with my cat, secure in that I know myself better than I did the day before, and that’s all that matters to me.
That and those sweet, sweet cat cuddles.