(via genderqueer)

notyrcisterpress:

After falling asleep to the beautiful chaos that exploded in the streets all over the world yesterday, we awoke to the unfortunate news that CeCe McDonald will most likely be spending 41 months in prison for stabbing a worthless piece of Nazi scum to death after he attacked her in Minneapolis last…

funkyfest:

Shit (Young, White, Class-privileged, City-based) “Radical Queers” Say to Each Other

Yup. This meme started out as a way to call folks out on saying fucked up shit to people who are part of historically oppressed communities. And then it evolved into a weird “shit ___ people say,” which often meant “shit ___ white people say” or “shit ___ class-privileged people say” or “shit __ young people say.” Some of the videos are right on, but I find the general trend kind of disturbing.

Anyway. This video isn’t perfect, but I like the intention behind it.

(via spectralprojection)

(via sonnywithano)

Last night, I went to a queer dance party. I go to a lot of these, and for the most part, I feel safe and loved by the community I participate in here in NYC. Rooms full of hot, sweaty queers give me a warm, fuzzy feeling, and last night’s party was no exception.

Yes! Dancing! Love! Genderfuck! Laser lights! All of it.

But.

Every now and then, even in these “safe” spaces that I have (potentially arbitrarily) defined for myself, I find myself disarmed and speechless by an encounter. It happened last night, and so I’m writing it down here, because it feels like what I need to do.

I will try to keep a long story on the short side, but here’s what happened:

A guy (cis-gendered man) I went to elementary through high school with has recently resurfaced on my social radar. Said guy is about 3 years younger than me, recently moved to New York, and is (seemingly) gayer than the day is long.

Coming from a small town, it’s always exciting when you locate other queers, so we’ve been chatting when we run into one another, which has happened a few times - most notably at the Trans Day of Action. I don’t really know the kid, to be honest, and have, in passing, let him know my pronoun and name preference. But we haven’t “talked gender” beyond me calling myself trans in casual conversation.

Ok, so last night: I am in a crowded bar. The room is full of all kinds of bodies, all kinds of genders, all kinds of queerness, all kinds of hot motherfucking sweaty people. I run into this dude from my hometown. We exchange pleasantries. I wander away. Later in the night, he grabs my shoulder and says “My friend really wants to meet you!” Enter: a short bald-headed [let’s assume he’s queer] cis-man in a tank top. I introduce myself. We shake hands. He speaks.

“Can I just tell you, I’m soooooo attracted to you?! I don’t even know why! It’s weird! But I saw you from across the room and thought you were so cute. So yeah. I just wanted to say: You’re doing a good job! You’re really pulling it off!”

I am taken aback by many different parts of his little speech. I shoot a look to the guy from my hometown, who is just grinning at me, like “Hey! Didn’t I just make this great thing happen?! Aren’t you so excited by this?!”

I say, “Well, thanks. I date all kinds of people, so maybe you have a chance” and walk away as quickly as possible.

Ok. So, a few things.

I know this kind of shit happens to gender non-conforming folks all the time. Hell, it happens to pretty much every historically oppressed and misunderstood group that has ever existed. Ever. BUT I STILL HATE IT.

Why?

Back-handed compliments are kind of the worst to navigate, because in theory, you’re supposed to be flattered. He was telling me he found me attractive, right?

I have a complicated relationship with my own attractiveness. I think a lot of queer folks do, to be honest. I spent a good portion of my life feeling like no one found me attractive, and I credit any/all of my current confidence level with the exploration of gender, presentation, and identity that I’ve allowed myself to do in the past few years.

This inflated sense that someone being attracted to you is the greatest compliment you could ever hear is a product of many things that feel out of an individual’s hands, so I try to be gentle when judging people who prize attractiveness so highly. But gentleness can sometimes turn into passivity when applied inappropriately. And I’m not down with passivity (unless, of course, you’re into that).

Attraction, in my mind, is arbitrary in this really exciting way! Flexibility and fluidity surrounding who I’m attracted to has opened a lot of philosophical and sexual doors for me. People have so many rules about who they can and can’t be attracted to. Isn’t it disappointing to reign oneself in like that? Isn’t it horrible to write people off like that? Don’t you feel like you’re missing out?

Forgive me if I sound naive. Or, don’t forgive me. It actually doesn’t matter. The point is that, whether it’s realistic or not, I want a more fluid and flexible world. I don’t plan to let go of that ideal any time soon.

If this guy had any idea about me and my gender, he would know that “pulling it off” isn’t my goal. I’m not trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes, or pretending to be something I’m not. In fact, I’m exactly myself.

This is what I find so baffling about the concept of passing and transitioning and all of the mumbo jumbo words that have been developed to describe where someone is at on their gender path. Did I transition? From what to what? I started acknowledging something that was always there. And I changed my name. I changed my pronoun. I became happier. I became a person who is (more or less) in touch with who I am. I’m Emmet. Always have been, always will be.

Thank the goddess I’ve been given this little ogre’s stamp of approval, though! I can sleep soundly at night now, knowing that I’m doing a good job at fooling the dicks of silly gay men!

One final point (even though this could just go on and on and on): the inherent sexism in interactions like this one isn’t something I’ve ever been able to put my finger on until now. The transphobia stuff is pretty obvious, but other pain in the ass “-isms” are so often hiding, away from the spotlight in the dingy corners of unpleasant situations. Almost always.

For a gay man to tell me that he’s attracted to me in spite of the fact that I have a vagina is fucked up. End of story.

I think, as a female-assigned masculine presenting queer who has been exploring an interest in sex with queer cis-men as of late, this interaction played out one of the major fears I’ve had about sleeping with gay dudes. While this is kind of a best-of-the-worst-case-scenario (in that he wasn’t like “EW WHAT THE FUCK I THOUGHT YOU WERE A GUY GET AWAY FROM ME”), it definitely hit a tender spot in my tenderqueer little heart.

Someday, I will have a witty and biting response ready in the moment. For now, the best I can do is start a blog and hope that turning these things over and over prepares me a little more for these tough moments. Because also: where the fuck was the guy from my hometown? Where was my ally?

I want to be an ally to anyone who has ever felt unseen.

Because, unfortunately, this is most certainly not my singular lived experience. Would that it were.