Ouch, My Gender Hurts
I have always been extremely drawn to men. I don’t mean in a romantic sense, although if this piece somehow gets passed along to Harry Styles then yes, yes I do and my phone number is [REDACTED].
But seriously, I have always been sort of fascinated by masculinity. More specifically, the distinct permission to take up space. The authorization to command a room. The natural acquisition of conversational real estate. However, I absolutely acknowledge how toxic masculine entitlement may oftentimes have invalidating, disempowering effects. Instead I refer exclusively to the tolerance that masculine energy is largely granted. I guess that’s just how my young brain reacted to the ways we often position and consider men and women.
As a young kid beginning to recognize what I perceived as this specific sociological stature in life, I grew up obsessed with the right to fill up space the same way that I had recognized men did. I craved it constantly. I think they call it gender envy. Kidding, again. I am desperately well acquainted with the term. I am speaking as a gender-nonconforming person though gender envy is not exclusive to trans* individuals.
I grew up with an all-consuming love of movies. Coupled with this passion was a massive amount of confusion surrounding my own identity. Though I had zero talent to back it up, my little self wanted to be a performer. What I can make of this now is that I actually meant I wanted to be seen and heard. I desperately wanted to be granted space to articulate myself in the same way that I observed my favourite characters and performers did. This led me to latch tightly to characters and performers who were taking up space in the way that I wished to. Innocently enough I thought these feelings of admiration were what having a crush was.
When I was younger, I had no idea what to make of the feelings that I was feeling, much less what to do with them. For instance, had I taken a moment to reflect upon why on earth I had a “crush” on the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz, I might have googled the words “gender envy” much sooner in life. If I only had a brain! And if I only got to skip down a cobblestone street singing with Judy Garland!
Though I was experiencing so many conflicting feelings surrounding my identity, my desire and appetite to express myself was all-consuming, and from what little me I saw on the big screen growing up, like nothing else, men are allowed to have big dreams and aspirations. I recognized that rather than being titled crazy they are more often than not noted as conscientious and ambitious. With this, I was pulled to characters and performers that were doing what I wished I could do, in the medium I so loved, with a certain cadence that I then thought I wanted to emulate. Though at the time I did not consider these to be queer emotions, I know for sure that these were not simply crushes because precisely what little kid has a crush on Dick Van Dyke in the 21st century? Likely not a straight one. As it turns out not every little girl dreams of being a song and dance man. News to me!
As a little kid, I continued to devour movies and fell in love with characters and performers that now looking back on, I envied because of their gender. One was Lumier from Beauty and the Beast. Self explanatory. This little dude was the most charismatic and suave triple threat who truly understood how to throw a superb dinner party.
Another was Gonzo the Muppet. The attachment I have to Gonzo's character is as beyond words as it is bizarre. As a kid, I was absolutely taken with this funny little avant-garde performance artist and the way they unapologetically embraced their different-ness. Credit where credit is due: a truly first-rate entertainer.
As I got a bit older, I looked to Fantastic Mr. Fox. Yes, a selfish and inept criminal, but I envied his unapologetic appetite and deep appreciation for theatrics.
When highschool rolled around, I thought about Welton Academy and the boys from Dead Poets Society. Oh captain, my captain! What it would be to recite poetry in a candlelit cave with your boyfriends! Also, I must take this opportunity to note that in my eyes Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen belongs to Knox Overstreet.
When it comes to performers, I fell head over heels for Steve Martin. It is impossible for me to so briefly describe my love for this comic legend. And so I will not attempt to for fear of not doing him justice. And if that upsets the tempo of this piece well then excuuuuuuuuse me!
The list of characters and performers is long and naturally championed by those expertly crafted by John Hughes in the 1980s. Duckie Dale from Pretty in Pink, Cameron Frye from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, alongside any and all young Anthony Michael Hall characters, to name a few. Each a perfect representation of the discomfort that is being young and incapable of accurately articulating yourself. It is true that I was meant to be born in the body of a 1980s Anthony Micheal Hall character. Personally, if given the choice, I would prefer The Breakfast Club. However, I would settle for Weird Science. Respectfully, young Mr. Hall, sir, please hand over your gender immediately. However, if I were to rank them, Duckie Dale holds sway as I too spent much of my high school years painfully in love with Molly Ringwald. I remain now, and will always be, a Duck Man.
Like many industries, film and television exists densely occupied by whiteness and masculinity. And so, since many of the stories, characters, and performers I was looking to were white, cishet men, I spent much of my childhood practicing imagining myself in the places of those men. Although a lengthy conversation should exist deconstructing mainstream representations and the obvious internalized misogyny that little me was grappling with as a result of such, here I am choosing to shed light upon the fact that the specific characters, performers and the deep-seated gender envy disguised as crushes I had for them should have clued me in on my gender-queerness many, many years ago.
My little self wanted to be a song and dance man. I wanted to be a comic, a dead poet. I wanted to be a loverboy! Admittedly, in a lot of cheesy ways I still do. But the difference is that now, as I enter my early twenties, I have a much better understanding of myself, my identity, my queerness. Though I sometimes (oftentimes) rewatch The Muppet Show and find myself envious of the resident thrill-seeking stunt man Gonzo, I can comprehend that in truth I am admiring their uniqueness and the unashamed way the iconic Jim Henson character just is. I thank each of these characters for helping me to recognize my gender-queerness, though reflecting on this list I cannot possibly understand what took me so long. These performers (oddly enough, I know) helped me to embrace my authentic voice and my boundless queerness. Anyways, I experience an extreme amount of difficulty deciding which bathroom to use.
In the words of Duckie Dale, “I’m off like a dirty shirt”.
Illustration: Jena Williams
