Gender and Its Discontents

Jen, you and I have led similar lives.  "Feminine" was never a word used to describe me.  The fact that I was so athletic and had a lack of interest in things socially determined to be "feminine," forever relegated me to the world of the "tomboy."

I always felt that I was expected to prove I was a girl, so I watched my friends latch on to the most exaggerated images our culture offered in order to stridently shore up their femininity.  For an elementary school girl, a Cinderella dress is nothing less than an existential insurance policy; a crinolined bulwark to fortify a still-shaky sense of identity.  But I could never do it.  Or rather, I never chose to do it.

And then, there was the added race, ethnicity, and other cultural dynamics that folded into our culture's views of femininity.   For example, every woman can feel marginalized, but a white woman is still a part of the “in” group used for the standard of beauty and desire, and faces different definitions and expectations of femininity.

I can’t say I know what femininity is (as culturally defined as that might be), or that I will ever know what it is, but finally I've gotten to a place where I no longer care what it is.  And that's a pretty awesome place to be.

What it means to be female

So Jeniene, as ever, you raise an excellent question around what makes us female. And maybe the confusion for me always revolved around being feminine. Which I'm not. I carry the the sting of not being womanly enough from being asked in 3rd grade why I was in the girls line. This a result of a particularly heinous haircut by Louie the elderly family barber. In contrast to you, I wear my hair mostly long so as not to repeat that very incident.

What I can't decide is if having my boobs reconstructed wouldn't actually bother me more than having them taken. "If thy hand offends thee, cut it off." Putting on new ones feels stranger still. Especially the whole nipple reconstruction aspect (insert nauseated gasp here). But neither the extraction of or the addition of said boobs has any bearing on my sense of being female.

So what does, I wonder? How do transgender people know that they are in the wrong body? They report feeling uncomfortable in their own skin. Which for me defines the first 35 years of my life. It wasn't until after having my child that my body (which has significantly expanded) became comfortable. A definingly female moment.

Now You See 'Em, Now You Don't

feminine |ˈfemənin|- adjective  1 having qualities or appearance    traditionally associated with women,esp. delicacy and  prettiness. 2 of or  relating to women;  female.

Yep, I'm the 1 in 8 women diagnosed with breast cancer.  Stage III.  Now that that's out there, let's get to the funny part.  So, I'm sitting in a dining area and two women whom I do not know particularly well, but who were aware of my recent diagnosis, sat next to me.  While in the midst of a discussion about the town's library book sale, Woman 1 turned to me and asked, "So, will they take both breasts?"  Not having followed the quick topic shift, I responded, "Who? The library?  I don't think it needs them."   The women laughed uncomfortably.  Woman 2 then said,"I hope they don't.  I wouldn't feel like a woman if that happened to me."

I've never thought of any one thing defining me as a "woman."  I have female DNA.  I have a vagina, PMS, and an intolerance to complete and utter bullshit.  Yep, I'm a woman.  I cut off my hair at 28.  And not, oh, give me a cute little pageboy or pixie cut.  I mean CUT IT OFF where you could see my scalp.  I loved it so much, I've kept it that short for 14 years.  And though I've been asked those same types of questions, "Aren't you afraid you'll be mistaken for a man?  "Without hair, don't you feel less feminine?" I was equally perplexed.  Why would not having hair or breasts, or an arm or an eye for that matter, make me any less a woman?

I won't lie and say I'm not likely to look down one day post surgery and think, "Hmm, that's different," but I'm still equally likely to continue peeing sitting down and demanding that I get paid the same as say any one of those long-haired, man-boobed penis-enhanced people walking around the workplace.


Hair; no hair.  Boobs; no boobs.  You'll still be able to hear me roar.

Boobs!

So Jeniene has been diagnosed with breast cancer. And the little bastard masses are creeping up her shoulder. Today she goes into Dana Farber to talk about clinical trials and new boobs. So what's interesting about this is the opportunity. The opportunity to get new young boobs. Not flopping around your belly, have to pull em up to put em in your bra boobs. What's terrible about this is that in order to get them you have to lose 'em first.

My relationship with my boobs is actually kind of new. I mean I never really had any until I kept on that "baby weight". So I didn't jiggle, or wiggle or name them or anything like that. Until I got the belly roll, mine were nothing to consider. So the thought of losing them, I don't think, would have even crossed my radar. But now that they are plump, I'd kind of miss them.

And so it begins

This blog is a conversation, a confab, between two women. Others are free to comment of course, but mostly it's about (me) us. You see Jeniene and I have been friends for many years, but we are not just friends, we are kindred spirits, we are soulmates. We eat MARMITE together. And no one just does that.

Jeniene and I are married to guys who went to high school together. The first three letters of our name are the same. We are both mothers of only children. We love wine and stinky cheese. We are both fans of George Michael, indeed Jeniene can be found on the WHAM "Wake me Up Before you Go Go" video. We love to surf, me having done it for a week, Jeniene having done it throughout her life. We LOVE to read. We are both emerging novelists. We are sarcastic as hell. We are smart as shit. We love wordplay. We are, for the most part, separated from birth. My adoption makes it easy to believe that we were torn from each other at an early age. This fantasy could only be true if you can't see us. You see, this is Jeniene...And this is me, Jennifer.

And this is our blog. Prepare yourself for an adventure.