I’m writing this in response to some discussions I’ve observed on Twitter between cis and trans women, most of them feminists. I want to write honestly about my own feelings because there is some disjuncture between what I feel and what I actually want to feel. This is an odd post to write because I’m terrified of upsetting people who’ve experienced far greater difficulties than me, plus it’s hardly as though the world is crying out for my personal views on cis and trans identities. On top of that, I don’t want it to be felt that I’m having a moan or comparing forms of discrimination. All the same, I feel like a fraud if I’m sitting there tweeting “fuck off Julie Burchill” and not being totally honest about the gaps in my understanding. In some ways I feel it’s even more cissexist to work on the assumption that a substitute for understanding is silence; I can’t help feeling that buried within this is an even greater assumption of cis superiority. (more…)
January 13, 2013
November 30, 2012
Picture the scene: a greasy spoon café on a dark winter’s evening, crowded with people wrapped up against the cold. On a table for four a man sits alone, cradling a cold cup of coffee. He’s wearing a pink wig, an oversized pink dress and a slick of garish pink lipstick. No one around him seems to notice he’s there. The whole thing looks like a photograph straight out of a weekend colour supplement, part of an series of shots depicting the British being “eccentric” and/or “tolerant”. I say as much to the man at the table. He tells me I should take the photo, then. But I can’t because one of our children has started climbing all over his lap and the moment for pictures has gone.
My partner does not usually wear dresses or make-up. He hasn’t worn them for years. This evening when he put them on it made him feel old and wistful: (more…)