and now for the real post…
i changed the name because i am realizing more and more as i understand my own gender better that one of the first thing that people notice about me is how little clothing i wear on a day to day basis. it is interesting that queer groups don’t often view that as a target of gender policing. not in the old fashioned, tired as hell, played out line “men can take off their shirts in public, mom, why can’t i do it too.” although i think that is a part of the story.
i am currently at my job, ya know, the library. stacking, shelfing, bitching and moaning being the majority of my goals for the position, it is good that i am usually alone during my shifts. well accept for cracked out div III’s and the dreaded imposition of the mid spring tour group.
tour groups are the bane of my existence! imagine a loose semi-circle of aging hippies mulling around stupidly with their over eager spawn touching everything in sight and speaking at the top of their lungs in a place that they are wholly unfamiliar with. as though this sight were not magical enough, there is a somewhat disinterested college student at the helm of the mob lying through their teeth about hampshire’s illustrious amenities.
today as some of my ankle biting future peers meandered past in confusion, two of the above mentioned aging hippies and one of their crazy Birkenstock wearing, patchouli bath taking, menstrual blood painting kids stopped behind the column in front of the desk. in what they assumed *incorrectly* was a whisper they said “the librarian is wearing a belly shirt, what a skank.” now, i could have proceeded to a.) layeth the smack down on their candy ass for talking shit their carter era politics would not back up. b.) gracefully told them to shut the fuck up because they were in a library, imbeciles! c.) cried softly to myself and create a desire to change the offending article of clothing. or d.) written about their idiocy in my own femmity femme blog.
i chose options b.) and d.) as all of those who know me understand i would have.
ever since i was littler i have been called nympho, slut, whore, fast and easy. i have coded these insults in tons of different ways because of my past *see archived posts for more info if necessary* the father of an ex once said that i looked like a hooker (wouldn’t be a insult, except that he said it as one), and used it to justify the reason that i was racially profiled in a restaurant. everyday people use my skimpy clothing to justify to touch my body inappropriately, feeling my exposed thighs most regularly. when i walk out of my house someone invariably tells me to go back in the house and put on more clothes. one could ask (and some have asked) why i don’t just dress differently, or assume that i do so because i seek the sexual attention of others (which i think is the reason that most people dress the way they do, who in the hell wakes up in the morning and looks in their closed like “ what should i wear so that absolutely no one wants to fuck me?”) and if they do, they need a self esteem implant.
i choose not to dress differently because part of the way that i see my gender is tied with sluttyness and skanktivity. part of transgressing normativity in femininity is challenging arbitrary rules about the amount of clothing needed in order to be respectable or worst even the new way to say “better than you” empowered. i’m smart, most people who know me know that, so why in the fuck can’t i quote plato in booty shorts? who decided that i couldn’t and why should i listen to that dumbass?
so, slutty skanky femmes unite! let our ample thighs and happy round bellies hang out over our tiny shorts. show our hairy armpits in a tube top, enjoy your body and your life, but white Christ, quit being such a prude.