Showing posts with label Corin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Corin. Show all posts

Saturday, 7 August 2010

Some more outrage



As with most things I bitch about on here, I know very little about Buck Angel. I first became aware of his existence through Corin, who is a fan of his on Facebook; essentially, he is reportedly the first FtM porn star, and seems pretty popular. From the little of his online presence that I have researched, I've noticed that he sees himself as a success, primarily because of the authenticity he and others perceive in his masculinity. His bio on Facebook is essentially presented as a wrong body narrative; we are encouraged to see him as an ordinary guy who was unfortunate enough to have been born into a female body.

A few days ago Corin read a status from this page to me and it's been troubling me ever since. It reads:

This was sent to me today. Pretty Cool!

"
My ass.
You have not been a woman.
That's impossible.
You have a bitchin mustasche and you could probably beat a wild
animal to death with your
bare hands.
You look like you could star as a villian in a Die Hard film.
You look like you could demolish a house by headbutting it.
You simply look to convincing to have ever been a woman."


Obviously I have several issues with this. For one thing, 'been a woman' is really problematic terminology - I recognise that this is the terminology of the person writing to Buck, but it is also terminology he tacitly supports by publishing it without criticism. The following account leads me as a reader to believe that both Buck's fan and Buck himself believe women to be inherently inferior to men, and this makes me fucking angry.

According to this quote, it is 'impossible' for women to have facial hair or, at least, facial hair that is so socially acceptable as to be 'bitchin'. Similarly, a woman could not possibly 'beat a wild animal to death'; she could not star as a Die Hard villain; she couldn't have the strength to 'demolish a house by headbutting it'. And, by she, I mean we. We, as women, are weaklings and failures. We can't impress people with our plumage (possibly because, since most women feel under pressure to present themselves in a way that indicates great care has been taken over their appearance, it just isn't special when our hair - non-facial, non-armpit, non-pubic - looks good. It's meant to look that way). We can't take on wild animals - we simply don't have the necessary testosterone levels. We are worse than ordinary - we are substandard because, in the grand competition to be entertaining that apparently is life, we barely have half the physical resources of people signified as male, or 'appropriately' masculine. We don't exist in this conversation except by omission and derision. I am not trying to say that conversations about transmasculinity ought to refer to women - sometimes women are not relevant - but, when heteromasculinity is being so revered, women become present through their silent inadequacy.

What is strength in this conversation? It is destruction, brute force, the ability to literally throw your weight around. Fuck childbirth. Fuck existing in a society that constantly undercuts you - Buck Angel has apparently made a safely-unnoticed exit from the parade of fuckery that assaults most of us who are not heteromen on a daily basis, so it's alright for him. He can become an oppressor of those less 'fortunate' (i.e. less outwardly normatively masculine) than him. I feel very self-conscious about coming across, to myself as well as others, as being transphobic in this complaint but, more importantly than that, I cannot subscribe to something that relies on the subordination of femininity to be 'successful'. Because according to this narrative I am not strong, and I do not have strength. While Buck is made a spectacle - which I do not mean to imply is okay: he is a person, not a freakshow - I am fainting somewhere in a corner, where I am either being attended to by another woman behind the scenes or ignored entirely. As is every other woman. And, essentially, it seems to be that we are being ignored because society has not awarded us the resources to throw our weight around.

This is not to say, though, that the only strengths that can be ascribed to women are separate from those ascribed to Buck (or Buck's masculinity): there are strong fucking women. There are women body builders and women wrestlers and women cage-fighters and women who pull cars with their teeth. Corin remarked, and I think this is totally feasible, that working out to the extent that you become a body builder does basically the same things to any body, be it a woman's or a man's, or male or female, or something else. Are woman-identified body builders too 'convincingly' masculine to be considered women? Are other people's gender the properties of outside critics? I find it disturbing that anyone, let alone a queer person, would endorse these ideas.

And what's 'convincing'? What exactly is being celebrated when Buck Angel is seen to pass? To me, this is not about his personal journey, or his comfort. This is about supporting a gender binary. This is about celebrating the idea that even queers can support this myth, this piece of shit idea that seems to permeate everything, that sits in so many people's heads and dictates so much about how they treat people and how they let themselves act: the idea that the genders are the (perceived) sexes and are opposite and entirely different, and that it's of the utmost importance to assert this at all times. It's fucking bullshit and I'm fucked off about it. I feel like I've probably made a lot of oversights in this blog, because there is so much about gender that I do not know, because I'm angry and when I'm angry I tend to throw rationality to the wind and often debase what I am attempting to defend by being too obtuse to understand, let alone defend, it properly. If you're reading this and you want to call me out, please do. I'd like to talk about this with someone.

Saturday, 27 February 2010

>:(

"No, I am not going to punch you in the uterus. However much I'd like to."
Today has been alternately lovely and fucking awful. Corin and I were going to celebrate the end of essaygate by getting up early and going to Tropical World, but we ended up sleeping until about two because it turns out that, when you've been solidly stressing and working for seemingly forever, all you really want to do is lie in your girlfriend's bed dozing as much as physically possible. So that happened instead, then she got up and made the BEST BRUNCH EVER. I mean, I have literally never been cooked anything better at the start of my day. It had fakon, Cauldron sausages, scrambled egg, FRIED HALLOUMI, and lots of other tasty things. Omg. I was very happy. I now look back on those simple times with an overwhelming ache in my ruined heart, not to mention other organs.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself. We watched lots of Buffy which, after seeing the poster in my room and dismissing my passion as 'ridiculous' and the programme as 'crap' without having ever actually watched it, then being forced to watch the first couple of episodes whilst stoned and therefore slightly more incapacitated than normal, Corin is now obsessed with (hooray!). UNfortunately, despite the joy this afforded us, this is when my problems began, i.e. my period started. Thus followed a fucking excruciating day. I mean, my first day is always The Painful One, but this one's been much worse than any in recent memory. I decided at length to have a boiling hot bath and read some Frankenstein (apparently I work every day now, what is that?!), which was quite nice, particularly given the disturbingly noisy but ultimately pleasing jacuzzi function in Corin's bath (seriously, what kind of fucking student accommodation is this). Also, I really like Frankenstein. While I was in the bath Corin went out to buy me nice things, like painkillers and rum to have with hot milk and honey and Greek yoghurt and Really Light Ribena and a Galaxy bar and also some surprise icecream, because she is lovely. But then my period pains started again, and I spent about fifteen minutes on the toilet, before flumping downstairs and writhing around in agony for a bit. Corin suggested I lie on my back with my feet against the wall, which made me feel better for a bit, until The Agony Returned to such an extent that I started crying on her. Ludicrous. I am now in the aftermath of this - the pain is still here, but not so bad, and I now have more rum and hot milk, and Corin is drawing graffitis for her friends on Facebook while we listen to Metric. (Omg can't wait to see them in May omg omg omg so excited. Actually, on a sidenote, I am going to have the best April/May EVAR - Men and Evelyn Evelyn in April, and She & Him and Metric in May. What? Oh, yes, that's just my amazing life there. ANYWAY.) The problem is, today I have had a 500mg paracetamol and two Nurofen Expresses and I have yet to be freed from the vice in my womb, and I wanted to go to a femsoc-orientated partay this evening that I very much doubt I will make now. Ugh.