Re-post from: 18 Apr 2016.
When I get a chance to dress, a short chapter of my life closes; I am refreshed if not reborn. The tension, stress and bad feelings accumulated since last time are fading away, and we are ready to go on to read the next chapter. Whenever I dress, I also always die a little bit, having worked a lot for and having learned a lot about looking feminine. Because when I start assembling the look, every little bit of not being a fragile and feminine woman slaps me in the face; and hard.
Ok, I go about my height and make a note for myself, that a normal door will end at 2 meters height, and if in heels a delicate bend of the head is needed when passing through. On the other hand I realize each time that every little curve, every small dimension of my body is working against trying to look like a woman would. It is practically impossible to work with broad shoulders, and I also immediately realize that my war against hair and fat are far from over, maybe just beginning. But then there will be even less curves. Sigh. I am temporarily satisfied though, because I got jeans, and this top which was a blind purchase (once again) turned out well, and is appropriate for the season. What will I wear next time? Even the question terrifies...
It is so good that at least the longing and struggle part of my womanhood are genuine. And I immediately ask myself to what extent are my dislikes of my body and looks intrinsic, and what is just determined by social expectations and the gender binary? I am probably not ready to answer that. But then again, did it work? Yes. Did it make fun? Yes. Am I better after? Hell, sure; and then it cannot be bad. Both the physical unchangeable burdens as well as the thought, how ridiculous I might come across, when I try to present in the least feminine way, do discourage me. While I know neither should, it is just so hard, so imprinted, so unbelievable even for me, that an elephant has the right to feel and express as a butterfly.
I liked jazz. I thought the affection was intrinsic, but I was also criticized, because liking jazz is a safe haven, as everyone knows jazz is something fine and sophisticated. Liking it will actually protect you from all and any kind of challenging or criticism of your musical taste. True, but should you be blamed for liking jazz? No. I am thinking recently if there is any similar protective element of belonging or claiming to belonging to a minority? It is not cool any more to harass people belonging to a minority, but there are further questions to that. Can I be an asshole just because or not because, just in addition to belonging to a minority? Surely not. The protective element is merely there to allow you to fight equally for you rights. Nothing more.
It is similar with the trans thing having a protective element to it though. It sounds already so schizophrenic to call it the "trans thing". As if there was a "heteronormative thing", or a "long brown hair thing" or a "not liking mushrooms thing". With calling it a "thing" I am trying to feed my cis-normative side and upbringing. I feel I can better talk to and come easier across to cis-gender that way. So then, when I look at my body and my female presentation am I trying to meet their expectations? When I get feedback is the praising genuine, or speaks more for the minority element? Do I look good, or do I look good for a big man? Is there criticism enough? I mean constructive feedback on what I should do differently. Can these truly and fully come through?
Probably the two things need to go in parallel, meaning I need to adjust my expectations towards me as woman, which will rather be “only woman-ish”, and the cis people will also ease a bit after trans being more visible and around. And both sides in communications, reactions and counter-reactions need to be careful and sensitive, not to use or allow the transgender element interfere or distort the honest and fair interaction. Above and beyond anything goes. We can express dislikes, even pull each other's legs about it, and reaching this level will also validate all the positives as well.
And then stay tuned as the elephant puts on its wings, slowly and carefully paints its body to match the colors. The elephant looks into the mirror. What it sees is a truly mixed image, it does see the butterfly, but it never ceases to keep seeing the elephant. Then it carefully lifts onto the back legs into a position which imitates the lift-off of the butterfly. It bends the knees and twists the body to look more like the butterfly's, moves around, poses, hoping that some of the many pictures will actually show the butterfly in its head. The butterfly it is truly within.
The elephant disassembles the accessories, washes off the color, brings some rotten fruit, the favourites to eat and looks at the pictures. It smiles and its trunks waives when it finally comes across the first pic, which shows the butterfly. Flattered, when he finds a handful of more of such. And it is satisfied, because even if the butterfly on the pictures would never really be able to lift off, and would never really be able to fly onto and rest on a flower blossom, it is relieved by the moment it felt it actually was able to. The elephant then resumes then its responsible role in the elephant world. This is how we butterfly elephants live our lives.
First when you see the elephant's struggle, you might find it ridiculous. Even the carefully selected pictures might also only mean a laugh being repressed. When you meet, the presentation might seem artificial and unnecessary. But maybe at some point you realize there is some grace in what the elephant is doing. When you notice that you will start looking for this element, and you might find that actually the elephant has a lot to do with grace. Then you will look at the butterfly again, who is really beautiful and fragile, but you might want to turn your head back at what the elephant is doing.
It might be that grace and femininity can actually be abstracted from the physical presentation. That these traits also need to be filled with passion and inner content. And some day you might say to yourself, hey, this butterfly is really an empty shell, and it does not have all what the elephant has. Maybe also you will feel that the butterfly being a butterfly by default has little to do with what it actually represents. In fact it might be that the elephant is much more of a butterfly than the butterfly itself, and that the butterfly really does not care for being a butterfly. It comes natural, but not overly important.
To conclude this metaphor, you might realize that you are much more interested in stories and personalities of elephant’s who try to be something more, like butterflies; while you care less and less about butterflies who take their “butterfly-ness” granted and only harvest the related advantages. You might find true and deep friendships with these butterfly elephants. Some of the not so superficial butterflies might also realize that they are interested to meet butterfly elephants, just because these elephants relate more and better to butterflies than most of the elephants. And some will not want such elephants; they will want to keep the worlds apart.
It is probably a long way to go that trans will generally and openly be accepted. It needs a lot of education in both the spreading of information, as well as in the instructing of how to go about sense. And that will end the "cis era", and we will not have to and want to reinforce on others how we like to be; we will not expect people to present and act as we do, just to reassure our own selves. Butterflies will not restrict elephants and vice versa. And the world will see lots of different presentations, even a butterfly with a trunk...