Terrycloth wristlets and sleeveless shirts were worn! Butts spun upon! Moonwalks walked! Rook knows how and has some background and talent in dance, so he gave Moomin a moonwalk lesson.
I bleached and purpled my hair today, and so had it up in a bandana with a hat over it, since heat makes the color stick better. At the drugstore I realized people were not sure of my gender and I enjoyed that more than I thought I would. Then at Cosco (the 1 millionth errand of the day) I got called "sir" at the checkout stand. The dude corrected himself a minute later, but still, I was pleased! Actually "pleased" doesn't begin to cover the insane and disturbing surge of happiness I felt. And they say I can't be butch... HA.
In my butch drag today (loose jeans, tshirt, flannelly shirt, too-big jacket wtih hood) I realized that as a guy, the pressure to smile was gone. People got out of my way more. Other short guys seemed to look at me as if sizing me up. It was different.
Oddly - it is just what I normally wear but without any girly touches if you don't look too close at the boots. That's all it takes to default to male. Not smiling was incredibly important and I wondered how much of my smiliness and head-cocking is gender based placating behavior and how much is "just feeling smiley".
After the sirring and a whole Cosco of people who didn't expect me to be the one to move out of the way, I thought of all the times people have touched my body disrespectfully. I thought of dressing rooms and people's comments on my being bulgy or fat. And then thought, that would not have happened if I had been male. I would have gotten punched in the face and had to play sports, or something, but for a moment I had a glimpse of the privilege men have of not having their bodies objectified and sexualized and demeaned, and their body images fucked with, and their whole being reduced to whether they are sexually pleasing enough to men.... and it looked sweet.
I looked around me today and saw all the other short men. They were wearing jeans, tshirts or sweatshirts, hooded jackets that went down long to cover their butts and kind of to disguise that they have butts at all. Their loose big jeans even when not falling down conceal the curve between their butt and the top of their thighs. They all had baseball hats on like mine, many with equally absurd slogans. They stood still and did not fidget or smile. They seemed aware of each other in an odd guy way - I think it is assessment of physical ability as if they are always keeping in mind who could kick who else's ass in a fight; who would be dominant, who to be aware of - the same way that girls know who the hottest girl in the room or the queen bee is and pay subtle attention or deference to that. Not like violence or a beauty pageant is going to bust out in the middle of Long's Drugs - but it's still there underneath.
I looked at all the guys today and saw them as women in drag. All of them had some flaw that might mean they were really women... maybe a little too much body fat or a round-ish jawline, or arms that weren't very hairy; everyone looked ambiguous.
I thought, "If I were a guy, then wearing the scruffy jeans and ratty tshirts and big jackets I normally wear when I'm not in girl-drag, that would just be normal. No one would be giving me shit for it and saying I have to 'grow up' and be 'realistic'. The guys are putting on a bit of an act, but it's not as much of an act as women with makeup etc... and it's cheaper."
As soon as I take off this ludicrous "bad to the bone" hat and my new-bleached straw like hair explodes in brilliant purple spikes I will revert to femmy butch again and will signify my acceptance that I'm a girl and my attempt to play with all that in the illusion of breathing space that I have to do that in.
Am disgusted with the WHOLE THING. I would so much prefer to be an alien or a robot.