Wild Metaphor for My Gender
I’m reblogging myself because this was just recalled to my attention, and, well, I’m really proud of it.
It’s sunday, which means no sleep for this makeup-wearing, hyper-feminine, female-assigned, male-centered, genderfucked androgyne with a passion for facial hair and women’s shoes.
Instead, I’ve been thinking about exhaustion again, and I’ve got a metaphor for you to ponder.
My gender is like a really fucking sweet pair of orthopedic sneakers. And here’s why: I got these sneakers really tricked out. I went online and I found this site that makes custom orthopedic sneakers that not a lot of people knew existed and I got these babies bedazzled, I got them in rich, bright colors, I got them satin-lined, and I got my name embroidered on them. They’re gorgeous and they go with everything I wear and I go places and people compliment me all the time, “wow, those are some really incredible orthopedic shoes; I didn’t know those even existed and now you’ve blown open my world and I’m thinking of getting a pair.” “Can you give me some advice on how I can make my own pair of orthopedic shoes?” People generally receive them well. Sometimes though, I get shit like, “ew, are those orthopedic?” or “are those regular sneakers or orthopedic? I can’t tell, let me whisper about it with my friends.” The fact of them being orthopedic shoes makes people feel they can ask me highly personal questions about them like what sort of medical condition I must have in order to have to wear such undesirable shoes, no matter how much I’ve been able to dress them up. Sometimes I’m told I’m brave for wearing my socially-unacceptable shoes out of the house and not letting anyone give me shit for them.
And then sometimes I get fake compliments like, “oh wow, those shoes are great. Don’t worry, I’d never have been able to tell they were orthopedic, if only you hadn’t told me, I would have just thought they were regular shoes.” To which I have to reply, “please, you wish you had known they were orthopedic. Not only are they fly as fuck, they’ve got great arch support, and I’m never going to be ashamed of recognizing that I don’t need beauty if it can’t also take care of me.” These shoes are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can walk for miles without any back pain; I no longer have to hang my head. They make me feel safe and comfortable at all times.
Society, on the other hand, is a ride on the M train from Middle Village to Forest Hills, and the whole time I don’t get a seat. For those of you who are not from New York, that is the first and last stop on the M train. They are a 7-minute drive from one another, but if you take the M, it’ll probably take you about 2 hours to get there. And that’s what I’m doing, I’m standing for a huge stretch of time on a train, taking the longest, least effective route to get very little distance. And by the end of my ride, my feet are tired, and maybe I’m a little whiny and people say to me, “oh, but why are you complaining? I thought those shoes were supposed to be really comfortable,” when really I’m talking about how the whole time I couldn’t find a single place to just give my feet a little bit of rest.