On loving fat bodies, and not forming an identity around it

I’ve been meaning to write a post about my experiences loving fat bodies and people with fat bodies for a while. This is not that post. This is a post about something someone else wrote about loving fat bodies (and not really about loving people with fat bodies) that has provided me with a great example of what not to do. This piece of trash (TRIGGER WARNING FORREAL Y’ALL) found its way onto my dashboard by way of the lovely Jessica, and you can find some really great dissection of it here.

One of my issues with this piece (because really, there are so many that I could never get to them all), in addition to all of the very important concerns that other folks brought up, is this guy’s understanding of the implications of his attraction to fat women (around whom he makes some very stringent weight requirements and uses all kinds of descriptors for various weight ranges that it seems impossible to me that fat women could have chosen for themselves). It apparently led him to feel that he needed to seek community with other straight dudes who liked fat women. His “fat appreciation” community is set up to defend men who are attracted to fatness against the alleged onslaught of oppression that they receive (“It really is kind of like being gay, I guess.” Direct quote. He said that permanently on the internet), and to normalize their attraction so that people stop calling them freaks and perverts.

It’s like this man has never actually met a fat woman, let alone tried to think about what her experience, um, being fat, might be like. If I’m getting shit for dating someone fat—which I never am because I do not countenance that nonsense—it should be clear to me that I am not actually the one under attack; they are. Duh. So unlike this creeper here, I am led to understand that my solidarity must be with fat people who are working to dismantle systems that ridicule them for living their lives and declaring themselves worthy of partners who are attracted to them for a variety of reasons including their physical appearance. Instead of campaigning for my right to be attracted to whomever I please, I should be doing my part to remind people that everyone should be able to claim their own body as attractive. If we all had that power, Mister Fat Admirer wouldn’t have to worry about “what a cruel fate [he had] to be born an F.A. in this misguided age” (direct quote; it’s that serious). Besides, I find that allying myself to fat communities is a much better way to be around people who love fat people.

Hot Tranny Mess: What’s hot and what’s messy about the term “tranny”

Trigger warning: discussion of transphobic slurs

The only times I’ve ever been called a tranny have been when people who identify as allies think they’re somehow “not-transphobic” enough to use slurs like jokes. It’s completely unacceptable. Real allies are allies precisely because they know not to pull stunts like that. Not using slurs is, in fact, a great way for an ally to demonstrate their solidarity. Trans visibility is somehow bringing our language into public discourse, but usually in casual and offensive contexts that do nothing to empower the individuals it describes or combat the very real transphobia of the people who use it. In a sense, “tranny” is so hot right now (after all, according to the New York Times magazine, it was the year of the transsexual). I wish it weren’t. I wish no one used the word; then transfolk could use it however we please.

As it is, it’s wrapped in a lot of politics and pain, which is what makes it messy. But it only makes it a little messy. The most important thing to know is that the term “Tranny” is hurtful and offensive to a lot of people. It is a term that is used disproportionately to slur transfeminine people, sometimes to the extent that it is used to insult other feminine people by implying that they are somehow failing in their performance of femininity. It is used against all trans people to call us out on the “falseness” of our genders. It is not a good word. It’s a word that some folks are trying to reclaim, and that is absolutely their prerogative. I’m all about reclaiming language, but we are in the early stages of reclamation, so there are some rules:

  • If you are not trans, you should never, ever use the word “tranny.” Even if a friend tells you that they identify as a tranny, you must ask them if there are any contexts in which it would be appropriate for you to call them that. (Kind of like how for me, anyone can call me queer whether I’m there or not, but only other queer people can call me a dyke, and only among queers and allies. Those are just personal decisions I make based on my comfort and understanding of the meaning of those words in different contexts)
  • If you are trans, you should never use that word to refer to a person who has not expressly told you they identify as a tranny. Again, you must ask about context. They may only want that term used in trans spaces.
  • If you are trans, you should never call yourself a tranny with any negative connotations; that is not what it means to reclaim language.

There are folks who say that the fact that “tranny” is most often leveled at transfeminine folk means that transmasculine folk can’t reclaim it. It’s certainly true that it’s never been used against me with any malicious intent, so I do not feel that it’s my place to try to reclaim the term—it is not part of my identity and not something I am comfortable being called—but I’m not certain that it should be completely off limits to all transmasculine people. I think that transmasculine people who do not seek community with transfeminine people should probably avoid acting like it’s their word, but I am interested in trans community that is not split on the basis of sex, and would like us to be able to reclaim the word as an entire community.

There are certain contexts in which I will use the term tranny, only ever in reference to myself. I’m very careful with it, but I’m still not sure I should be using it when I do. It’s something to think about. I use it as a sort of bitter, sarcastic reference to myself when I am implying that I am being tokenized, objecified, or otherwise experiencing my humanity being seen as separate from my trans identity. So, for instance, in speaking about “tranny chasers,” people who objectify transfolk as sex objects; or if I talk about how I’m pretty sure my annual summer job needs to keep hiring me, not because I do my job well (I do), but because who else is gonna talk to the youth about tranny stuff? This is not necessarily attaching a negative connotation, it’s recontextualizing it in a way that allows it to empower me by reminding me that I deserve to be seen as a whole person (no matter how much I personally choose to treat my transness as my central identity) and does not deny that its history is a painful one.

Language is always the choice of the individual, but people who use painful language need to be prepared to the folks around them to be hurt, offended, or unwilling to spend time around them. By taking the history of the word “tranny” into account, and reminding yourself that not everyone can handle hearing it yet, you can make yourself safer for all people. Who wouldn’t want that?

Fetishes, fetishes, not so sweet.

fuckingdyke:

I seem to spend a lot of time talking and reading about this. Every time I turn around there’s a QueerSecret about cispeople being afraid to express attraction to gender transcenders because no one wants to be called a chaser and no one wants their sexuality to be invalidated.

This whole concept that seems to exist wherein cispeople who are attracted to non-binary gender identities or trans* identities must be chasers is absolutely absurd. Of course there are people who fetishize trans* people, particularly trans womyn. This is undeniable and a whole different cup of tea. But there is a fetish for anything, and I do mean anything, you can imagine. Why do we routinely call out (cis)people who express particular sexual attraction to trans* people?

In case you aren’t familiar, let’s talk about what a fetish is. A sexual fetish involves needing to interact with/envision a particular object/item/personage in order to achieve sexual gratification or some sort, or linking gratification to that item/person at an extreme level.

Cispeople who are sexually attracted to trans* people are not necessarily fetishizing them. I know that sometimes the attraction that men (and queer womyn!) have for me is reinforced by the fact that I have an atypical male body, including a large chest and a vagina. Does this mean that these people are unable or unwilling to see my masculinity? Are they sexualizing me without attempting to understand or respect my male identity? Am I just a toy boy to them? Maybe. It happens. Is this true for all of them? No. Oddly enough, there’s this strange thing that sometimes happens in which cispeople are attracted to me because they like my particular representation of trans masculinity. There’s never really going to be a point for me in which my female body isn’t a part of why people are sexually attracted to me — my gender is trans*, not male, and my non-binary existence makes it rather difficult to cut out the fact that I am female bodied. And I personally wouldn’t want that cut out. I’m a damn good-looking guy, with a body lots of people would love to touch. But that does not mean that everyone who likes me only likes me because I’m trans* or because I’m a guy with a vagina.

So often in our rush to try and help the world understand the nuances of gender, and the many, many forms it takes, we forget to remind ourselves that sexuality is just as nuanced and appears in just as many forms. We fight so hard to separate gender from sex, gender identity from sexual orientation that when it comes down to understanding that cispeople still sometimes have this thing there they’re, you know, attracted to other people who aren’t, you know, cis, we get all fucked up over it.

Personally, I don’t want the trans* community to stop existing as a separate entity from the cis community. I want people to stop alienating the trans* community and just let us exist alongside the cis community as a whole community of people. We are just another way to be humyn. But this is never going to happen if we don’t let ourselves be just that — humyn. Humyns who have other humyns who are attracted to them. Humyns who have other humyns who are different kinds of humyns who are attracted to them.

It’s also important to recognize the cissexism and cisgenderism behind saying that *any* attraction predominantly to trans people is fetishistic when I have personally never heard anyone claim that *any* attraction predominantly to cis people of a single binary sex or gender category is fetishistic. Even if a person dated absolutely any cis man they could get to look at them without any regard to chemistry or emotional/intellectual compatibility, they would be unlikely to be called out for fetishizing cis men, even though they are doing the same thing that chasers (and I’m talking about real chasers, the ones who really do objectify transness) do.

To say that trans folk should not be attractive specifically as trans folk to the people who fuck and date us is to say that our genders and bodies are not as validly attractive as those of cis people—that it isn’t problematic to be attracted to a specifically cis embodiment of gender because the genders and bodies of cis people are more natural and inherent than those of trans people. Yes, trans people construct (even through the conscious choice of not permanently modifying) their bodies in ways that cis people often don’t, and yes, it is possible to fetishize that otherness, but it is also completely possible that people can simply find the specifically trans embodiments of gender more physically and emotionally appealing than specifically cis ones.

One of my New Year’s resolutions

is to date a menfolk person with a penis. To clarify, when I use the term menfolk I mean people who are men or have an identity that leaves room for a recognizance of the maleness of their experience. For example, I would consider myself to be inside of both the categories menfolk and womenfolk because my identity is recognizant of both the maleness and femaleness of my experience. When I use the term penis, I mean any genitalia that the particular individual who owns it calls or recognizes as including a penis (in the same way that I do not call my genitals a vagina, but I recognize that my genitals include a vagina).

So yeah, menfolk person with a penis.

And I think it’s important that I clarify why this is not fetishizing of menfolk people with penises, because, really, if a person said to me that their new year’s resolution was to date someone of a particular identity or genital configuration, I’d probably call them out on it.

First off, I’m not gonna just date any dude who offers. It’s not about dating absolutely any menfolk person with a penis just so I can try it out and say I did it. It’s about pushing myself to actually try and connect with a guy in a way that I haven’t even attempted to in years.

I’ve known I liked menfolk since I was 4 years old. I started dating menfolk when I was 10, and was certifiably boy crazy by the time I was, we’ll say, 12. And then I discovered womenfolk. I identified as bisexual and then discovered the term queer and used that because I always knew that there was more to it for me than an attraction to men and an attraction to women. I have always, always maintained an identity that spoke to my attraction to a variety of genders and bodies, and as I’ve gotten older, the range of genders and bodies I find attractive has grown and refined. I have always insisted both publicly and internally that I am as open to dating menfolk as I am to womenfolk. Still, every person I have dated from the age of 15 until now (that’s about 5 years)—with the exception of two not-so-enjoyable dates at the very beginning of that era—has been womenfolk. One person came out as trans after we started dating, so obviously ze counts as menfolk as well, but ze was not menfolk when we met, so the thesis that I have not pursued a connection with a menfolk person in a long time still stands. 

These last 5 years have greatly dwarfed the 5 years preceding them in terms of the number of people I’ve dated and how seriously I weigh their impact on me. Despite my declarations to the contrary, I lead an entirely woman-centric life. I’m pretty sure that most people think of me as a person who dates exclusively womenfolk, and that my own image of my dating life typically positions me that way as well. I don’t even really have any friends with penises; I’ve just sort of managed to build a life that didn’t need menfolk in it. And I’ve blamed men for it, but it’s just as much my fault. Sure, the one time I did actually try to date a cisguy he had serious enough qualms about my lack of penis that we never ended up going out, but that’s one time. It’s one dude who needs to work out his own issues. You can’t try one time and then say it’s never gonna happen.

I think it is true that I connect with fewer menfolk, but I think it’s also true that a lot of the time I don’t allow myself to believe that such a connection is possible. There have been a few guys with whom I’ve sort of danced around the idea of liking, but I never gave it the kind of focus that I would have given to a similar situation with a womenfolk person. I think some people would see that as evidence that I’m not really into men, but I just can’t see it that way. Instead, I view it as evidence that I am holding myself back because I’ve stopped seeing menfolk as a real possibility. I’ve somehow allowed menfolk, particularly ones with penises, to be outside of my comfort zone, and I don’t want that anymore.

So this is not fetishizing because it’s not about the body or the identity so much as it’s about pushing myself to not be a coward anymore. I’m not trying something new, I’m trying to make sure that I do something I’ve always known I wanted to. Realizing that my attraction to men was queer was an important and freeing moment in my life, but that was years ago and I haven’t done anything with the knowledge. It’s time I did something with that freedom.

Dyke Nodding Etiquette

As a highly community-seeking dyke-identified person, I get excited whenever I see another dyke in public. I want to let them know I see them there, and isn’t it awesome that we’re two dykes out in the world? I like to make the queer universe feel small in that nice, familiar way, rather than that claustrophobic oh-my-god-I’ve-already-dated-everyone-in-this-room way. Nodding at dykes is a way of recognizing and saying hello to them without having to come up with anything to say. Greetings can mean a lot of different things, though, so, in my experience, there’s some etiquette around it.

Warning, like most etiquette, some of these rules toe the sexism line, and when executed incorrectly can offend the sensibilities of those around you. In the case of rules that require the nodder to make arbitrary assumptions about the identity of the person they are nodding at, I will try to explain why these distinctions are necessary. None of these are absolute, they are simply my observations.

So you’re are a dyke and you’re walking around a heterocentric area and you spot *gasp* another dyke! You’re excited, but you don’t want to lose your mind because you don’t want to look like a creep, and you do not want this other dyke to think you’re hitting on hir. So you collect yourself, and calmly, as you walk past one another, give this other dyke a nod. 

First thing’s first: make sure as you are nodding that you are giving this dyke enough room to return the nod without breaking hir neck. You must also gauge your distance so that you are not so far away that the other dyke cannot see that you are nodding at hir, or worse, so that you both get your nod over with but you still have yards left to traverse before you have passed one another. These rules follow standard greeting-an-acquaintance-in-a-high-school-hallway timing. If you are in a stationary encounter with a dyke, you have to be the judge. Some options for stationary nodding include waiting until one of you is about to leave, nodding and then avoiding further eye contact, and nodding and then employing a friendly smile at all subsequent eye contacts.

Now to the potentially offensive stuff:

When to nod upward: 

  • If the other dyke is andro/butch similarly to you.
    Why: this is “bro” nod. Not only are you demonstrating your dyke solidarity, you are demonstrating you andro/butch understanding of one another. I don’t always understand butch experience, but I like bro nods because they are usually curt, involve just the tiniest bit of grandstanding, and show that butches are willing to build community with me.
  • If the other dyke is in your age bracket.
    Why: this is a peer nod. It says, hey, we’re on even ground. If you weren’t a stranger, we would probably chill.
  • If you feel like you’ve noticed a dyke who doesn’t get read as a dyke a lot.
    Why: this is a recognition nod. It says, hey you, I see you there. Even though you’re not always recognized, you’re not invisible, and I can tell that you’re part of my community. I have friends who don’t get nodded at enough; this type of nod can really make their day. 
  • If you are femme or femme-appearing.
    Why: this is a preemptive strike nod. Many femmes and femme-appearing dykes don’t get noticed as quickly because not all dykes know how to see them. This occasional invisibility means that femmes get to do whatever they want to make sure the other dyke knows what’s going on. Femmes nodding at femmes use femme solidarity nods too.

When to nod downward:

  • If you are butch/andro in appearance and the other dyke is butcher than you in a way that you feel is significant and noticeable. 
    Why: this is a deferential nod. You’re not trying to challenge the dominance of this bull-dagger. You’re welcome to nod upward if you are trying to indicate that you two are matched or if you are in defiance.
  • If you are butch/andro in appearance and the other dyke is femme.
    Why: this is an I-see-you-and-I-am-not-objectifying-you nod. This is perhaps the most important rule there is. Femmes deal with skeezy recognition from all kinds of people all the time, and slimy, leery butches are no exception. Nodding downward is a great way to show this femme that you see her and are glad you’re not the only dyke in the space and that you don’t think that means she owes you any of her time or attention beyond a reciprocal nod.
  • If the other dyke is in an age bracket more senior than yours.
    Why: this is a hats-off-to-you nod. Older dykes paved the way for you to be the dyke you are today, and they deserve your respect for that. The more badass the older dyke, the deeper and more sincere your nod should be. It’s almost like bowing.

When to smile:

  • A friendly smile: whenever you like. These are always appropriate.
  • A winning smile: if the dyke you’re nodding at is cute. A winning smile is how you can turn your greeting into an invitation to come talk to you. Mouthing “hi” is another good way to let the person know that you’re interested without invading their space.
  • A cocky smile: pretty much never, particularly not if you’re nodding upward and particularly not if the person is femme-appearing. It’s a really good way to disgust or creep out the dyke you’re nodding at. 

Actions to avoid:

  • Being sketchy or objectifying towards femmes (or really anyone): I feel like I can’t say this enough times. Femmes put up with a lot of crap being out in public. Don’t add to that. They’re not available to every butch who has enough gaydar to realize they’re queer.
  • Trying too hard: if the dyke you’re trying to nod at isn’t trying to nod back, don’t force it. I personally think it’s rude, but people are in public, and not everyone is as community-seeking as I am.
  • Bobbing your head while nodding: this is just another way to be a sketch ball with your nodding. Any kind of come-hither movement takes your nod out of the greeting category and into the hitting-on and possibly-encroaching-upon-the-safety-of category. If you’re hitting on people in large public settings, that is your business; it is not part of the etiquette that I am laying out, and when you get slapped, you will not get to complain to me. The dyke nod is a simple up-down-stop movement, or a down-up-stop; it is not and up-further back-down-further down-greasy smile movement.

If anyone has any additions or questions, my ask box is always open to you. Otherwise, happy nodding!

Love and recognition,
      Enoch

Q:I appreciate your response to my post as it helped me to gain an understanding of "pansexuality" as understood by those who identify as pan but may I ask why you came off as so angry at the end there? As I stated, I have no intention of offending those who identify as pan, I'm merely voicing my own confusion with the term.

amantesuntamentes

Word, I’m really sorry about the anger. I’m totally exhausted right now and was much less even in my writing than I normally am, and I was very worried about coming off as unnecessarily indignant and had someone look it over to tell me if it was ok. Apparently this person did not do a very good job.

Still, I can assure you I was not angry at you. I was more trying to provide you with a snippy answer if someone wants to get in your face about pansexuality being transphobic. I’m angry at people who are so absorbed in their own struggle that they’re not actually trying to find the reasoning behind some phenomena, and who can’t look around themselves to see that they don’t own things like gender or transness. I’m very tired of having this debate with people who act that way and invalidate my identity by speaking very loudly about their identities being invalidated. I could tell that you are not one of those people, it just sounded to me like you’d maybe encountered some of them and that they had managed to convince you, erroneously, that there is some problem in recognizing the attractiveness of people whose genders or bodies are outside the binary. 

Pansexuality vs. Bisexuality.

soulfulseductress:

My views on pansexuality are summed up in the follow statement taken from Katawa Grey:

Pansexuality works on the basis that there are a bunch of genders aside from “feminine” and “masculine.” Personally, I take issue with the term pan-“sexual” because this word implies that are more than two sexes. I would much prefer the term pan-“genderal” much more because that actually describes what it is that people under this umbrella of sexuality are attracted to.

There are two sexes three if you count people with both kinds of external genitalia which is why I think that “bisexual” is a much more accurate term for someone who is attracted to people with either kind of external genitalia.

Also, what gets me about this is that once you try and define what gender is, that makes everything so much more complicated.

I identify as bisexual because I am capable of developing attraction for both of the TWO biological sexes. Sex in biology (as it applies to homosapiens) is broken down by genitalia. Bisexual=two sex= penis and vagina= I like both… This doesn’t mean that I only like vagina on those who identify as womyn or that I only like penis on those who call themselves men. It just means I have no problem loving someone whether they have a penis or a vagina. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I love them BECAUSE they have either a penis or a vagina.

I feel that pansexuality singles out transmen and transwomen in a way that implies they are perhaps less of a woman or man than cismen and ciswomen.

sapphrikah:

I understand what you’re saying completely. Here are my comments:

  • I also hate the fact that word “sex” is included so much because (A.) as you said, pansexuals, as I take it, are attracted to people on more than which one of the three sexes that exist. It’s about loving all genders, the infinite amount of gender expressions. And (B.) at the end of the day, anyone gay or pans or bi or whatever it may be has relationships on more than just sex. People hear bisexual and think about who they want to shag, but it’s more than that. It’s who you prefer to fall in love with, who to be in a relationship with, you know? I hate that, there’s no other term for bisexuals to use, the only one they have has the word ‘sex’ in it. If you’re gay, you can say gay. If you’re straight you can say straight, as opposed to homosexual or heterosexual, respectively.
  • I identify as pansexual. I see what you’re saying, that identifying as bisexual doesn’t mean you are not open to all gender expressions, because it focuses on the assigned sex and not the identified gender anyway, but I know that there are people who identify as bisexual who aren’t open to dating, let’s say, a transgender person. What I need to make clear is that gender doesn’t matter to me at all, so I choose the term pansexual. But your arguments are concise and compelling. I’m gonna start using “pansgenderal” from time to time, haha.

Some responses, in no particular order:

  • Terms that end in -sexual are about the sexuality of the people who use them as identities, not the sexes of the folks those people are attracted to. Therefore pangenderal would mean… well, I’m not really sure what it would mean, but it wouldn’t refer to your attractions.
  • There are many more than two sexes—There are scores of ways to be intersexed, various transsexed bodies are sometimes considered medically or by the people who have them to be neither male nor female, and besides, if we really dismantled the sex binary, we would recognize that no one is the same sex as anyone else. Some of us have genitalia and sexual function that could be lumped together into categories, but we all have different shapes and sizes and levels of hormones in our bodies.
  • YOU SHOULD ALWAYS COUNT PEOPLE WITH BOTH SETS OF GENITALIA. Duh. Not a lot of intersexed folks have two kinds of external genitalia, but when you meet someone who does, you should include them in whatever you’re positing about their existence.
  • I hear you on the problem of having -sexual right there in your term about your attractions because it’s about more than sex, but it isn’t really. Relationships among sexual people rely on sexual attraction and chemistry. If you don’t either desire to have sex with a person or believe that over the course of your relationship you might develop a lasting desire to have sex with them, why are you dating them in the first place? This, of course, is different in the case of asexual relationships, but I’ve found that—as a person who has, during some portion of hir life, identified as asexual and sought to date sexual people—even if people know they’re not going to have sex with me ever, their sexual attraction to me and my genitals are part of their consideration.
  • I’d much rather that people focus their labeling on their ability to be sexually attracted to me in my gender than their ability to be sexually attracted to my genitals.
  • Bisexual does not mean two sexes, it means sexual with both sides of a binary. The reason I don’t like the term bisexual is that you, allegorical bisexual-identified person, may, in fact, only have been sexual with people who had genitalia that would be said to fit into the (false) genital binary, and you may, in fact, only have been sexual with people whose gender identities—regardless of whether they were cis or trans—would be said to fit into the (false) gender binary, and you may intend to continue only being sexual with binary-fitting individuals both cis- and trans on “both” sides of what I suppose you will call the the gender spectrum, but I live on a remote island on the gender globe, and regardless of my binary-beautiful, female-assigned genitals, I don’t appreciate being interacted with on binary terms. Now, it’s fine, you don’t have to date me, and if I liked you, I’d probably date you regardless of your label. But next time someone tries to tell you that pansexual is a transphobic term because it devalues the true womanhood or manhood of trans men and women, you can tell them from me: pull your head out of your ass, not everyone in the world is a man or a woman and I’m attracted some of the ones who aren’t. I like this term because it lets me validate them and I’m sorry that it makes you insecure because I am open to more possibilities than you even noticed existed.

(via sapphrikah)

Source: amantesuntamentes

What Your Partner Probably Means When They Say You’re Treating Their Body Like It’s Female: one transmasculine person’s guide to hir chest

I’ve been writing anecdotally about my relationship with my chest for a class that I’m in, and I think I’ve come up with something.

This is a difficult line. As someone who is not male and does not try in any particular way to pass as male, and has an identity that is apparently very difficult for others to understand, and is assigned female, and is highly androgynous in appearance, I have no idea how individuals in my life understand my physical being. I actually have pretty little idea about how I understand my physical being, I guess I mentally blur some things and it all works out in the end. My relationship with my chest is especially complex.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it here: I’m pretty satisfied with my chest, not only does it generally cooperate with my binding, it works very nicely with my genderfuck style, and is kinda pretty. As I become more and more settled in my trans identity (three years and change, ya’ll!), I learn more and more about my body and the way it’s shaped and how to fit (or not fit) that reality into my conception of myself. Lots of hours in front of my mirror have helped me come to view my chest as masculine in the moments I need it to be and feminine in the moments I need it to be. It’s very rarely flat or male, and it’s also pretty much never female. Its size doesn’t detract from its androgyny for me. But that’s when I’m alone.

I’ve dated a lot of people (in all honestly, everyone I’ve dated for the part of my life that is relevant to this discussion has been female-assigned, and almost all have been women) of various sexual identities, some of them have been queer from long before they knew me and had dated other transmasculine folk, some have queer histories and had never dated any other transmasculine people, and some had, queer identified or not, never dated a female-assigned person before. Some had even never dated anyone before. To partners who are confused or concerned about how to treat my body (and more specifically my chest), I usually say that I’m working on recognizing the physical realities of my body and that they should do the same; work with what’s there. My intent is to help partners understand that they’re unlikely to set any dysphoria off through their comfortable and enthusiastically consented-to treatment of my body.

I’m not sure this is the best advice I can give. If I could get people to either see what I see when I look at myself or help me understand what they see when they look at me, we might find ways to bridge the discrepancies. My body is certainly viewable as feminine and female, and I’ve had experiences with partners who clearly viewed it as such and relished the opportunity to discover that “reality” under the clothing I use to imply otherwise. Seeing my chest’s nudity as a somehow important revelation sexualizes that part of me in a way that I am not comfortable with. That is one way of interacting with my chest that will make me feel as though you’re treating my body or my chest as female.

Perhaps it’s sexist to have that sense, perhaps the real route of my trouble (and other people’s trouble as well?) is that we play right into the sexist idea that it’s ok to sexualize a woman’s chest and not sexualize a man’s chest to the same extent. In my own life and practices I don’t really sexualize anybody’s chest until they make it clear to me that they’re interested in me doing that, but I guess subliminally I’m adhering to an idea that sexualized chests are always female.

So, with that new understanding in mind (seriously, I came to that just now, as I was writing this), I think I become uncomfortable with my partners’ treatment of my chest when it becomes sexual for them in a way that it is not sexual for me. And that’s good to know because it doesn’t only happen with people who are clearly lacking in their understanding of my body; it’s happened with people I have felt certain see me well, and it hasn’t happened with some people who have admitted to me that they have trouble conceptualizing my identity, and it hasn’t happened with some people for whom my identity was just a thing we took at face value and didn’t discuss a whole lot. 

As a transperson, I am taught to be wary of people not affirming my gender identity properly, and I am taught to attribute any discomfort I feel to the carelessness of others. Sometimes I get too caught up in that and don’t look for the real source, which in this case comes down to a difficulty communicating my understanding of the sexuality of my chest, not to my partners’ lack of effort to support my embodiment of my gender.