“Excuse me young man, oh I’m so sorry, I mean, ma’m.”
“Get over here and stop playing,oh no, I’m sorry, I though you were my son.”
“Are you a boy or a girl?”
“Prove to me you are a girl.”
“I’m sorry, this model call is for cisgender women only.”
“Ooooooh, if you were a real boy, this would really be fun.”
“Who is the adult in charge? Not you, little boy, the real adult.”
These are all things that have been said to me at one time or another. Some may seem offensive, but I never thought so. Funny, yes, but not offensive. I accepted a long time ago that when I do not have on tight clothes, make-up and high heeled shoes, that I am very easily confused for a teenage boy. Not a man, a boy. This has resulted in very interesting conversations, and a widening of my definition of what it means to be a womyn. I enjoy stereotypical “boy-things” such as, sports, wrestling, playing in mud, catching insects and chasing girls with them, building things and having the satisfaction of destroying said things, and wearing clothes that do not cling to my body.
So why am I saying this? Well, as a child I wanted to be a boy. What I did, what I liked, who I was did not make sense in the world I was living in, as a girl. How can I be this thing that I have no connection to. Well, I can only be what I am, and if what I am has a vagina, and XX chromosomes, then I guess that is what I am. Things I can not change without the help of modern medicine did not seem worth changing, so suck it up and try to fit in. This is what I told myself. This did not work for me.
Can I be a womyn with a beard, hairy arm pits, hairy legs, narrow hips, small breast, muscular pecs, a six pack, a desire to fuck more than be fucked, an equal love for science and art, and actually think they are, kind of, the same thing? Yep, sure can. There is no need to expand or break out of the box, just turn it into a unicorn and ride it. *glitter
Oh, all of that to say, I did this photo shoot on film with Vincent Lee Smith, and it made me think of boxes, and then I decided to go on a tangent about what I think about boxes.
…for the art of it