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“I’ve often found myself asking this question and recently Troye Sivan tweeted about it so I felt like I should ask you guys: If gender is a social construct, then what does being trans actually mean? If one of the goals of fighting cis-sexism is ending gender as we know it (as an imaginary thing), then how can this coexist with transgenderism?”

-Question submitted by Anonymous

Liam Lowery Says:

First, a disclosure: I have thought about your question every spare moment I have had for over a month. It is a good question, one that people (particularly people who have been aware/accepting of trans identities for a while) ask me pretty often, so I want to answer it as thoroughly as possible.

If gender is a social construct, then what does being trans actually mean?

Gender is a social construct. This is a phrase that anyone who’s taken a gender studies class (or looked at the Feminist Ryan Gosling meme) in recent years could parrot back to you. At the same time, trans and gender-nonconforming people have recently become visible in ways we were not before, pushing for equal or sometimes trans-specific rights and resources. When considered together, this presents an obvious question: If gender is constructed, then how can trans be a “real” identity?

Well, there’s a catch. This question assumes that social constructs can’t have deep-reaching effects on the ones who, within the construct, are perceived as “less than” or “other.” Social constructs, more than anything else, govern the way that systems cause violence to marginalized groups. Calling something a social construct doesn’t eliminate its power, or meaningfully address the harms people in the out-group experience.

I don’t feel like gender is only a social construct when I am treated differently because of my gender identity, like when a supervisor advises me to talk less about trans issues to benefit my career, or when a colleague asks me to “explain” Caitlyn Jenner (statements made by well-meaning people who are, for all intents and purposes, allies). Gender itself may be a social construct, but the gender binary has very real consequences—for trans individuals and for cis-women, too. In the patriarchal world we live in, male assigned and identified people experience privilege that female-identified people do not. Transgender people, though, typically experience being outside of and unrecognizable to this gender system—even when we are read as cisgender, we are still subject to harms based on our trans status at any point when we come out or are outed.

But being trans also means digging deep inside yourself and discovering riches beyond telling. It means that, while people may have told you that you were crazy, that this would alienate you from your family, or that you would get yourself killed, you knew yourself, and chose to live as yourself. Being trans means moments of clarity, spiritual awakening, joy, and self-discovery, all in the face of deeply ingrained opposition. It means you led your own uprising, and are now the sovereign of your own nation-state. Being trans is the truest kind of victory, the kind that is won with a great deal of expense. It is indescribable, and these words are clumsy in trying to capture it. My point is, it definitely means something—something very deep, personal, and impossible to explain.

If one of the goals of fighting cis-sexism is ending gender as we know it, then how can this coexist with transgenderism?

Transgender identities are complicated and not uniform. They include all kinds of people with all kinds of goals for how gender should evolve and change. So this question I can only answer for myself.

Gender is a multi-faceted word, but I think what you mean here is that one of the goals of fighting cis-sexism [the valuing of cisgender identities through framing gender discussions around cis identities and making trans identities “other”] is working to end the gender binary. In my experience, transgender identities (and learning to respect them) serve to undermine the gender binary!

While the gender binary is a system of oppression that subjugates women and disenfranchises trans people, gender identity is flexible and highly individualized. Ending the gender binary does not mean eradicating gender identities—far from it. It means making space for more of them. Being able to claim your own gender identity is a valuable part of the human experience, and everyone ought to be able to do so without the fear of violence.

There are some who would say we do not need to end the gender binary, but just complicate it more and create space for non-binary identities to be recognized. While personally I believe we can and deserve to go further, complicating the gender binary is certainly the first step towards creating space for all people to live authentic lives—not in spite of their gender identities but because of them.

Until we agree to listen to each other and allow all people to be the experts on their gender identities, the gender binary will persist. So put your gender pronouns in your email signature, teach trans 101 workshops at your school, and most of all, assume less and listen more.

We also need to address access to gender-affirming healthcare and protect against employment discrimination, not to mention protecting trans people’s rights to use the restroom of their choice.

I eagerly prepare for the day when all of us take ownership of our bodies and cast off the yoke of a binary gender system that harms every person—a  day when we are all trans, determining our identities as we see fit, and moving about a spectrum of gender identities rather than clinging to a socially constructed, harmful binary. I should say, though, that while this might be the endgame, being trans has never been about an endgame for me. My trans identity is the exact place where the personal intersects with the political. This is just who I am, and this work is done in the hopes that you, and only you, can get to be just who you are, too.

Your question about fighting cis-sexism through ending the gender binary is an evolving one. Just as the butch community who nursed our community through the AIDS crisis could never have predicted the current prevalence of trans identities at the time, we can’t assume what the future will hold, or how our conceptions of gender and identity will evolve over time. Gender is a product of place, culture, and the economy—consider, for instance, how third-gender people in the Philippines are more and more claiming binary trans identities because of globalization. I’m sure my answer, my identity, and my point of view will seem outdated even a decade from now.

But today at least, to fight the gender binary, we must keep our heads down and work, and allow ourselves to be surprised by what the future holds. I bet the next crop of rainbow children will have brilliant ideas and move our world forward in ways we never could have imagined.

***
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05.12.2016
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“So I’m a nonbinary trans man and I’m starting college next year. At college I want to start going by my preferred name and pronouns, maybe presenting a bit more masculine, etc. BUT. I’m confused on one thing… Should I tell people I’m trans when I meet them? Like, I don’t want to like, have to explain what being trans is or stuff right when I meet people, especially since I have trouble with social anxiety already. But I’m worried they might assume I’m a girl if I don’t explain.”

-Question submitted by Anonymous

Liam Lowery Says:

Hi there, Anonymous. As a non-binary trans man who started going by my preferred name and pronouns in college, I’m glad you reached out with this question. The fact that you’re reaching out at all indicates you have your stuff far more together than I did as an incoming freshman, but I will tell you the top three things I wish I had known when I started undergrad.

The first and most important thing I can tell you is to let people pleasantly surprise you.

When I rolled into my all-girls dorm and met my lady roommate, I stutteringly told her I was trans Actually, I may have said, “I’m a dude, kind of like inside?” I braced for impact, assuming she would ask to change rooms. Instead, she said “cool” and asked me if I wanted to order pizza. Don’t discount that you can get lucky.

What’s more, all the women in my dorm who I feared would shun me were friendly and generally disinterested in my gender identity. That’s because from the first week on, we had papers to write, philosophy texts to read, passages in Russian to translate (maybe that was just me). On top of that, people were hooking up, fighting, and going to Taco Night at the cafeteria. Which is to say that once you are in school and dealing with the day-to-day, it will likely not be as challenging as it seems in the abstract.

My advice is to practice your script for when you meet people initially. Maybe you want to say you’re non-binary, maybe you just want to say your name and preferred pronouns. It will probably change, but the important thing is that you set boundaries for your everyday interactions and introductions that are comfortable for you. Once you do this a few times, you will get used to it and feel out how much you want to say and when.

Now, to the second big thing I wish I’d realized sooner. There is a major pitfall to be wary of, especially as a trans person: you will feel pressure to do the unpaid work of educating people when there are others who are tasked with that responsibility. Try not to fall into this role.

Early in my time in undergrad, when I did happen upon some poor unfortunate soul who had no clue what gender identity was and had never heard the word trans before, I would talk with them at length about gender identity and why it mattered. I had at least thirty of these conversations in my first month of school, I kid you not. It left me feeling burnt out and unsatisfied.

Here is the thing, Anonymous: you are at school to learn, just like everyone else. And hopefully, have a blast and make a lot of friends. But you are not there to be anyone’s personal gender identity educator, even if you happen to be an expert in the subject area.

Looking back, I realize that those people who had burning questions about what gender pronouns are should have just googled it. I mean, give me a break here—gender pronouns are what they sound like!

Asking me those simplistic questions just because they knew I was trans was disrespectful of my time. If nobody is paying you to do that educational work and there are a lot of great resources available to people who want to be allies, you do not need to be that resource. Stepping into that role instills an expectation that trans people exist to educate cis people. If you want to get involved on your campus, advocate for your school to include a transgender 101 training at orientation so that all students will get some info on trans identities—that would reach more people than a one-on-one chat with you.

The other important pitfall to side-step is one I never realized until I was done with school, and it might be even more important than the whole “you are not everyone’s gender professor” thing.

My RA didn’t really get it when I told her it was important that she take the sign with my given name off the door. Instead of complaining to the building manager, I ripped it off and put up on that said Liam in big, honking block letters. I did that, more or less, all through college: I would email professors at the beginning of the semester and ask them to change my name on their class rosters. Usually they would, sometimes they wouldn’t. I would get called by my given name in class, be embarrassed, and stop participating. Or if I felt brave that day, I would clear my throat and say, “Actually, I’m Liam.”

Those moments were far from personal triumphs. What I should have realized is that there were salaried staff members at my university tasked with helping students—including me—deal with administrative issues. By making my problems and myself invisible, I was giving them a free pass not to engage with the issues transgender students often face at colleges.

Look for opportunities to lessen your load so you can take full advantage of being a college student. For instance, contact a dean at your school and ask them to inform professors about your preferred name. Let people do their jobs for you, and by extension you will show them how to do it for other trans students.

There you go, Anonymous—those are the things I wish I knew when I started school that have remained relevant (at times, too relevant) since graduating. Good luck at college, and remember: you’re there to learn and occasionally have fun!

***
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03.23.2016
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“I’m starting college in September and I decided to live in a single this year because I’m just starting to transition. I’m worried about living alone and missing out on the social scene. I know I want a roommate in the future, but how should I go about finding one and talking to them about my identity?”

- Question submitted by Anonymous and answered by Liam Lowery as part of Everyone Is Gay: Second Opinions

Liam Says:

Let me start out by saying how excited I am for you! Congratulations to you for making the tough choice to room in a single and not let the FOMO get the best of you. You deserve this time to focus on all the changes in your life—transitioning into college life as well as your gender identity— and trust that friends will come.

First and foremost, when you talk about your identity with folks at school, be patient with yourself. You are new at this. You will make mistakes. Sometimes you will wait too long to tell people, other times you will say something sooner than you wished. Especially when you are meeting new people.

But part of the goal of college is for you to meet new people, of all sorts. You will, I’m sure, be one of, if not the, first trans person many of your classmates have met. And they will, likely be one of, if not the, first _____ (insert any type of person) you have met.

To that point, in order to make sure you don’t miss out on the social scene: make yourself do things. Living in a single room and transitioning, it’s natural to isolate yourself a bit—so just be aware of that and stay plugged into events at school, attend club meetings, try things out. Make a calendar and get yourself out there.

As far as finding a roommate next year, I would recommend trying to live with someone you feel comfortable with—this might mean someone from the queer community, or it might mean finding someone who is super into Dr. Who and likes to silly-dance to old Ke$ha songs while cleaning the floor.

The biggest thing to remember is that your unique needs as a trans person are of equal worth (if not greater) than any other preferences you may have.

When I first roomed with someone in college, a randomly assigned cisgender straight woman, I was nervous my identity and the correlating needs I had would be taken less seriously than, say, her allergies. I was pleasantly surprised when, after I came out, she suggested we come up with roommate policies to address my concerns.

For a while, this included a blanket policy against nudity (dysmorphia was rough), scheduling time for us each to be alone in the room privately (a.k.a. when I would take my binder off and sit in front of a fan), and a policy limiting room-visitors to those who were pre-screened as non-transphobic. (Yes, in case you are wondering, this person was the best and we are tight to this day).

Your room or apartment is your home, and you deserve to feel totally comfortable. For me, that meant being out to everyone who walked in the door. For you, that could mean being stealth, or not talking about this aspect of who you are unless you feel safe and know your roommate is cool. Whatever it is, you deserve it, and you should find a roommate who will respect your needs.

This year is a really good time for you to figure out your boundaries, and find someone who you like and think is a good fit. Trust me, it is easier to figure it out on your own and let someone now than to try and figure it out with another person.

But this same principle relates to making friends in college more generally. An absolute base-line is that the person not be transphobic, but good friends will support and love you, and be extra tender and listen harder to your needs relating to being trans.

Recently, I was in that time period where a cool acquaintance was becoming a friend. You will be experiencing this a lot, once you are in school. This person seemed really cool— though she identified as straight and cisgender, I was able to talk with her about being trans and it was not weird.

Then, one day, as often happens when you are trans (even after you transition, wait and see!) someone did something transphobic. It was one of those micro-aggressions that typically roll off my back, but for whatever reason, on this day, it was too much. I had a lunch date with this new friend, though, and sat picking quietly at my lunch when she asked, “You seem upset, what’s up?”

I told her what happened, and not dispassionately. She nodded, shook her head, and said “what in the actual f“ when appropriate. And, as you’d think, it felt much better to have talked to someone. Most of all though, it felt good to know my friend was as cool as she seemed.

“Thanks for letting me talk about this stuff,” I said, suddenly embarrassed and looking down at my feet while we walked back from lunch “And like, being an ally or whatever.”

She scoffed and raised her eyebrows. “I don’t need a title,” she said, cocking her head at me, “I’m not doing anything, I am just not being an actual pile of garbage.” I laughed, but she turned and looked at me dead in the eye, “That’s pretty much the absolute least you deserve.”

And that is how I knew she was not just a friend, but a good friend.

In school, you will meet many cool acquaintances, friends, and if you’re lucky, some good friends. But remember that your trans identity is not a negative, and that you deserve to be listened to and respected. As you meet more people, look for the ones who treat you that way—those who do so without fail, and without you having to ask—and keep them close to you through college and beyond. These people also tend to make very good roommates.

Good luck and have a great first semester!

***

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07.28.2015
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“I’m a straight transman—but before I figured that out, I identified as a lesbian for a long time. Is it weird that I still watch Everyone Is Gay’s videos and have AfterEllen bookmarked and watch films for the lesbian representation, even though I’m a straight bloke??”

- Question submitted by Anonymous and answered by Liam Lowery as part of Everyone Is Gay: Second Opinions

Liam Says:

Oh, my fellow Former Lesbian. What you describe (both the behavior and the concern that it is weird or inappropriate) is 100% not at all weird.

I understand your conflict, though. When I began to identify as trans and queer instead of as a lesbian, it felt like I was losing a community—or at least losing the right to watch a number of television shows I previously liked. I used to feel like I was obligated to consume all of this because they were in the lesbian lexicon, but after transitioning I felt like a weird voyeur partaking in these things.

Part of this fascination, of course, is that there’s just something special about lesbians. There’s no bones about it: they are charming and charismatic, they are funny and irreverent.

But more than that, at one time you identified as a lesbian. Perhaps, like me, you still would like to be one—all but for your pesky gender identity. Maybe you still have an Indigo Girls poster on your wall. Maybe you see the lesbian subplot in Skins as a golden age of television herstory.

When you identify as a member of a community that is almost always underrepresented and misrepresented in the vast, to see your life mirrored can mean something. Maybe you miss that.

Back when I was a teen lesbian, every gay woman I new was watching The L Word. I had this feeling like all lesbians lived in the same apartment building—though we all had a different view, we all felt at home in the same place.

You, my dear friend, sublet an apartment in that building, perhaps for decades. You moved out, but that doesn’t mean you can’t miss it. You can be homesick for a place that proved not to be your ultimate home. And now that you don’t live there anymore, you probably miss that feeling. I know I do.

Even so, the time you sublet a room in Sappho Towers was real. You lived it. You felt it. And in that way, you’ll always be a lesbian—culturally, anyway.

Being trans is an identity that is similar to being a lesbian in some ways, but different in others. There’s a lot more fractioning off—case and point being that you identify as a straight transman whereas I identify as a queer transmasculine person. Some of this is part and parcel with how open-ended it is to identify as transgender at all, whereas identifying as a lesbian conveys (on some level) both a gender identity and a sexual identity.

In trans media representation, there is no monolithic “trans” identity. And this is a good thing! There is room for nuance and an acknowledgement of difference within the trans community. But at the same time, there is no AfterLaverne or AfterChaz to read. While there are increasing trans representations on television and in film, there is not a campy television series we all love to hate (though The T Word, hopefully, will become a reality someday).

Let’s say, though, that you are a straight cisgender dude who has never so much as met a lesbian, but you really like to read Everyone Is Gay and your favorite movie is But I’m a Cheerleader. What’s wrong with that? Just like how you wouldn’t be upset if a cis person watched Transparent (and many do, thank goodness), consuming gay culture is fine if you’re straight. In fact, it’s kind of the point—queer media is being presented not only to people within the community, but outside of it as a means of representing the community. In fact, if more straight and cis people watched shows featuring LGBTQ characters or read Everyone is Gay, that would likely satisfy the goals of the creators: to provide LGBTQ folks with an image of themselves on screen, and to disrupt a constant stream of straight cisgender representation.

So watch and read away, my friend—you have more than enough reason to.

***

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05.19.2015
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“Does it make me any less trans* if I don’t want to physically transition?”

- Question submitted by Anonymous and answered by Liam Lowery as part of Everyone Is Gay: Second Opinions

Liam Says:

The short answer, and the one I want to get out most is: no. Being trans is like being in a state: I am not any more in New York than you (presuming we are in the same state) because I am in Queens and you are in Syracuse. No one is more or less trans than another, we all just are.

Often, we use the term “physical transition” as shorthand for medically altering one’s body through the use of hormones or gender-affirming surgery. The notion of “transitioning” from one gender (female/male) to another (female/male) has always been and remains the home base of talking about gender identities, because of the pervasiveness of the gender binary. This way of thinking about physically transitioning, while less complicated than an alternative, perpetuates regressive ideas about gender that exclude non-binary gender identities—it implies there is a right and wrong way to transition, and that it must involve medical steps.

It’s this representation of physical transitions that lead to the very question you posed: whether one way of being trans is more trans than another way of being trans.

For me, my physical transition didn’t start when I began taking hormones or got a surgery. It started when I got a short haircut (an overly floppy and now embarrassing mohawk) two years before that. Because that was a change that made me begin to feel whole, it was the first step I took in aligning my body and my gender identity.

We—every living human being—are all physically changing, all the time: our hairs and nails are growing longer, our skin cells are sloughing off and regenerating. This is a key part of our embodiment, for all of us. None of us stay the exact same, and therefore we are all always physically transitioning. But rarely, if ever, do we pause to reflect on and celebrate these changes.

For those of us who are trans, however, this has a special meaning: claiming ownership of our bodies means rectifying our bodies and our gender identities. This can mean deciding we do not feel the need to make physical changes, or that we need to make a lot of changes. But the important thing is the decision making process, the recognition that when your gender identity changes, your relationship with your body deserves some consideration in light of that change.

Really, all of us trans folks have a physical transition, even if we never so much as trim our hair or buy a new shirt (let alone start using hormones or get surgeries) because the act of checking to see if there are changes we want to make to our bodies by affirmatively deciding what does and doesn’t jive with our gender identities means transitioning the way we relate to our physicality, making a physical transition. And no one’s physical transition—whether it takes five seconds or five decades—is invalid, the process is different for all of us.

This difference between the shorthand version of “physical transition” and the version based on the interaction between your gender identity and your body is also meaningful when thinking about cis people. Lots of people who do not identify as trans or gender non-conforming use hormones or have what we might call “gender affirming” surgeries, but taking these steps doesn’t mean anything about your gender identity inherently, it’s the reasons for taking the steps that count.

Whatever conclusions you draw on what a physical transition means won’t change how trans you are. Nothing ever could. Being trans is what makes you trans—the rest is just figuring out what it means to you.

***

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03.31.2015
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