#onewomanproject

By Miranda Sparks

It was seven years ago that I started my transition. For the first twenty-four-and-a-bit years of my life I’d presented as a man; then, suddenly, everyone knew I was a woman.

The process was a gradual one. There were the little things, like the way I grew my nails and styled my hair; I started wearing nail polish and lip balm; I had my ears pierced and put on jewellery; the cut of my t-shirts and jeans were tighter than they had been before, and that’s where it stopped.

For the most part I considered myself a tomboy. For me stepping into womanhood did not require total immersion into femininity, and nor should it; the spiritual language of female runs deeper than appearance.

However, that wasn’t the reason I had veered away from the feminine.

“You know that most girls hate pink and that dresses are a pain in the arse, right?” a friend had told me. She and I would drink bourbon and stay up watching John Carpenter movies until Dragonball Z aired in the morning; she wore jeans and hoodies, lived behind her Playstation 2, and didn’t put up with the ‘drama’ of other women.

“I don’t care what you are; just don’t be like them,” she told me, and why would I? From where we sat every other woman was vapid and shallow, too preoccupied with relationships and accessories to ever hold a conversation of substance.

As a lover of art, literature and philosophy I was determined to be more than that. I hungered for womanhood, while at the same time wanting to be above what I thought it was.

There were also messages broadcast by media, by radical feminists, and by religious fundamentalists; that women like me were a parody; weird transvestites and sex fiends who didn’t know when to let the fantasy end. It seemed natural to borrow from them and think that my identity was genuine in a way that others weren’t, because I was drawing from ‘real’ women and not from a stereotype.

I’d taken this lesson to heart; the cis women in my life nodded in sage approval, and I was part of the club. Everything was good.

Except... it wasn’t.

This is the part of the story where I tell you that there is nothing wrong with liking or disliking feminine things. If the trappings of that identity makes you uncomfortable and you want no part then you are under no obligation. If you like it, then please join in. Find what belongs to you, and celebrate it.

However, fleeing from the feminine was not for me. Despite what I’d done to belong I needed to explore; I wanted to wear pretty dresses, fool around with makeup, drink gourmet coffee, go shopping and laugh about the world.

I wanted to try it all and I was so ashamed, because what did that say about me?

Weak. Shallow. Irrational. Emotional. Delicate. Soft.

We know in the twenty-first century more than we have before that women are more than these stereotypes, but how much of that stems from knowing many women are not feminine? After all, these traits are applied equally to other genders when they display feminine traits.

I’ve since abandoned the lessons of my friends, and have left them in my past. Despite their disapproval I learned powerful lessons in embracing the feminine, though I’ve not immersed myself in it completely; that’s not the kind of woman I am.

It’s also taken years to unlearn the idea that femininity is a secondary class of expression, as by accepting that side I am more capable than ever. Others, I’m sure, will feel the same.

In many respects we seem to have traded our scorn of women for scorn of the effeminate. It is a battle that is being fought in the shadows, and one that calls for more nuance than most are willing to invest. 

Miranda Sparks is a web author, comedian, commentator, radio personality, community volunteer and transgender advocate/activist from Brisbane, Australia. She’s always wearing tights, but swears it has nothing to do with her love of superheroes. The glasses aid her vision and are NOT a cunning disguise.