Rejecting the Feminine - Part Two
Sounds of the electric guitar roar into and reverberate off of the concrete floor of the room. The metal clinking noises sound off in the recording we're using, as five boys lift me up from the ground. The room is filled with more than 100 of my fellow students and about 20 of our school faculty. All eyes are on me as the adrenaline makes my fingers quiver and I begin to mouth the words that Britney sing-speaks breathlessly:
"I think I did it again,
I made you believe
we're more than just friends. Ah, ah - Oh baby."
Once the realization sets in with the crowd, they erupt into a frenzy. Some of the most popular boys at school are doing a dance routine to Britney Spears' live version of "(Oops) I Did It Again" from the Dream Within A Dream Tour. And they're doing it with one of the only out gay kids on campus. The hip thrusts of our dance start raising controversy among some of the older adults in the room, but they can't stop us. The crowd is into it and they won't stop screaming.
I was at a diversity camp near the end of my junior year of high school. I had recently come out to my parents and friends the summer before. The rest of the school, if they didn't already know, were about to find out in the yearbook that was being released later that month. As a staff member, I was interviewed for our student life section. I commented on how my life had changed since I'd come out, and I worked with our Editor-in-Chief & Teacher liaison to ensure that it would be published. My secret boyfriend, one of the two male cheerleaders at my school, was in the front row and couldn't take his eyes off of me. I had fully embraced my new found sense of pride and confidence in who I was as a young gay man. I had just come off the high of coming out to the last, and one of the most important people in my life, my paternal grandfather.
Here we were at this diversity camp, teaching each other and the adults that worked with us about our identities through various workshops. Workshops that pushed us all to tell everyone what we thought of ourselves, our community, and our place in it. The last night of the camp called for a talent show. Luckily one of my mentors, a lesbian senior who had gone the year prior, had given me the tip off about it. I made certain to pack my home-made Britney-inspired outfit, and couldn't wait to showcase my impeccably rehearsed performance. Finally, all those afternoons home alone learning each step to every music video & live performance from the infamous Spears was about to pay off!
My plan was to perform solo, but when the cabin of boys I was bunking with asked what I was doing for the talent show - they wanted in. In one of the most touching moments of my life, this group of boys that I was barely becoming friends with over the course of camp asked me to teach them my routine. When they saw what I could do, they started to fear their ability to pick it up in only one hour of practice. One of the other boys had also been practicing a routine, N'SYNC's "Dirty Pop" which was much more rigid, stiff and masculine than my gyrating imitation of Britney. They all easily learned those steps and took some of my direction for the performance I had only wished to be a someday-reality.
Then they saw my outfit. I was on cloud nine and didn't know whether to laugh or cry when they started ripping up and tying their clothes in knots to match me as closely as possible. They had just spent the last two days listening to me and others talk about the adversity we faced in our community and at school, and they wanted so eagerly to show their support for us. I will eternally be grateful for the experience they each provided me.
As the song came to a close, I moved out down the aisle into the audience for my last few moves, and turned around to make my way back to the group for our last big move. A death-drop fall backwards into their arms, and back onto the ground. Having just done a few trust falls at the camp, it was a perfect note to end the performance on.
The built-up adrenaline rushed over me like a wave as I looked up at my fellow cabin-mates that were still holding me just inches above the concrete floor. We were all smiling at each other, fully relishing the moment. The room buzzed with excitement, and when we looked back to the audience they were all on their feet still applauding the performance. We were approached by people the rest of the night telling us how great we were, and I remember my Editor-in-Chief approaching me with tears in her eyes as she said:
"Wow, you were more feminine than I could ever be!"
She might as well have said faggot.
Sissy. Homo. Pussy. Any of the words that had been hurled at me growing up. In the years that followed, I had learned to build an armor to protect me from these kinds of words. Shoving down and hiding away any resemblance of my queerness, I thought my armor was impenetrable. Especially now, after I had just done the unthinkable! In the exact moment I felt fully realized as an out gay man, I felt shamed by the display of my identity from someone who was simply trying to support me. I knew she meant it as a compliment and still do. But even into adulthood, I would cringe at the thought of it. Why? Why did I feel this way? And why did it matter?
"One group that may have a distinct masculinity ideology is gay men. Gay men are seen to break from traditional masculinity ideology mainly because of their affectional and sexual orientation. Consequently, the general perception is that gay men are not masculine (Kite & Deaux, 1987; Madon, 1997). While such perceptions regarding gender roles are of little consequence to many gay men (Riggle, Whitman, Olson, Rostosky, & Stron, 2008), there are gay men who do not perceive themselves to be feminine at all and who value traditional masculinity (Harry, 1983; Hennen, 2005; Kurtz, 1999)."
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2902177/
Little did I know that it would take more than ten years from this moment to realize that my struggle with my femininity was not only my own. Nor would I realize that the mechanisms that influenced this were put well into place throughout my entire life.
Growing up, the bonds I felt to the women in my life were so strong and they were plentiful. The men in my life that made the biggest impact were my dad and his father. As for the ladies in my life, I had: my mom, both of my grandmothers, three aunts, three cousins who were like sisters, my adopted sister (later in my teen years), the list could go on and on. I considered these women to be strong, fearless and beautiful in every way. When I made friends in school, and particularly in high school, they were all female. Something about the feminine drew me in, and it was at odds with my ever increasing desire for the masculine.
I remember the first internal struggle with this as clear as if it were yesterday. I was around six or seven years old and my cousins were over on a Saturday morning. We often flipped staying at each other's houses for the weekends. There was some mid-morning live action show on, it reminded me of Kids Incorporated. The beginning credits were scrolling with each of the teens' mini-scenes and close-ups, followed by the actors' names. When one of the boys that were shown that my cousins thought were cute, they would say so, and often in agree-ance or approval with my mom. It had become a sort of ritual, something that almost felt sacred between them, like it was bonding them closer together. They were learning and sharing something with my mother that I wasn't allowed to. I don't know how I knew it then, but I did. No one had said anything to me about not being allowed. Not yet. But the messages I had already been receiving about my Snow White doll and other experiences where my masculinity or lack thereof was questioned, was all still very fresh in my memory.
I was starting to realize why that doll just disappeared. I wasn't allowed to have dolls. I could only have action figures that were made for little boys. I never even had a G.I. Joe doll. Little boys weren't supposed to have long hair or wear leopard print suspenders.
Things were starting to fall into place in my mind. I didn't know why these were rules that I had to follow. When I was alone with my mom or my cousins, things were different. Playing with their My Little Pony or Barbie dolls was not only fun for me, but they seemed to love sharing those experiences with me too. My mom would blast Cher and other female pop vocalists of the time, and we would sing and dance in the car together. These were my sacred spaces where I didn't feel like I was doing anything wrong.
So, this particular morning, I felt emboldened enough to try out joining this exclusive club between my cousins and my mom. It wasn't just that I wanted to be like the rest of them or that I was seeking approval from my mother - I remember genuinely thinking one of these guys was hot. He had all the characteristics I still find appealing today: dark hair & eyes, and a bright smile. He was just like Prince Eric in real life. I wanted in on the fun. I wanted to see if this was allowed. Would they take me as one of their own in this feminine club without looking at me differently?
As soon as the words "I think he's cute!" left my mouth, they all turned to look at me with gasps. I was frozen. I immediately regretted saying anything at all. I don't remember the exact words that they said to me following this. My cousins were kind of confused, but that knowing "eye sigh" my mother had was followed by a quick tidying up of just another of my transgressions by simply saying something in regards to how I must have been mistaken. Boys are supposed to like girls. They're supposed to think girls are pretty, not other boys. It's ok to think other boys look handsome, but I wasn't supposed to like them like girls.
It felt like a secret. A secret I would never mention again until I was 13. A secret between me and my mother that we would share and never speak of. That was special to me. And I learned that if I just seemed to like girls the way I actually liked boys, then that would be good enough. I would be ok in this world. I would never again have to face that frozen feeling of panic and rejection.
"Wow, you were more feminine than I could ever be!"
She froze me with her words of admiration and they made me cringe for almost all of my early adulthood. And she made me feel like that little kid all over again. I thought I was being cheeky. I thought I was being sexy, as a man. I thought that having the support of five other boys behind me said that this wasn't in fact feminine - but a cool new take on masculinity. Men could be sexy too, and they could use that sexuality just like women. I was tired of seeing women objectified and not men, so I chose to objectify myself in a defiant display.
I spent my twenties embracing more of this kind of masculinity and working really hard to display it for everyone, by going to the gym and becoming more promiscuous. Drinking and partying and trying to reclaim traditional masculinity for gay men were some of my top aspirations in expressing my identity throughout that time. I wanted to be an example, an example of masculinity that didn't have to reject all that was feminine. It wouldn't be until much later that I would learn about my true masculinity and how to Embrace the Feminine.