I Don't Dress for Your Gaze
When I Write Men Like This, It's Cuz I've MET Men Like This
Today, Pam and I spent a lovely “linner” at Northern Colorado’s only non-alcoholic bar, The Love Shack, right here in downtown Loveland. We had a delightful turkey pesto panini and mocktails (I highly recommend the “Antidote”). Mind you, we still drink our share of alcohol, but the Love Shack’s exquisitely curated selection includes some of the best drinks you’ll ever have, mocktail or not.
As it’s been for the last two weeks, the weather was unseasonably warm, so I broke out the summer wear, sporting an ankle-length white cotton dress, with which I took the pains of donning a slip because, well, who needs to see my legs up to my ass? I wore matching steampunk necklace and earrings Pam had made for me, along with red lipstick and comfy white flat sandals. My motto is “If I feel good wearing it, then I look good,” a motto to live by.
But this world would too often live and let die.
From the Love Shack, we walked two blocks to our favorite brewery, Verboten. On some afternoons, maybe once a month, we’ll see in the outside seating by the door an older man who parks his restored 1966 Chevy Corvair out front and sips a beer. We’ve previously exchanged pleasantries with him before entering to enjoy a beverage.
Today, however, his greeting to me was, “I could see, as you walked here in that dress of yours, that you weren’t wearing a thong.”
I thought I’d heard him wrong and let the remark pass, murmuring to Pam when we got inside, “Did he say what I think he said?”
Pam sadly nodded.
There’s a certain freedom to being a trans woman. There’s an even greater freedom in being a trans woman who’s also a writer.
There are also scenes I could never think up on my own, regardless of gender or literary ability.
The Freedom of Being Trans Is Anything But Free …
Never in my 50+ years of presenting as a male-assigned-at-birth (MAAB) did I ever say anything like this to a woman. Mind you, that’s not because I knew from birth that I’m a woman. As I detail in How to NOT Know You’re Trans, I didn’t realize my true gender till I was in my fifties. I just knew that speculating about a person’s undergarments isn’t something you expatiate freely on.
I know, I know. You may ask, “Who in this day and age would dare … ?” and frankly, the answer is that, for 4,000 years, there hasn’t been a day or age when men haven’t felt free to utter such inanities. It’s taught to them as their birthright to assert power in their gaze alone, and I’ve many times watched men undress me with their eyes like it was their nature (and my privilege) for them to do so.
… Because Being A Woman Is Anything But Free
So, some might say, “Hey, Bethany, this is what you asked for in transitioning!”
Um, no. I’ll add that no woman has ever asked for such comments. I defy you to name a man who has suffered such commentary.
The freedom in being trans is that I can readily understand why this cad felt free to give such commentary. It’s not that he knew he had the privilege to do so. It’s not even that he sees me and other women as a commodity he can squeeze like fruit in the produce section.
It’s fear.
The Terror of Being A Man
This man is afraid of being lonely. So much so that he talks about my undergarments (and by the way, I was wearing a thong, so, go figure) like he must if he’s to gain attention. His thoughts weren’t concerned with being intimate with me or any other woman who might’ve suffered that comment. He hasn’t the remotest idea of what intimacy is because he was taught that intimacy is not for him, and he truly believes that his only route in its general direction is to talk about underwear in broad daylight.
He’s clutching at straw. If he grabs ‘em by the pussy, it’s because he’s drowning in his sheer lack of vulnerability and so preys on those he thinks are vulnerable to his status as a man.
I wasn’t game.
The Freedom of Being A Writer Isn’t What You Think
Writers are supposed to write what they know. I won’t write about this incident in any of my novels. I won’t have to because I already know this man’s dilemma and that of the women he compromises. In our boys-will-be-boys world, power is in some men’s minds the only means of getting what he thinks he wants without ever having a clue about what he really needs.
In fact, I’ve already written about this scenario in every one of my dozen novels.
You see, my readers recognize the actors, the stage, and the script. My writing about such incidents rings true to them.
At least to the women.
For years presenting MAAB, I knew something was missing. It hovered in my rearview mirror and out of reach of my straining headlights—some holy grail I’d been told was mine by right but that I hadn’t the foggiest idea of. Peace. Hope. The chance to let down my hair. Dressing as I liked because it made me feel pretty and damn good to be me.
That’s what he clawed at … someone getting to be who they liked being. Something he could never have.
Because he’s not even come close to dreaming it.
What Happens Next
What will I say to him the next time I see him?
I honestly don’t know. The words, if any, will come like the flow of my dress in the breeze and the feeling of cotton swishing my legs. I owe him nothing. I owe myself the chance to enjoy who I am.
As I am.
Bethany Beeler writes novels of transformation, love, and self-discovery. To read stories portraying what she says here, go to her Amazon Author Page.
Thanks for reading Magik! This post is public so feel free to share it.