Monday I was on the morning commuter train to work in shorts and t-shirt. There were delays and I ended up just going straight to work like that. After work, went to Uno for pizza and beer. Home, I finally sat down and answered Diana’s post on FoRCC where, in response to a couple of people snipping at each other, she asked, “Write a little something on what it feels like to YOU to be a woman.” I”ll post my reply here because I want to preserve this little snapshot of my current thinking.
Hi Diana,
I like your request, and a week later here, I’m still thinking over how to answer. First, I’ll note that your request includes the assumption that I am a woman. For that, I’m flattered, and I say thank you.
Next, your request assumes that my experience of being a woman is something real that can meaningfully be described. There’s a whole philosophical tangent on which “qualia” such as this are debated. The debates typically dwell on how we can only know our own experiences and not the experiences of others. But this question posed to any of us who have actually made some sort of transition (whether permanent or just for an evening) is fascinating because we do know the experience of another person–we know ourselves in two different ways. (Two, at least!) So, let my try to respond here, by comparing what I feel now, as a woman, to what I’ve felt in the past, as a man.
The difference I have appreciated most is the way I am treated by people. It’s obvious things like having doors opened and seats offered and it’s less obvious things like the amount of personal space people give me. I still consider myself shy, and yet I’m happy to feel so much more visible as a woman. I sense men and women both evaluating how attractive I am, and I sense women especially evaluating my clothes, hair, makeup, and accessories. I sense it because they comment on it! As a woman, I’m in a world where we give each other spontaneous compliments fairly often. It’s so rare in a man’s world: “Dude, I love the way your hair has this sandy, weathered look. It works so well with the whole boots and work shirt look. So mm, rugged…” I love talking girl-talk with other women. And, I hadn’t thought about it before now, but I also like people not assuming that I know anything about sports and trucks and so on.
I love being welcome in women’s spaces and included in women’s conversations. I remember telling this to my therapist and her challenging me on that, smiling and saying “most men do prefer talking to women.” But come on, *you* girls know what I’m saying, right? There’s such a difference. As a woman in a group of women, you can just stand there and do nothing, and nobody thinks anything of it. Try that as a guy and you’re a wolf standing in the middle of a flock of sheep. You can comment on things you would never say in mixed company. Other women say things you never would have heard as a guy. Topics of conversation and patterns of interaction are just plain different. And yes, my experience is that women move into deeper, more personal conversations with each other much more quickly than men do.
I love the freedom to dress in different ways. I’ve had lots of fun trying out different looks in front of my Sisters of Boston over the last year, but I love even more the freedom to walk down the street in lots of different looks. As a guy, if I would wear something a little bit loud, I would get stares from people and questions from friends and coworkers. As a girl, wow, I can’t get over the range of what I can wear and not get a single strange look. I feel a new freedom to play with style that I never felt before.
Edging a little bit in the direction of physical differences, I love being able to sit and stand and walk with more typically feminine posture and movement. Some of it comes natural to me, some of it takes concentration and practice, but I still love doing it. I like walking with my girl walk. I’m happy to be held to different standards of diet, weight, health, and hygiene. I love the feel of wearing less clothing, the sensation of bare legs exposed under a dress or skirt. (Isn’t this like, really, really common amongst us? Don’t we love this? Shouldn’t most of us be writing, “wearing a new dress on a spring day is what it feels like for me to be a woman.”) One of the sensations that gave me the biggest rush when I started dressing as a woman was the feel of the wind against my shorter sleeves, or even bare shoulders. Another intense sensation was the *visual* sensation I got from seeing my arms shaved for the first time.
I don’t know, there are a few differences anyway. It sounds like for me, the feeling of being a woman is mostly about playing the part and enjoying it. It’s about appearances, being accepted, the social interaction. A bunch of other stuff I’m tempted to write about, I won’t. Either because I haven’t had separate experiences, or else I don’t feel they are strictly related expression or identification of sex or gender.
Thank you for asking, Diana!
Sonia
We had cake for breakfast sometime in the middle of the afternoon, and then it was already time to start getting ready to go out again for the evening. Daphne and I were headed back to RCC, this time for a drag king show that was a benefit for Network La Red. While Daphne dressed, I looked through her photo albums of past drag performances. Such a different world. Such amazing clothes and makeup. Someday I’ll learn all of that. It seems so far off now. It’s a magic that I don’t know. At the show, it was fun again to see some of the Imperial Court friends that I’m slowly getting to know. The show was fun and very entertaining, if a little long. At the end of the night, poor Daphne was exhausted. The car ride back to her place was pretty scary as it was a struggle to keep her awake. I, at least, was alert, and did my best to stimulate her with conversation, and occasional tickles on the leg to keep her eyes open. We lived, we got home, we slept in each other’s arms for the second night in a row.
