The Wake

This week, I watched The Notebook for the first time. I stretched out comfortably on a yellow suede couch, drowning in blankets, my stomach packed with chocolate cake. I had my best female friend on a couch beside me, tissues on hand. It was going to be a real estrogen fest.

Throughout the film, she cooed at all of the romantic moments. She babbled about how cute the blond boy was. She yelped when they broke up, seemed like they might break up or engaged in any non-gushy relations.

I quietly made gagging sounds.

At the end of the movie, I glanced at her, curled up on her couch and, with slow deliberation, she turned and gazed at me with glassy eyes, tear-drenched lashes and a quivering lower lip. She asked me if I liked the movie.

After some thought, I came to the conclusion that I…prefer porn.

I prefer porn. I drink beer. I belch. Once, after a night of romance with Jose Cuervo, I peed in a urinal. Well, mostly in the urinal.

I am a woman, but, not particularly womanly. Yes, I have boobs and I have a vagina, but I’m not going to drink a chocolate martini.

I don’t want to remain locked in this pink floral box and play along with this dichotomy. It’s time to go beyond “boys” and “girls.”

In traditional Native American culture there is one additional gender allowance, called winkte. Winkte were men who were not particularly masculine, such as those who had effeminate tendencies or transgender people born as men. The winkte were greatly revered and respected by others as it was thought that their atypical conduct and habits coincided with special talents and spiritual powers.

In India, they have the hijra. Hijra are often eunuchs or transsexuals, men or women who wear non-gendered clothing, participate in non-gendered jobs and make no attempt to fit into any gender role. They are known for their sharp manner of dress and dignified personas.

People living this genre of alternative lifestyle often do have some biological background to their behavior. Studies have shown that differing hormonal levels in the uterus can affect the sexuality and gender expression of the child. In addition, some people who live in this third category could be the proud owners of chromosomes beyond the XX of chicks and XY of guys. People who have, for example, an XXY or XYY string of chromosomes, often exhibit manners and potentially different body composition than what we consider to be normal.

Though body composition and hormonal levels do affect certain habits and abilities of a person, I am confident in my assumption that they do not have the final vote in determining what I drink, say or wear.

Theorists and social scientists from here and abroad have concocted different not-related-to-sex genders. Some argue that the concept of gender is only theory and not tangible in the least; others vote for the current two gender system, while still others have claimed that there are as many as 30+ genders present in the world.

I reckon that figuring out placement on a 30-gender system would probably require energy, time and effort. I am far too lazy for that.

Why do we need to fit into a gender box anyway? Perhaps useful in historical times for assigning different community or tribal tasks, any of these needs have been outdated. I can understand that it is likely that a born man is stronger than I and would thus be more able to perform strict physical labor. Now, we get our crops from machines. Construction workers, though often beefy, can accomplish a great deal regardless of their size. These gender roles were also given as reason for discrimination expressed by preventing women from voting or receiving an education. That’s not something we need anymore.

The need for this theoretical concept of “gender” is passé.

Acclaimed feminist and gender theorist Judith Butler said, “There is no gender identity behind the expressions of gender; … identity is performatively constituted by the very ‘expressions’ that are said to be its results.” Gender is what you make of it. I think of it as a six-letter word, worth eight points in Scrabble.

So, I suggest that we get rid of all this gender and gender roles. People born with girl parts don’t have to paint their nails, read romance novels or enjoy bubble baths. They should be able to wear baggy jeans and shirts and baseball hats without being called manly. Those toting their own mini-sausage should be able to gossip, cry and watch the Hallmark channel without having someone tell them that they’re acting like a chick.

This rant could continue, but I am very busy. First, I have to scratch myself in an inappropriate manner, then I intend to play Grand Theft Auto for an irrationally long time and finally I will leave odd stains of bodily fluid on the walls of my shower. Just kidding. Fortunately I am quite busy painting my toenails a very cute shade of pink.