no homo!
So, today I was told by a coworker that I'm "very masculine" and the fact that I have two brothers and no sisters "explains everything."
There's background to this comment (we were having a conversation about another coworker of ours, who is distinguished from the multiple Katies we work with by being known as "Dude-bro Katie" because she calls everyone "dude" and "bro" ) but it's not terrifically pertinent. I have been stewing about this all afternoon, and trying to figure out why the fuck I even care. Aforementioned coworker (at one of the gayest restaurants I have ever worked at, in San Francisco of all damn places) is a girl, and not particularly prudish; none of my coworkers are, for fairly obvious reasons—probably upwards of 60% of my coworkers are gay, and shamelessly so.
When I asked my coworker to explain what she meant by that comment, exactly, she floundered and made vague noises about my height and my voice (low for a woman, but then, most women aren't 6'1") and my... personality, I guess, because she wasn't being terribly specific? I chose not to pursue the conversation. At the time I was too baffled by the comment to even know how to react to it. And now I'm just annoyed.
Because what the fuck does it mean to be "very masculine," exactly? I could cite any number of things that dispute this statement (the fact that, today—an average make-up day—I am wearing foundation, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, and lipcolor, and I blow-dried my hair today AND dyed it two days ago, and also, I am wearing tight jeans and heels, AND perfume), but the fact that such a throwaway, meaningless comment has stuck with me for the entire day says more about the persistence of gender roles than it does about anything else. Why do I care about disputing it? Whose definition of "masculine" do I fall under? Why did it feel like an insult, and does that make it my issue, or everyone else's? Because even when I asked her to explain what she meant by that, my coworker could come up with nothing concrete to say. BUT APPARENTLY, MY VAGINA AND BOOBS HAVE FAILED ME. DAMN YOU, UTERUS. I guess this means it's time to stop listening to my Lady Gaga and Beyonce! Quick, people, start uploading songs about big dicks for me, I have catching up to do.
And I don't know what, exactly, is "explained" by the fact that I have two brothers—the fact that I like porn? I'm tall, and have an appropriately lower voice? That I don't have weird issues about bodily functions or eating habits? That I have a bawdy sense of humor? That I don't feel restricted into liking "girly" things, or fretting solely about whether or not I have a significant other, or if I chipped my goddamn nail polish? Brb, I have to go take a big manly shit in the bathroom now while I think this over. This may take a moment.
(I should note now that both of my brothers suck royally at acting like dudes. I am, in fact, more of a dude than both of my brothers combined. I know more about sports than they do, I can drink both of them under the table, I know more about cars than either of them, and I can out-belch them both. Thanks, high school drumline!)
The point, of course, is that even though it felt like I was being insulted, I suppose I was really being payed a compliment. I'm not sad I don't fit into prescribed gender roles, and asking "Does that make me less of a girl?" is the wrong question. Because that doesn't matter. IT'S FUN TO JOKE ABOUT, THOUGH.
Oh, well. This is turning into TL;DR, everything I feel like saying about slut-shaming has already been said better by others and I'd rather make inappropriate gender-role comments and TMI everyone to death than analyze this in too much detail—it's been a long week, and I'm looking forward to some much-needed free time this weekend. So instead, let's all watch Beyonce and Lady Gaga do a video ala "Thelma & Louise" meets a Quentin Tarantino movie. Guaranteed 150% to turn you into a lesbian, or your money back.
Off to buy some beer and watch Clint Eastwood be vastly un-PC. Have a good weekend!
[ edit ] I apparently spend so much time talking to
jou that I can no longer even discern which of my best lines I actually totally stole FROM HER, so—let's just play it safe and assume that if I said something witty, I probably stole it from her. YOU MAY RETURN TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED TOMFOOLERY NOW.
There's background to this comment (we were having a conversation about another coworker of ours, who is distinguished from the multiple Katies we work with by being known as "Dude-bro Katie" because she calls everyone "dude" and "bro" ) but it's not terrifically pertinent. I have been stewing about this all afternoon, and trying to figure out why the fuck I even care. Aforementioned coworker (at one of the gayest restaurants I have ever worked at, in San Francisco of all damn places) is a girl, and not particularly prudish; none of my coworkers are, for fairly obvious reasons—probably upwards of 60% of my coworkers are gay, and shamelessly so.
When I asked my coworker to explain what she meant by that comment, exactly, she floundered and made vague noises about my height and my voice (low for a woman, but then, most women aren't 6'1") and my... personality, I guess, because she wasn't being terribly specific? I chose not to pursue the conversation. At the time I was too baffled by the comment to even know how to react to it. And now I'm just annoyed.
Because what the fuck does it mean to be "very masculine," exactly? I could cite any number of things that dispute this statement (the fact that, today—an average make-up day—I am wearing foundation, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, and lipcolor, and I blow-dried my hair today AND dyed it two days ago, and also, I am wearing tight jeans and heels, AND perfume), but the fact that such a throwaway, meaningless comment has stuck with me for the entire day says more about the persistence of gender roles than it does about anything else. Why do I care about disputing it? Whose definition of "masculine" do I fall under? Why did it feel like an insult, and does that make it my issue, or everyone else's? Because even when I asked her to explain what she meant by that, my coworker could come up with nothing concrete to say. BUT APPARENTLY, MY VAGINA AND BOOBS HAVE FAILED ME. DAMN YOU, UTERUS. I guess this means it's time to stop listening to my Lady Gaga and Beyonce! Quick, people, start uploading songs about big dicks for me, I have catching up to do.
And I don't know what, exactly, is "explained" by the fact that I have two brothers—the fact that I like porn? I'm tall, and have an appropriately lower voice? That I don't have weird issues about bodily functions or eating habits? That I have a bawdy sense of humor? That I don't feel restricted into liking "girly" things, or fretting solely about whether or not I have a significant other, or if I chipped my goddamn nail polish? Brb, I have to go take a big manly shit in the bathroom now while I think this over. This may take a moment.
(I should note now that both of my brothers suck royally at acting like dudes. I am, in fact, more of a dude than both of my brothers combined. I know more about sports than they do, I can drink both of them under the table, I know more about cars than either of them, and I can out-belch them both. Thanks, high school drumline!)
The point, of course, is that even though it felt like I was being insulted, I suppose I was really being payed a compliment. I'm not sad I don't fit into prescribed gender roles, and asking "Does that make me less of a girl?" is the wrong question. Because that doesn't matter. IT'S FUN TO JOKE ABOUT, THOUGH.
Oh, well. This is turning into TL;DR, everything I feel like saying about slut-shaming has already been said better by others and I'd rather make inappropriate gender-role comments and TMI everyone to death than analyze this in too much detail—it's been a long week, and I'm looking forward to some much-needed free time this weekend. So instead, let's all watch Beyonce and Lady Gaga do a video ala "Thelma & Louise" meets a Quentin Tarantino movie. Guaranteed 150% to turn you into a lesbian, or your money back.
Off to buy some beer and watch Clint Eastwood be vastly un-PC. Have a good weekend!
[ edit ] I apparently spend so much time talking to
jou that I can no longer even discern which of my best lines I actually totally stole FROM HER, so—let's just play it safe and assume that if I said something witty, I probably stole it from her. YOU MAY RETURN TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED TOMFOOLERY NOW.