People Don't Belong to People

Happy Valentine's Day! I'm here to emphasize that the people you find attractive, as well as the people you find neutral or unattractive, don't belong to you.

I don't understand why people feel the need to comment on how someone else looks.

Well, I should be clearer: there are certain ways people comment on other people's looks that I don't understand. I'm completely in support of people who notice something aesthetically pleasing about someone else and compliment them for it. That can brighten someone's day. I also get why people might point out that someone has food stuck in their teeth, or that they're wearing something that isn't professional enough for the job interview they're headed to. Some people want that kind of warning, especially in the second example, since it might make or break an interview.

Any other comment related to appearance strikes me needlessly critical of something that has nothing to do with you.

I notice this most when women in the public eye alter their hair somehow, especially when it involves cutting the hair short. Despite the fact that women have been cutting their hair short forever, a lot of people think women look "objectively better" with long hair (perhaps because long hair is associated with femininity, and we all know how people like to keep women in a feminine box). There's this weird possessiveness involved with fans of these women, and a lot of them act personally offended if one of them changes her hair in a way they don't approve of. When I cut my hair in July, I deleted plenty of Instagram comments that said things like "Nooooo!" and "Whyyy???", mostly from men. Apparently, I was disrupting their lives somehow by making a choice about the hair sitting on my own head.

"Objectively better" my ass.

I vote that we stop passing critical judgments on how people should stylistically express themselves. The main reason why: "objectively better" doesn't exist. Beauty is subjective. There isn't a single thing in the world that every person on Earth agrees is beautiful. Keeping that in mind, we should allow every person to be in charge of their own personal beauty, because odds are, the way they're presenting themselves is their idea of beautiful. Your criticisms of their beauty are invalid, because their opinions about their body, face, hair, etc. will trump yours every single time. This includes well-intentioned comments.

Not every compliment is even safe from this, because they can sometimes come off as backhanded. I've had several people say to me that it's lucky I "have a face for" a pixie cut. So, if I didn't have the "face" for a pixie cut, whatever that is, I shouldn't get one, even if I want one? If I think a pixie cut looks good on me and I want it, that should be the end of the story. I don't care what height or width you think my face should be, or how my jawline should look relative to the hairstyle, or what shade of skin "works best" with what hair color. Aesthetic theorists have been trying for centuries to come up with a working definition of beauty and no definition has been agreed upon by everyone. Any supposed "standards" for what the ideal pixie cut face looks like have been invented by our culture, our media, the advertising industry, etc., which are all biased towards white faces and bodies. They're not as relevant to your personal taste as you think they are.

As far as those in the public eye go, this speaks to a larger problem in society of fans treating people like they're commodities rather than, you know, people. Some artists and actors draw people in partially because of their physical aesthetic. Okay, that's fine--nothing wrong with enjoying what a person looks like as long as you don't dehumanize them. So when one of these artists tries something new, i.e. alters that aesthetic, fans react like the "product" sold to them didn't arrive with all the features the Amazon description promised. They get angry. They feel betrayed. The artist in question becomes something they own, and they demand that "it" switch back to what they "paid" for. This especially affects people who aren't content with one style for long and change it up often.

Whenever Hayley Williams deviates from red or orange, some people act like she's no longer Hayley Williams. (Source)

But this isn't limited to celebrities. Most people do this in some form or another with the people in their lives, especially their significant others. The idea that a significant other needs to monitor or approve of how their significant other looks inherently suppresses individuality. It can lead to someone folding themselves into an ill-fitted box so that the other person likes what they see (I know, because I've done it). It can reduce someone's chances of trying something new and exciting because they fear the backlash from their significant other.

This wouldn't be such a problem if it wasn't a thing that people expect between couples in this society. Not tolerate, or put up with, or ignore. Expect. And it grosses me out.

I once dated someone who "playfully" whined every time I got a haircut, and who made comments about how he missed the long hair I had when we started dating. Days after we broke up, I cut it shorter than it'd ever been (mostly because I'd wanted to, anyway, but there was some spite in there). I'm thankful every day that I didn't let his complaints influence what choices I made with my hair, and I wish I hadn't let him influence my fashion choices in the same way.

I've made a couple drastic changes with my hair in the last few months, but not once did I ask my fiancé if they would be all right with me having a pixie cut, or with me dying it red. I also didn't ask their permission to change my glasses frames to larger Ray-Bans. And, because they respect my autonomy, I've gotten nothing but support from them.

You are not your significant other's parent, and they're not yours. With that in mind, it doesn't make sense ask them if an outfit is okay to wear, or if they'd be bothered if your nails were a certain color, or if they wouldn't want to be seen with you in those shoes. Of course, this is different from asking for their input, such as, "Do you think I should go with the blue or green eyeshadow?" or "Which pair of jeans do you think fits me best?" Any opinion they give in response to those questions is invited. But if you treat their opinions on your appearance as the be-all, end-all, you risk burying your individuality. This is about you and your body, not theirs.

If only the movie had let her retain that opinion, LIKE IN THE BOOK. (Yeah, I'm one of the few Audrey Hepburn fans who can't stand the movie version of Breakfast at Tiffany's).

If you can't read the above captions, here's the text:

Paul: Holly, I am in love with you.
Holly: So what?
Paul: So what? So plenty! I love you! You belong to me.
Holly: No. People don't belong to people.
Paul: Of course they do!
Holly: I'm not gonna let anyone put me in a cage!
Paul: I'm not gonna put you in a cage. I wanna love you!
Holly: It's the same thing!

While I wouldn't necessarily agree with Holly Golightly that being loved and being put in a cage are the same thing, I don't blame her for thinking so. She was a woman in the 1960s, and most of the men who claimed to love her acted like loving her fell right into step with owning her, like Dumbass McGee up there. If entering a relationship with someone involves giving up some crucial part of what makes you you, it's not worth it. Sure, people in relationships make sacrifices for each other, but said sacrifices shouldn't result in you absorbing your entire being into another person. Don't give someone else ownership over you. Establish a partnership instead.

This doesn't just apply to women, or to people in heterosexual relationships. Occasionally, people nag my nonbinary fiancé about trimming or shaving their beard, or cutting their hair. Usually, they say they don't want to, because it's their face/head and they should be able to do what they damn well please. Sometimes, people will say that it's fine if they don't shave/cut it, as long as I'm fine with it. What the hell? It shouldn't matter whether or not I'm fine with it. I don't set boundaries for my fiancé's appearance, no matter how big or small. They're at their most beautiful when they're happy with how they look.

I mean, look at that happy face.

At this point, I'm not even comfortable assigning outfits for my future bridesmaids/groomspeople (?)/insert-gender-neutral-term-for-people-who-stand-next-to-you-in-a-wedding-here. It feels weird. Like, I guess it should be formal and maybe match a color theme? I don't know? They should be the people to choose.

So, go out there and have a nice Valentine's Day. Spread judgment-free love. I don't care if the person's your friend, your significant other, your child, your sibling, or your grandma. Let people be themselves.

-Morgan

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Why Female Representation in Video Games is Important to Me

“Mommy, when are they coming out with a Gamegirl?”

I posed this question to my mom when I was six, holding my prized red Gameboy in my hand. I’d noticed the “boy” in the title and wondered why on Earth my new favorite device came with a gender—did that mean it wasn’t intended for me? I couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it at the time, except that it made me feel left out. My mom responded that she didn’t know, but that she hoped they would start selling a Gamegirl eventually.

The face of a gamer.

 The Internet is teeming with controversies surrounding women and the gaming world right now. Feminists who discuss video games, such as Anita Sarkeesian and her fantastic online web series Feminist Frequency, have been the target of harassment ranging from name-calling all the way to rape and death threats. This is all because these women critique the sexism and lack of female representation in many games and gaming communities, and members of said communities have responded defensively. Most famously, this issue spawned Gamergate, a movement that many claimed related to “ethics in [video-game-related] journalism” rather than displeasure with the people who have called attention to the misogyny omnipresent in gaming.

One way this has impacted my life is that if I make a public observation about, say, a female character in a game, or attitudes about female characters in games, defensive gamers like these pop up in my mentions on Twitter. It’s startling. When I mention, for instance, that I enjoyed getting to play as a woman in the recently released Fallout 4, I get attacked for privileging diversity over a game’s plot (as if those two aren’t interconnected), creating an issue when there isn’t one (there is), and being a “feminazi.” The impression that this all gives me is that these members of the gaming community seem to think I, as a woman, am invading their space. That I suddenly heard other women want to see women in their games and I jumped on the bandwagon because I like causing problems for people.

That’s laughable. I’ve been playing handheld and console games since 1999 (computer games since 1997), and I’ve been desperate for more female representation in them for just as long.

Disclaimer here: This blog post is meant to be personal. I am here to talk about why I, as an individual, want to see more women in games and my history with that issue. I do not speak for other women—other women’s opinions about this may be similar or dissimilar to mine, depending on who they are. This post isn’t meant to prove once and for all why more women should be featured in the gaming community. It’s just meant to show why this inclusion is so important to me.

Let’s head back to 1999, when I received my first games for my Gameboy Color. Originally, my sister and I were given Pokémon Red and Pokémon Blue, but they were corrupted and unable to save, so I consider my first real Gameboy game to be Pokémon Yellow. I looked at the back of the box and saw that I was to play as a boy in a baseball cap. All right, whatever. But then I started the game, and here’s the first question I was asked: “What is your name?”

(From Green Rupee Gamer's blog)

 Before I continue on, let’s return to that earlier complaint I heard about people forcing diversity into games without any thought for the plot. I understood, and continue to understand today, why allowing for a female protagonist in a game does not always make narrative sense.

When I was nine, one of my favorite games became Kingdom Hearts. I felt like there was no better game on the planet. I played it every chance I got. And even though I desperately wanted a chance to play as the main female character, Kairi, I understood why I was playing with Sora. Shifting the narrative to focus on Kairi would have changed the entire plot, and thus the entire game. Playing as Sora didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the game, and I certainly didn’t hold it against him. I loved him. I still love that guy.

With Pokémon, however, they weren’t asking me, “What is the name of the character you’re playing as?” They asked, “What is your name?” It literally asks you to step into the shoes of the character on the screen, or in other words, to play as yourself in a fictional reality. To add to this, your character in Pokémon doesn’t speak, meaning that whatever personality they have is whatever you project onto them. It’s an invitation to be part of the game—an invitation that fell flat for me, a girl.

I could’ve typed in “Morgan,” since it’s a gender neutral name, but playing as some boy named Morgan didn’t feel like the same thing as playing as myself. Sometimes, I pretended I was a girl with short hair, but that illusion always shattered when the characters in the game referred to me as he/him. This was made even more difficult in the Legend of Zelda games, which also ask you for your name. The character onscreen is more than just a few tiny pixels, so it is very clear the character is male.

Also, your sister screams "BIG BROTHER!!!" at you about twelve times (from Samurai Nintendo)

Some people might be wondering why the hell I struggled to connect with a character so much if they weren’t the same gender as me. I still don’t have the complete answer for this—it’s something I felt as a kid, and I haven’t yet figured out the words to fully explain why I felt this way—but I will propose one idea. There’s a difference between liking a character and identifying as one.

Did I like male characters as a kid? Definitely. I adored Ash and Brock from the Pokémon anime, and Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon, and Simba from The Lion King. But because they were boys, I didn’t feel like I could be them. My ability to identify with characters regardless of gender (as well as race, sexuality, etc.) has become much more complex over the years, but whenever I play a video game there’s still some part of me that’s wondering, “Can I be a girl?” That’s partially related to that old feeling coming aflame again, and partially a result of my awareness that women are represented in video games far less often than men are, and I find the message that exclusion sends to be hurtful.

Anyway, back to Pokémon. Soon after my first journey into the virtual Pokémon world (RIP to my level 100 Tentacruel from Pokémon Yellow), Nintendo announced Pokémon Crystal, a new Pokémon game. Well, not exactly new—it would take place in the same region as Silver and Gold (I’d played Gold by this point as well), and would have more or less the same plot and kinds of Pokémon you could catch. Except that this time, you could play as a girl.

JLSHFJLSFKLJFK (from TV Tropes)

 I absolutely lost my shit. Ironically, I got so excited that I created an entire persona and backstory for her (she was Arina, the twin sister of my real-life sister’s version of her, named Lucy), so I didn’t end up self-inserting myself the first time around. But the point was, I could if I wanted to. The point was, if I typed in “Morgan,” I could easily see the character as myself if I changed clothes and dyed my hair blue. No more walking around the Johto region looking desperately at all the female sprites and wishing I could switch places with them. Arina was someone I felt like could be me.

From that point on, self-insert games in which you couldn’t choose your gender felt like a disappointment, even if I enjoyed every other aspect of the game. I actually ended up liking Legend of Zelda games more than Pokémon (and still do), but it continues to feel weird to type in my name when this obviously male person is staring back at me. To Nintendo’s credit, they just announced a female version of Link named Linkle, whose name makes me thankful that you get to choose your own in Legend of Zelda games. Maybe she’ll be an option in future Legend of Zelda adventure-game titles?

Because of this lack of female representation, I also never expected that a game would exist in which you had to play as a woman. I figured if you weren’t given an option, you were a man. I still remember how I gasped the first time I played Portal and happened to catch what my character looked like through one of my portals while playing. It’s a first-person game, so I’d played for about an hour already assuming my character was male. I froze for a second, turned to the friend who was showing me the game and went, “Wait. I’m a girl? I’m a girl?” I seriously wanted to cry.

So, this isn’t something I’ve recently noticed and starting having a problem with. Female representation in games has been a concern of mine since before I’d ever heard of feminism.

To finish off this post, I will provide a sample of what gender demographics have looked like in gaming throughout my childhood up until now. Below is a photo of most of the games in my house. I haven’t played all of them, as they’re a combination of games belonging to me and to my fiancé. Underneath that is the gender of the character(s) you play as in each game. I will be skipping repeat games, such as the multiples of Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts II. Note that almost every title with the description “option between male and female” is developed by the same company, Bethesda Softworks. I will also include a couple of games downloaded onto consoles but that we don’t have cases for.

Kingdom Hearts HD 1.5 – male

Kingdom Hearts HD 2.5 – male (with one female exception if you play Birth by Sleep)

The Last of Us – male (you play briefly as a female at one point)

Fallout 4 – option between male and female

Rock Band 4 – option between male and female

Forza 5 – male

The Elder Scrolls Online – option between male and female

Oblivion – option between male and female

Skyrim – option between male and female

Viva Piñata – no gender

Left 4 Dead 2 – option between premade characters (3 males and 1 female)

Halo Reach – male (except online, where you have the option between male and female)

Halo 3 – male (except online, where you have the option between male and female)

Halo 4 – male (except online, where you have the option between male and female)

Fable II – option between male and female

Fable III – option between male and female

Gears of War – male

Bioshock – male

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets – male

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban – switch back and forth between premade characters (2 males and 1 female)

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix – male

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince – male

Kingdom Hearts Re: Chain of Memories – male

The Legend of Zelda: The Windwaker – male

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess – male

Lego Harry Potter: Years 5-7 – switch back and forth between 200 premade male and female characters

Super Smash Brothers Brawl – option between premade characters (28 male, 6 female, and 6 of unknown gender)

Mario Kart Wii – option between premade characters (16 male, 7 female, and 1 of unknown gender)

Halo 5 (not pictured) – male if you’re playing solo (there are female options if playing online main story/online multiplayer)

Grand Theft Auto V (not pictured) – male (except online, where you have the option between male and female)

Portal (not pictured) – female

Portal 2 (not pictured) – female

Out of 32 games, 17 of them (which you might notice is more than half) require you to play as male for either the entire game or the majority of it. Of those 17, 2 include sections where you can play as women (Ellie from The Last of Us and Aqua from Birth by Sleep) and 5 only let you play as women under certain circumstances, mostly having to do with online multiplayer (Halo Reach, Halo 3, Halo 4, Halo 5 and Grand Theft Auto V). 12 allow you to choose. Of those 12, 4 provide you with more male character options than female ones (Left 4 Dead 2, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Super Smash Brothers Brawl, and Mario Kart Wii. The astute will notice that Super Smash Brothers Brawl provides just as many characters of unknown gender as female ones). 2 require you to play as female, and 1 doesn’t specify a gender.

This is coming from a household where both gamers who live there prefer to play as women, meaning we’re more likely to pick up progressive games, so this is a very generous list.

Again, I can’t speak for every woman. There are probably plenty of women out there who don’t care about identifying with the main character or having the main character’s gender match their own. I’m just here to share my story, explain why it’s important to me, and emphasize why this is an issue I will continue to talk about. In the end, it all comes down to exactly how I felt about my Gameboy when I was six: left out.

-Morgan

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Not Queer Enough For You? On Gatekeeping in the LGBTQ Community

This is long, but it’s very important to me. Bear with me.

As some of you know, last month I made a post on Twitter and Instagram on October 11, National Coming Out Day. It explicitly stated that I am demisexual (I’ll explain what this means further down) and pansexual (meaning I can be attracted to any gender). I’d posted passively about my sexuality a few times before, but this was the first time I was unambiguously clear about it.

Coming out online was more terrifying than I expected. I’m someone who is very true to myself and proud of being open about all aspects of my identity, so I thought coming out wouldn’t make me too nervous. I was wrong.

I’ve been out to myself for almost a year, but it took me until the past couple of months to post anywhere about it. Part of the reason for that is that I was worried I didn’t “count.” I thought people wouldn’t believe I was who I said I was unless I’d dated a woman, rather than just had a crush on one. But slowly, I gained confidence. I found encouragement from members of the community, both in my physical life and online. “If you’ve had romantic/and or sexual feelings for multiple genders, you’re welcome as a member of the queer community,” they said. I fit that bill, so I breathed easier.

Needless to say, coming out puts you in a vulnerable position. I knew that beforehand, and I certainly felt that after I’d pushed it out into the world. I reminded myself that any negative feedback I received would probably be from homophobic people, anyway, who I didn’t need to concern myself with.

I definitely didn’t expect negative feedback from a fellow member of the LGBTQ community.

*flag waves menacingly*

A couple of days later, I received a message from an old friend who is part of the community. Here’s a direct quote from it: “From what I’ve read, it feels like you fall more into the ally/support category than a member…It’s one thing to SAY you’re pansexual, demisexual, gay, bi, and another to actually be in it…Being emotionally, sexually, physically intimate with someone of the same sex, someone who has no sex, someone who is intersex whatever, it’s one thing to say you’d be okay with it or open to it and another to actually do it.”

Note: the purpose of this blog post is not to senselessly bash this person. Part of why this message devastated me so much is because this person is an old family friend, someone I’ve enjoyed spending time with and discussing mutual interests with. Maybe she has no idea what kind of line she crossed. But it represents a larger problem in the LGBTQ community, so I feel that it’s important to talk about.

Now. The message. There are so many hurtful, problematic elements to this.

First of all, this person did not come equipped with some magical list of everyone I’d ever been attracted to and everyone I’d ever dated. Aside from a brief conversation about my engagement, I hadn’t spoken to this person in almost two years. I’d never spoken to her about my sexuality in my life. She only knew the genders of two of my previous partners, who were both male. Apparently, she believed that this knowledge, along with “what she’d read” (she was referring to articles I’d posted related to the LGBTQ community) was enough to justify her assumptions about my sexuality. This was so wildly presumptuous and insensitive that I couldn’t believe I was reading it.

Secondly, it’s ironic that this person approached me with my ignorance about queerness in mind, because in her message, she demonstrated that she has no idea what demisexuality is. Demisexuality has nothing to do with what gender or genders you’re attracted to. Demisexuality is part of the asexual spectrum, which encompasses people who do not experience sexual attraction often, or who do not experience it at all.

I can only experience sexual attraction to someone who I already have an emotional bond with. Before I knew there was a word for demisexuality, I defined it as, “I can only have sexual feelings for already-established friends.” This doesn’t mean I feel sexually attracted to someone and choose to abstain from sex until I trust them—this means I can’t feel anything sexual towards them at all if we don’t know each other well. I’ve never seen someone walking down the street, or a picture of someone I’ve never met, and thought, “I’d bang that.” I can’t relate to that. In fact, I’ve never been sexually attracted to someone before knowing them for at least a year first.

It is perfectly possible for a woman who is only interested in men or a man who is only interested in women to be demisexual. I’ve been experiencing demisexuality since puberty started, thanks.

Another problem was that she assumed my fiancé is a man.

My fiancé, Danny, is neither male nor female, but nonbinary. They use they/them pronouns rather than he/him or she/her. This is how Danny describes their gender in their own words: “I know I have broad shoulders, thick eyebrows, a beard, and other ‘masculine’ crap, but I’m not a man. Equally, I’m not a woman. I’m nonbinary, simple as that.”*

Also the cutest nonbinary person you ever did see.

If I were to say to myself, “I don’t count as queer because most people assume my partner is a man,” I would be invalidating Danny’s gender. People might insist we have “passing privilege,” meaning people can see us walking down the street together and not scoff at it. But the idea of “passing privilege” is a long-standing biphobic concept, or, for those who don’t know what biphobic means, discriminatory against people who are not strictly straight or gay. Beyond that, how exactly is it a “privilege” for Danny to get misgendered constantly?

I can’t use Danny’s pronouns in most normal conversations because many people a) have no idea some people use they/them as pronouns or that people can be neither male nor female, or b) think nonbinary is a “fake” identity that originated on tumblr (it didn’t). To those latter people, I’d recommend listening to an actual nonbinary person’s experiences regarding their gender before jumping to conclusions like that.

Anyway, here’s what happens every time I talk to one of these people about Danny: “My fiancé studied abroad in London and I joined my fiancé there in April. Oh what does Danny study? Danny studies English, and Danny minors in Creative Writing. Th…*mumbles* used to minor in Computer Science but Danny decided to switch over.”

Good thing “fiancé” and “Danny” are both words I enjoy using. But still, I walk away from these conversations wondering if anyone noticed how ridiculous I sounded because I was trying to avoid using any pronouns.

Some might ask, why not just use “he” to make it easier? Because that feels wrong and invalidates Danny’s actual gender. It feels like I’m talking about someone who isn’t Danny, because the Danny I know isn’t a man. If you’re straight and cisgender (meaning not transgender) and/or can’t imagine what this is like, think if someone said you had to refer to your girlfriend as a “he,” or your boyfriend as a “she.” It would feel wrong, wouldn’t it? Like you’re completely misrepresenting the person you love.

It’s even worse when people make references to Danny’s “maleness.” This sometimes happens in the context of someone speaking about our relationship. A lot of these statements are meant as compliments, but they end up making us both uncomfortable because they make incorrect assumptions about Danny’s gender. Examples include:

“As long as you’ve got your man by your side, you’ll be fine!”

“Don’t you just love a man who can do [x activity]?”

“We should have a girl’s day, no boys. Sorry Danny!”

“I know you’re not taking your husband’s last name, but the kids will have his name, right?”

“I know you’re an independent woman and all, but when it comes down to it, I’m sure you’ll look to your husband to financially support you when the kids come along.”

Sexism aside, this makes me want to scream every day, “WHAT MAN? I DON’T HAVE ONE OF THOSE.” Which wouldn’t be entirely fair, since most of these people have no clue they’re saying anything harmful. Society is mostly to blame for reinforcing the idea that you can only be a man or a woman, that someone is a man if they look a certain way, that a straight relationship is the default, etc.

The point of all this is, is this not a queer experience? Is this not a struggle against heteronormativity? Are these not microaggressions that make daily life more difficult?

Luckily, the person who sent me the message backed off a little after I mentioned Danny’s gender (although she didn’t back off entirely, and I wish she had). She said she’d messaged me out of concern that I was jumping on the “fashionable LGBT bandwagon.”

And here’s where I talk about gatekeeping.

If I had only ever dated men, and had only experienced romantic and/or sexual attraction to people who aren’t men without dating them, this would not have been enough for the person who messaged me. Despite my crushes on women and nonbinary people, I wouldn’t have “counted.” A lot of people in the community hold this opinion, that if you’re not “queer enough,” any queer feelings you’ve had don’t matter. This is damaging and needs to stop.

Can you imagine if people held this opinion about straight people? I have a friend who, last she told me, is confidently straight but has never been with anyone. Does that give me the right to tell her all her attractions to men have been invalid because she hasn’t been with any of them?

Gatekeeping, or barring people from a community because they don’t meet some arbitrary criteria, is unnecessary and harmful. If someone knows the definition of pansexual and feels it matches them best, then they are pansexual. They might stick to that identity or later realize that a different one fits them better. Regardless, if they say they’re pansexual, believe them. No one understands their sexual and romantic feelings better than they do.

As for this “fashionable LGBT bandwagon” nonsense...

Look how fashionable!!! (Source; statistics are as of 2013)

I disagree that people are changing how they identify themselves because of a trend. Yes, more people are coming out nowadays. There are also more resources now and there is more acceptance of LGBTQ people than there used to be. Maybe more people are coming out now because the environment is safer. Maybe more people are coming out because they feel encouraged to be open to what they feel rather than assume they’re straight because it’s the default. “Straight until proven gay” is itself, I argue, a homophobic mindset. It keeps LGBT identities locked in place as “alternative,” as “other.”

TL;DR: Don’t assume anyone’s sexuality. Don’t assume anyone’s gender. Don’t lecture someone about whether or not they belong in a community. And definitely, definitely don’t act like you understand someone better than they understand themselves.

-Morgan

*I had Danny read this whole post for accuracy before I made it public.

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In Defense of Miley's Nudity

Miley Cyrus is a hot topic these days. Makes sense--she draws attention to herself, she behaves in a lot of controversial ways, and she's no stranger to making bold statements. She also makes a lot of people angry.

People like to mention her to me because I worked with her, whether they're strangers on the Internet or various people I interact with in my regular life. Often, they will make some negative remark about Miley, perhaps to see how I will react or expecting me to agree.

Though I support much of what Miley does, I don't endorse all of it. The biggest improvements she could stand to make involve educating herself about race, the role racism plays in society, and how she has contributed to it. She's participated in a lot of harmful cultural appropriation. The way she responded to Nicki Minaj's criticism of the VMA's choice to omit "Anaconda" from the Video of the Year lineup demonstrated ignorance and irresponsibility as a feminist. Since Miley wants to fight so hard against sexism, homophobia, and transphobia, she should add racism to that list and recognize how all of these things can overlap.

But when people bash Miley in front of me, it is never about this. It's always stuff like, "Good thing you don't dress like her!" and "You wouldn't associate with her now, right, with her waving her vag all over the place?"

This makes me so uncomfortable.

The only concern I have with this picture is, "Isn't she cold??"

First of all, buried in those statements is the implicit understanding that I'm better than Miley because of the lifestyle I've chosen. It's a backhanded way of giving me approval for not showing too much skin, staying away from drugs and parties, going to college, etc. There's nothing inherently superior about those things, though. They just reflect my personality, as Miley's behaviors and modes of self-expression reflect hers.

Unfortunately, I'm very familiar with getting this kind of attitude from people. In high school, I had an unusual group of friends. We were a bunch of misfits who didn't share much in common beyond a few interests and what people might call "troubled" emotional lives. I was the academic kid in the group, the one who liked to read, cared about her grades, and planned on college.

Every so often, an adult, such as a teacher or another student's parent, would say to me, "Wait, you're friends with them? But...you're so smart/put-together/pleasant!"

If they thought I was put-together, well, I'm glad the ruse was working. But how was I supposed to react to this? People decades older than me who I often admired fueled my compliments by stomping all over my friends first. I had real reasons to care about my friends. I didn't view them as being beneath me or undeserving of my attention, as others seemed to think I should. I just viewed them as different. So these comments made me feel gross.

I feel similarly sick when people speak to me about Miley in this way, like I narrowly avoided her satanic influence or something. Here's another thing, though: it's not just that I dislike people insulting someone I used to work with. I also actively support much of Miley's exploits. Yes, including the way she parades around the world half-naked.

"Don't worry, Miley, I'll distract the haters with my questionable hairstyle."

It's easy to feel like people in our culture are terrified of naked human bodies, especially what many people think of as "female" bodies (bodies with breasts and/or vaginas aren't inherently female, since people who identify as male or nonbinary can have breasts and/or vaginas, too). A lot of the time, they automatically equate bodies with sex, and sex with indecency/sin/teenage pregnancy/take your pick. When they see a naked body, they shield their eyes. They condemn the naked body, this thing that everyone has, as inappropriate. Sometimes something to be ashamed of.

My question is, why? The only reason I can see for covering your eyes around a naked person is if they've asked you to look away because they're not comfortable with you seeing their body (which should always be honored). But if they're letting it all hang out there on purpose, who cares? Treat them like you would any clothed person. If you can wrap your mind around that, it becomes so much less awkward and no longer taboo.

When traveling in England earlier this year, I witnessed about fifty naked people on bicycles zooming down the streets of Canterbury. My first impulse was to avert my eyes, like some others were doing, but instead, I reminded myself that they were just bodies. Nothing to be afraid of. So I watched them on purpose. The more I looked at their bodies, the more normal they seemed. It legitimately didn't bother me that I was surrounded by all these naked people. It was awesome.

I feel like Miley is challenging this social norm, and I think she's doing it on purpose. She knows how weird people get around nudity and she's decided it's bullshit. I loved watching her on Jimmy Kimmel recently because while she's trying to continue with the show, Kimmel can't get over how much of her breasts are showing. He comes off as childish. She just treats her exposed breasts like a normal thing, which is what they should be.

I scrolled past this picture earlier and found it no more offensive than someone's beach selfie.

This means a lot to me personally because of how many years I spent ashamed of my body. Once puberty hit, I hid myself in long pants and oversized sweaters because I didn't like how I looked. I wasn't comfortable in my skin, and I specifically hated my arms, stomach, and thighs. Skirts, shorts, and dresses were out of the question unless I wore tights and a jacket. For visits to the beach, I donned a one-piece bathing suit that I quickly covered with a T-shirt and shorts. I was damn stubborn about it, too. I lived in Southern California, for crying out loud, and I always refused to take off my sweater, no matter how hot I was.

Women, or people perceived as women, are not helped through this process by school dress codes. My shame was encouraged by dress codes proclaiming that tank tops and skirts higher than the knee would sexually arouse my male peers and "give people the wrong idea." Not only was I uncomfortable with showing my body because of how it looked, but I also thought, "I don't want to seem like one of those types of girls. I want people to think I'm dignified. I don't want people to think I'm a slut."

Dress codes were teaching me that certain parts of my body were wrong. They were teaching me to look down on other girls who chose to show those parts of themselves, to see them as undignified, to assume that these girls didn't respect themselves. Dress codes were teaching me that as long as I was not like them, as long as I was a good girl and covered myself, people would approve of me, and I would be allowed to approve of myself.

Fast-forward to now. Around the time college started, I tried shorts without tights and dresses without jackets. Last year, I bought my first crop top, and now I own several. Every time I walk outside wearing a crop top and shorts, like I did today, I feel so empowered. I feel proud of my body and excited to show it off. That doesn't mean I'm comfortable walking around nude--I'm personally too modest for that--but I will champion and respect anyone who wants to do so. I admire people, like Miley, who can do that.

I never looked this happy in high school pictures.

So yeah, come to me with your complaints about Miley's cultural appropriation problem. I will agree with you. But please don't gripe about how naked she is and expect me to nod my head along with you. As far as I'm concerned, Miley can dress however the hell she wants. I hope we as a society eventually reach a point where the naked human body is no longer stigmatized and people aren't encouraged to be ashamed of them.

-Morgan

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