So I'm not always the type to quibble about small things, but I was reading today's Metro (a free morning newspaper in London), and one of the 'Guilty Pleasures' articles was about Beth Ditto's recent marriage to Karen Ogata.
Of course, I am always grateful when marriages between women are covered in news outlets without being mentioned as blasphemous, but there is a major misconception within the article about the nature of woman-and-woman relationships.
While talking first about Ditto's Jean Paul Gaultier dress, the author then decided to also include a bit about what her bride was wearing. I don't know if the intent was offensive, but certainly the effect is.
'Hawaiian native Ogata proved she wears the pants in the relationship, opting for a white tuxedo jacket and shorts combo.'
This is a British paper, so I'm wondering if they know something about what lingerie Ditto was wearing (or not?) that I'm missing. Ogata was wearing shorts, so neither of them were wearing trousers. So why this talk about pants? I'm sure the question that everyone really wants to know is who wears the socks in the relationship. It's very important and so frequently overlooked!
Alright, enough of the snark. I just find it frustrating that people think it's alright to decide what the roles of women are within a private relationship, especially one that is predicated upon its lack of a 'man'. Hate to burst your bubble, but some partners can function without a power imbalance.
Now, I'll spare you the lecture on how same sex couples operate very differently in their relationships and just kindly ask you to read this fascinating article.
I'm going to attempt to filter down Tiffany Wayne's message even more and point out that not only do same-sex couples prove women and men can function in any role in a relationship, the gender display of the couples has nothing to do with what roles they fill.
I am somewhat 'butch', perhaps, in my physical manifestation of gender, what with my short hair, tendency to wear men's clothing, and somewhat blocky stride, and yes, my partner is somewhat 'femme', but I don't presume to hold any power over her in the sense that 'wearing the pants' would imply. Now, to be fair, the phrase was developed to address women who had somehow taken on the dominant role of a man in a heterosexual relationship, but that would further mean it has very little relevance in discussions of homosexual marriages.
Really, though, this issue boils down to the belief that most people seem to have of the homosexual community sticking to traditional gender roles. Newsflash: we don't. We may have in the past, and perhaps a select few of us still do, but for the majority of couples wandering around with matching gender identities and mismatched clothes (or even matching clothes, which seems to really give people a whirl), gender roles aren't given a second thought.
I think what's most offensive about this is the implication that people somehow know the dynamics of the given couple's sexual and emotional relationship by appearance. They can't, and frequently don't.
Again, I will reiterate, I look masculine, but I'm probably the more submissive partner in most areas other than planning dates. That being said, she and I usually split the bill or take turns treating the other, so even that doesn't end up being an expression of dominance. We consider each other equals, and we deliberate appropriately.
Also important to mention is that these roles are potentially damaging. Men and women should be able to feel free to express themselves in dress and personality no matter what 'gender' they belonged to originally. Men deserve to express love and sensitivity, and women deserve to express dominance and sexual desire, even though it's not 'traditional'.
Perhaps Ditto and Ogata both wear the pants, perhaps neither of them do. I am, however, positive, that assuming someone has a certain role in a relationship by what they wear is patently incorrect and obtrusive.
Maybe next time the Metro could say something like 'Ogata chose to wear shorts, which was a bold change from the more traditional tuxedo jacket pairing of trousers, but appropriate for the weather of her native Hawaii.'
Thursday, July 25, 2013
The Gossip on Gender Roles in the Metro
Labels:
Beth Ditto,
butch,
discrimination,
gay marriage,
gay rights,
gender,
homosexuality,
identity,
Karen Ogata,
lesbian,
london,
Marriage,
patriarchy,
queer,
roles,
stereotypes,
The Gossip,
The Metro
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
A Eulogy, of sorts.
I started going to Cazadero Music Camp when I was 13, awkward in my pubescence and somewhat concerned with what was coming next. I'm still awkward, though that is no longer due to the horrors of puberty, and I'm still concerned with what's coming next, but high school was a lot different than I thought it would be, so I suppose it's kind of silly to worry about the future because it never really turns out how you'd expect. This post isn't about the future, though, or even the present, regrettably, but about the past.
There was always something special about being in the redwoods each summer, whether it be the magic of the sunlight filtering down hazily through the green branches or music echoing raucously through the canyon; sweet strains of march melodies and some big romantic classical piece being performed far more beautifully than most people would ever expect out of a group of young children. The environment of camp is obviously a fantastic one, what with the bucolic setting and passion of the participants, but the employees also make it unique.
A group of individuals collected by audition and interview to work for one of the most grand summer experiences in California by definition must bring something to the table, and they do. Never have I met a more vivacious, outgoing, caring, and utterly talented group of people who share in the joy of bringing music and fun to children. Impressively, the staff who do not work directly with the kids are also hard-working, industrious, friendly, and eager to help, throwing themselves into jobs that might not be glamorous but certainly are required to make the camp run.
Aside from all that, though, what every camp truly needs are the personal touches. Memories and ideas and little friendly details that create a setting that cannot be forgotten. One of those things, for me, was this little black and white dog, Jazz, who belonged to the Camp Director, Jim, and his wife, Anita, the Head Chef.
My first summer I remember trying to pet Jazz, along with the rest of the campers, but also finding her collar on the rec field with a couple of my friends. We eagerly collected our prize of a few 'Mazz Bucks' each, but I kept mine instead of using them to buy candy. I still have one, tucked away in a corner of my room at home, and I'm glad I held on to it. She was always loyally following Mazz around on his journeys surveying the camp, and often could be found lingering in front of the Dining Hall, waiting patiently for someone to drop something or Anita to emerge.
When I started working in the kitchen, I found out one of her favourite places to relax was on the steps leading to the storage room. She had a view into the cooking area, and could watch Anita as she worked. Eventually, Jazz and I developed a rapport, probably because I was willing to scratch her behind the ear for hours at a time. Okay, not hours, but at least 20 minutes. In any case, I was enough of a sucker that if she rested her head on my knee and looked at me expectantly, I'd begin again, if ever I had the audacity to stop.
I suppose it was sort of naive to believe she'd always be there, resting her head on my knee or trotting around the grounds like she owned the place; which she did, in case you had any doubts, but considering I haven't been 13 for a while I might have seen this sad day coming. Jazz recently left to get scraps from the spectral Cazadero, but she will be sorely missed when camp commences again this summer.
I don't know if I can imagine a camp without her little half-cocked ears or wet black nose, but I will live with the memories, fondly. Thank you, Jazz, for bringing joy to so many of us.
There was always something special about being in the redwoods each summer, whether it be the magic of the sunlight filtering down hazily through the green branches or music echoing raucously through the canyon; sweet strains of march melodies and some big romantic classical piece being performed far more beautifully than most people would ever expect out of a group of young children. The environment of camp is obviously a fantastic one, what with the bucolic setting and passion of the participants, but the employees also make it unique.
A group of individuals collected by audition and interview to work for one of the most grand summer experiences in California by definition must bring something to the table, and they do. Never have I met a more vivacious, outgoing, caring, and utterly talented group of people who share in the joy of bringing music and fun to children. Impressively, the staff who do not work directly with the kids are also hard-working, industrious, friendly, and eager to help, throwing themselves into jobs that might not be glamorous but certainly are required to make the camp run.
Aside from all that, though, what every camp truly needs are the personal touches. Memories and ideas and little friendly details that create a setting that cannot be forgotten. One of those things, for me, was this little black and white dog, Jazz, who belonged to the Camp Director, Jim, and his wife, Anita, the Head Chef.
My first summer I remember trying to pet Jazz, along with the rest of the campers, but also finding her collar on the rec field with a couple of my friends. We eagerly collected our prize of a few 'Mazz Bucks' each, but I kept mine instead of using them to buy candy. I still have one, tucked away in a corner of my room at home, and I'm glad I held on to it. She was always loyally following Mazz around on his journeys surveying the camp, and often could be found lingering in front of the Dining Hall, waiting patiently for someone to drop something or Anita to emerge.
When I started working in the kitchen, I found out one of her favourite places to relax was on the steps leading to the storage room. She had a view into the cooking area, and could watch Anita as she worked. Eventually, Jazz and I developed a rapport, probably because I was willing to scratch her behind the ear for hours at a time. Okay, not hours, but at least 20 minutes. In any case, I was enough of a sucker that if she rested her head on my knee and looked at me expectantly, I'd begin again, if ever I had the audacity to stop.
I suppose it was sort of naive to believe she'd always be there, resting her head on my knee or trotting around the grounds like she owned the place; which she did, in case you had any doubts, but considering I haven't been 13 for a while I might have seen this sad day coming. Jazz recently left to get scraps from the spectral Cazadero, but she will be sorely missed when camp commences again this summer.
I don't know if I can imagine a camp without her little half-cocked ears or wet black nose, but I will live with the memories, fondly. Thank you, Jazz, for bringing joy to so many of us.
Labels:
camp,
cazadero music camp,
death,
dogs,
mourning,
music,
redwoods,
summer camp
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Fairy Tale
In another daring escapade,
The princess claims the prince,
And he is hers.
Not unlike when she saved
Him from the vision of
Normalcy that resides
Amongst this (society).
The princess needs no
Prince.
He doesn't pursue, he is
Pursued.
The moral is not to assume
I guess, but in the end,
The girl got the boy.
Not
The other way
Around.
Maybe it's easier to write a poem about expectations and roles when it comes to relationships and 'ownership', but I think the whole idea of 'gender-swapping the patriarchy' is really fascinating when it comes to art. Perhaps it could even be vital for the creation of theatre and literature, because if characters couldn't swap genders without seeming strange, then they haven't been fully created so much as copied.
I also have spent a lot of time recently thinking about this idea of 'the guy gets the girl', as if she is an object to be won and thus incapable of 'getting the guy'. Even movies and books that center around a female protagonist have a tendency to put the male character as the 'owner' of the relationship.
Maybe it's because women (in the eyes of current and previous societies) have no claim to their bodies. They are merely there to be consumed by men and are sexualised as commodities rather than treated as individuals. I know a lot of men don't think like that about women, but some do, and it's incredibly negative and reductive for everyone.
I guess the point of what I'm trying to say is that it's important to determine if the things you say could hold up regardless of the receiving party's gender (and wherever they fit on the spectrum). It's also important to consider whether what has been said is reductive in its treatment of gender, because creating and following patriarchal conventions by continuing their use is negative to the cause of equality.
The princess claims the prince,
And he is hers.
Not unlike when she saved
Him from the vision of
Normalcy that resides
Amongst this (society).
The princess needs no
Prince.
He doesn't pursue, he is
Pursued.
The moral is not to assume
I guess, but in the end,
The girl got the boy.
Not
The other way
Around.
Maybe it's easier to write a poem about expectations and roles when it comes to relationships and 'ownership', but I think the whole idea of 'gender-swapping the patriarchy' is really fascinating when it comes to art. Perhaps it could even be vital for the creation of theatre and literature, because if characters couldn't swap genders without seeming strange, then they haven't been fully created so much as copied.
I also have spent a lot of time recently thinking about this idea of 'the guy gets the girl', as if she is an object to be won and thus incapable of 'getting the guy'. Even movies and books that center around a female protagonist have a tendency to put the male character as the 'owner' of the relationship.
Maybe it's because women (in the eyes of current and previous societies) have no claim to their bodies. They are merely there to be consumed by men and are sexualised as commodities rather than treated as individuals. I know a lot of men don't think like that about women, but some do, and it's incredibly negative and reductive for everyone.
I guess the point of what I'm trying to say is that it's important to determine if the things you say could hold up regardless of the receiving party's gender (and wherever they fit on the spectrum). It's also important to consider whether what has been said is reductive in its treatment of gender, because creating and following patriarchal conventions by continuing their use is negative to the cause of equality.
Labels:
assumptions,
consent,
creative writing,
feminism,
gender,
identity,
ownership,
patriarchy,
poem,
poetry
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)