Hi, welcome to Gender Analysis.
Suppose I were to show you some pictures from
when I transitioned, and asked you to arrange
them from start to finish, in the order you
think they were taken in.
But that would be a trick question – they
already are.
Contrast that with how someone on Tumblr recently
described me: “…if you watch videos of
Zinnia from five years ago and ones from last
week, the only difference is that Zinnia has
longer hair now and wears lipstick more frequently.”
There’s an obvious disconnect between this
perception and the reality.
So, what exactly is going on here?
When it comes to transitioning, many people
seem to equate living as a woman with being
stereotypically feminine.
It’s a common assumption that trans women
express their womanhood via conventional or
even excessive femininity.
Movies and TV shows often depict trans characters
as far more feminine than most cis women – at
times absurdly so.
Tabloids focus on conventionally attractive
models and actresses; when Christine Jorgensen
became one of the first widely known trans
women in 1952, front-page headlines described
her as a “blonde beauty”.
Many scholars and commentators have simply
parroted these assumptions, using them to
criticize the process of transition and even
trans people themselves.
In 2004, columnist Julie Bindel claimed that
trans people are “stereotypical in their
appearance - fuck-me shoes and birds'-nest
hair for the boys; beards, muscles and tattoos
for the girls.”
And Germaine Greer described trans women as
“people who think they are women, have women’s
names, and feminine clothes and lots of eyeshadow,
who seem to us to be some kind of ghastly
parody”.
As they see it, if trans women all express
traditional femininity, then this essentially
implies that to be a woman is to be inherently
feminine – a notion which many of them understandably
disagree with.
Janice Raymond, author of The Transsexual
Empire, questioned whether trans women “encourage
a sexist society whose continued existence
depends upon the perpetuation of these roles
and stereotypes”.
And Sheila Jeffreys states: “The idea of
GID is a living fossil – that is, an idea
from the time when there was considered to
be a correct behaviour for particular body
types.
Those with penises were supposed to play with
particular toys and show "masculinity" such
as desires to play aggressive team games and
show little emotion.
Those with vaginas were supposed to show "femininity"
such as desires to be self-denying, do unpaid
housework and wear high-heeled shoes.”
These critics conceive of transition as a
kind of Sorting Hat for gender: since society
often disapproves of men being feminine and
women being masculine, transitioning functions
to ensure that all feminine people are women
and all masculine people are men.
But all of this still rests on the assumption
that trans women are universally feminine.
Why would that be the case?
Gender and gender expression are not the same
thing, and womanhood isn’t synonymous with
femininity.
Most people know better than to assume that
cis women all present themselves like housewives
from a 1950s sitcom.
Are trans women all that different?
How stereotypical are we, anyway?
As it turns out, there’s a test designed
to measure just that.
The Bem Sex-Role Inventory lists 60 different
personality traits, and asks respondents to
rate how accurately each trait describes them.
Some traits are stereotypically masculine,
some are stereotypically feminine, and some
are gender-neutral.
Respondents are recorded as masculine, feminine,
androgynous, or undifferentiated based on
whether they show higher masculinity, higher
femininity, high levels of both, or low levels
of both.
Because this is a measure of gender stereotypes
and not gender itself, cis people don’t
all fall into either masculinity or femininity.
While cis men may be classified as masculine
more frequently than cis women, cis people
in aggregate tend to be spread across these
categories.
So how do trans people compare?
A 2002 study in Poland used a derivative of
the Bem Sex-Role Inventory to evaluate 132
trans people and 438 cis people.
Among the cis men, 4% were classified as feminine,
48% as masculine, 24% as androgynous, and
24% as undifferentiated.
In comparison, trans men were more likely
to be rated feminine, less likely to be masculine,
and more likely to be androgynous.
These results don’t really align with the
suggestion that trans men exhibit stereotypical
or excessive masculinity.
And among cis women, 34% were rated feminine,
16% masculine, 28% androgynous, and 22% undifferentiated.
While no trans women were classified as masculine,
only 52% were rated feminine, with the remainder
being androgynous or undifferentiated.
Trans women were actually more likely to be
rated androgynous than cis women.
A 2012 study in Spain used the inventory to
examine 156 cis people and 121 trans people,
with somewhat different results.
Here, trans women were less likely to be rated
feminine than cis women, and more likely to
be rated androgynous and undifferentiated.
Trans men were, again, more likely than cis
men to be classified as feminine, and less
likely to be masculine.
Neither of these studies supports the idea
that trans people are any more extremely masculine
or feminine than cis people.
Instead, we see that trans people express
their gender in diverse ways, much as cis
people do.
So, what accounts for these stereotypes?
Where do people get the idea that trans women
are, as Suzanne Vega sang, “more girl than
girls are”?
To understand this, it’s necessary to look
at the history of how gender dysphoria is
defined and diagnosed.
In the 1950s and ‘60s, the medical community
finally began to recognize gender dysphoria
as a treatable condition.
They now faced the questions of how to determine
if a person is trans, and whether transition
treatments are appropriate for them.
At a time when the very idea of medical transition
was widely unfamiliar to the public, therapists
and doctors aimed to make the process seem
legitimate and unchallenging to social norms.
To defang the idea as much as possible, they
established stringent criteria for who could
transition, which sharply limited the number
of people who received treatment.
In 1964, UCSF announced that their doctors
had performed only three transition-related
surgeries in the past decade.
When the Gender Identity Clinic at Johns Hopkins
opened in 1966 and began to perform operations,
doctors planned on merely examining just two
potential patients a month, with no guarantee
of whether they would receive treatment.
Psychiatrist Robert Stoller privately noted
that the hospital would provide surgery to
almost no one, and that thousands of people
would be turned away.
While the criteria of the clinics were supposedly
in place to minimize the chances of regret
among patients, and to shield doctors from
legal action, they also served another purpose:
ensuring that any trans people who were accepted
would conform closely to gender stereotypes.
In a 1973 paper, Dr. Norman Fisk of the Stanford
gender clinic listed certain factors pertaining
to “the overall team decision as to acceptability
for sex conversion”.
Among these were “appreciation of core gender
principles” and “physical passability”
– the degree to which a trans woman was
perceived as indistinguishable from a cis
woman.
So what exactly were those “core gender
principles”?
A 1971 paper by Stoller contains a lengthy
description of what he believed to be the
defining features of trans women and trans
men.
As children, trans women are depicted as “developing
a feminine gracefulness of movement”, drawing
“beautiful women”, identifying with feminine
women in television or movies, and enjoying
“trying on jewelry and makeup”.
In adolescence and adulthood, he describes
them as “avoiding masturbation” and “avoiding
intercourse with females”, and expects them
to have no history of marriage to women or
of having children.
Instead, he states that trans women will have
a relationship with a heterosexual man, and,
when possible, get married.
Altogether, he describes them as having a
“lifelong identification with femininity
and feminine roles”.
Stoller conceives of trans men as equally
stereotypical, stating that as children, they
are “already walking, talking, and fantasying
[themselves] as male” and identifying with
their father’s “masculine interests”.
These are said to include hunting, fishing,
playing sports, carpentry, farming, and “whatever
activities already reflect father’s masculine
role”.
He describes adult trans men as “exclusively
heterosexual”, with their ideal partner
being “a woman whose past history seems
unfailingly heterosexual”.
Finally, he explains the clinical relevance
of these descriptions: “Only those rare
patients who fulfill the criteria described
above – the most feminine of males and the
most masculine of females – should undergo
sex transformation.”
A 1979 paper by psychiatrists at the Indiana
University Medical Center sets forth similar
norms, describing “primary (true) transsexuals”
as follows: “Cross-dressing often begins
early, even in preschool years.”
“They feel literally trapped in the wrong
body…
They abhor their genitals…
They get no pleasure from their genitals.
They are generally not interested in erotic
pleasure…
There is little or no active sex life with
members of either sex."
This group is contrasted with “secondary
transsexuals”, who are said to be lacking
a “very early onset”, while “Sexuality
and the capacity to enjoy their genitals is
present at some time in their history.”
The authors state that their clinic’s policy
considers only “primary transsexuals”
as eligible for genital surgery.
Other doctors were somewhat more blunt.
A 1982 paper quoted one surgeon as saying
that his diagnostic process was to bully his
patients, with trans women being judged as
genuine if they cried.
Another doctor stated that they were no longer
accepting Puerto Ricans as a whole, because,
quote, “they don’t look like transsexuals.
They look like fags.”
Gender: An Ethnomethodological Approach by
Kessler and McKenna cites the opinions of
two other practitioners: “A clinician during
a panel session on transsexualism at the 1974
meeting of the American Psychological Association
said that he was more convinced of the femaleness
of a male-to-female transsexual if she was
particularly beautiful and was capable of
evoking in him those feelings that beautiful
women generally do.
Another clinician told us that he uses his
own sexual interest as a criterion for whether
a transsexual is really the gender she/he
claims.”
Even the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual
of Mental Disorders incorporates gender stereotypes
in its descriptions of trans people.
In the fourth edition’s diagnosis of gender
identity disorder, young trans women are said
to have “a marked preoccupation with traditionally
feminine activities”, and “particularly
enjoy playing house, drawing pictures of beautiful
girls and princesses…”.
The text further adds that “Stereotypical
female-type dolls, such as Barbie, are often
their favorite toys…”
“They avoid rough-and-tumble play and competitive
sports and have little interest in cars and
trucks”.
As adolescents, behaviors such as “shaving
legs” are considered to suggest “significant
cross-gender identification”.
Meanwhile, young trans men are said to “prefer
boys’ clothing and short hair”, and “Their
fantasy heroes are most often powerful male
figures, such as Batman or Superman.”
The fifth edition of the DSM, released in
2013, repeats many of these descriptions under
the diagnosis of gender dysphoria.
Trans people had a powerful incentive to meet
these clinical standards: their ability to
transition was at stake.
The problem, of course, was that these criteria
were based on archaic gender norms.
Women were expected to be feminine, conventionally
attractive, interested in jewelry, straight,
emotional, lacking sexual interest, and married
to men.
Men were expected to be masculine, interested
in sports and construction, and take straight
women as partners.
Dr. Fisk actually stated that the Stanford
program offered “grooming clinics where
role-appropriate behaviors are taught, explained
and practiced”.
In short, these clinics seemingly aimed to
produce only people who were as stereotypical
in their gender as possible, perhaps not realizing
that cis women may also be tomboyish, sexually
outgoing, or attracted to women.
There is evidence that this kind of selection
process is still occurring: a 2004 study of
325 trans people seeking treatment in the
Netherlands found that patients were more
likely to be referred for hormone therapy
when their appearance was perceived to align
more closely with their gender.
So, when trans people were forced to follow
these strict standards or else be denied treatment,
how did they cope with this?
Well, what would you do if your very gender
were at the mercy of doctors who expected
you to be as conforming and stereotypical
as possible?
Trans people learned to work the system, leading
to the emergence of the so-called transsexual
narrative.
Not a transsexual narrative – *the* transsexual
narrative.
When trans people were rejected from these
clinics, they didn’t always walk away or
give up.
They would often share what they had learned
about these standards with other trans people,
or even read the published literature on these
treatment protocols.
In this way, trans people figured out how
to adapt their presentation to fit what was
expected of them.
They crafted a narrative that matched the
standards: a life story in which they were
inherently feminine or masculine, exclusively
heterosexual, “trapped in the wrong body”,
distressed by their genitals, and aware of
their gender from an early age.
"How do you feel about your penis?"
"It disgusts me."
As early as 1968, doctors at Johns Hopkins
realized what was going on, and stated: “In
data from interviews a high degree of patient
motivation to obtain surgery is noted.
Patients tend to skew memory and report only
those feelings of belonging to the opposite
gender.
Most transsexual patients describe previous
psychiatric experience as anxiety-provoking.
Throughout the interview the patient's strong
desire to be accepted in the acquired gender
role and the prospect of secondary gain may
be expected to strongly influence the response
to questions.”
Robert Stoller noted that "those of us faced
with the task of diagnosing transsexualism
have an additional burden these days, for
most patients requesting 'sex change' are
in complete command of the literature and
know the answers before the questions are
asked".
Dr. Fisk likewise wrote: “…virtually all
patients who initially presented for screening
provided us with a totally pat psychobiography
which seemed almost to be well rehearsed or
prepared… it was apparent that this group
of patients were so intent upon obtaining
sex conversion operations that they had availed
themselves of the germane literature and had
successfully prepared themselves to pass initial
screening.”
And in 1973, Dr. Richard Green explained:
“…few preoperative patients report any
ambivalence to psychiatrists about their ‘proper’
gender or about any of their conventional
sex-typed behaviors beginning with childhood.
Nor do they report events from their life
history that do not fit the well-publicized
autobiographies of ‘successful’ transsexuals.”
Trans people themselves acknowledge doing
this.
In 1987, Sandy Stone wrote: “...the reason
the candidates’ behavioral profiles matched
Benjamin’s so well was that the candidates,
too, had read Benjamin’s book, which was
passed from hand to hand within the transsexual
community, and they were only too happy to
provide the behavior that led to acceptance
for surgery.”
And in the 1988 book In Search of Eve, a researcher
spoke with 16 trans women, one of whom said:
“What right do you have to determine whether
I live or die?
Ultimately the person you have to answer to
is yourself and I think I’m too important
to leave my fate up to anyone else.
I’ll lie my ass off to get what I have to
. . . [surgery].”
Another stated: “You must conform to a doctor’s
idea of a woman, not necessarily yours”.
Other women reported telling their friends
about which therapists were friendly to trans
people and would allow them to access treatment
quickly and easily.
I’ve actually done this myself.
Where possible, I’ve referred other trans
people to doctors who are known to be accepting,
and otherwise, I’ve told them about the
traditional stereotypes that therapists might
still expect to hear.
For several people I know personally, this
information seemed to streamline the process
of transitioning.
Trans people all over the internet compare
notes on their experiences at various clinics,
simply to help each other out.
Because the treatment criteria so often required
conformity with traditional gender norms,
generations of trans women were forced to
pretend to be far more feminine than they’re
comfortable with.
And what do we get for it?
We get commentators and critics attacking
us for being too feminine.
In the same year that Janice Raymond complained
we’re encouraging a sexist society by perpetuating
roles and stereotypes, doctors at Indiana
University were demanding we embody sexist
roles and stereotypes.
30 years after members of the American Psychological
Association admitted they judge our eligibility
for treatment based on their own sexual interest,
Julie Bindel mocked us for wearing “fuck-me
shoes”.
Cis people set these stereotypical standards.
We conformed to them against our own inclinations.
And cis people now have an entrenched stereotype
of us as overly feminine.
Well, whose fault is that?
To some extent, a similar dynamic is at play
in society at large.
Before I started medically transitioning,
my gender felt fragile – it was as if the
slightest crack in my presentation would make
people see me as a man.
I paid inordinate attention to my hair, makeup,
voice, clothes, and anything else I felt was
relevant.
I was extremely anxious about it, and this
was stressful to those around me.
Crucially, I wasn’t doing this to satisfy
my own sense of how I should look – this
wasn’t driven by any personal discomfort
with my appearance.
I was doing it to satisfy what I believed
was other people’s sense of how I should
look.
But in doing so, I was uncomfortable: I had
to present myself as more feminine than I
actually wanted.
Women interviewed in the 2005 paper “Transsexuals’
Embodiment of Womanhood” reported a similar
phenomenon: “the initial retraining of their
bodies intensified self-monitoring and feelings
of inauthenticity”.
For us, certain aspects of gender presentation
are more complicated than they would be for
most cis women.
We may wish to choose not to shave our legs
or not to do our makeup; however, these choices
carry the risk of being perceived, not as
a slightly un-feminine woman, but simply as
a man.
To be seen as women, we may find ourselves
having to embrace some of those archaic stereotypes
of femininity – even when we don’t want
to.
It’s a difficult double-bind.
As one trans woman in the 2005 study said:
“…I’ve always kind of rejected things
that oppress women; you know, the way women
are traditionally treated in society.
A lot of this clothing and makeup are things
that I’ve always thought were ridiculous.
… I’m wondering if I do have to start
wearing a lot of makeup and dressing in more
traditionally feminine ways and try to get
people to think of me as female.”
Many people evidently see transitioning as
an acquiescence to this trap, a choice to
embrace and embody these stereotypes.
In reality, transitioning can actually serve
as a way out.
Kessler and McKenna present a study of various
bodily gender cues and how people perceive
certain mixed combinations of them, something
which is obviously relevant to trans people.
It was found that the only reliable sign that
a figure was female was simply the absence
of male-designated gender cues.
Several female-designated cues were necessary
to ensure that a figure would be perceived
as female nearly all of the time.
For trans women, transitioning tends to involve
a reduction in attributes perceived as male,
and an increase in attributes perceived as
female.
On our own, we can grow our hair out, change
the way we dress, and practice altering our
voice and how we walk.
Medical treatment can change our facial appearance,
give us a more feminine body shape, reduce
our body hair, and enhance our breast growth.
If the Kessler and McKenna study on gender
cues is applicable to everyday life, this
suggests a newfound abundance of female cues
could mean we don’t have to pay as much
attention to maintaining all of them.
Once many of them are solidly in place, it
might start to feel less like we have to push
our gender cues to the maximum.
In my experience, the difference has been
substantial.
Before, I felt like I was walking a tightrope,
constantly making sure my presentation was
in perfect balance to avoid being misgendered.
But after two years of transitioning, I’ve
realized that I just don’t care – and
now, neither does anyone else.
Nowadays, makeup is a rare indulgence.
I’ve shaved half my hair off because I just
felt like it.
I don’t need padded bras anymore, and I
don’t usually bother with bras at all.
I have a huge trans tattoo on my chest.
For me, transitioning didn’t mean turning
into Bree from Transamerica – I’m more
like some kind of frumpy dubstep housewife.
That’s because my gender is finally for
me, not for everyone else.
The 2005 study on embodiment and womanhood
lends support to the idea of this increasing
comfort in our genders as we continue transitioning.
The authors write: “As interviewees practiced
at home, in the car, at support group meetings,
and at public outings, their newly adopted
voices and body movements became a taken-for-granted
aspect of their practical consciousness.”
They further added: “interviewees’ transformation
of secondary sex characteristics increased
feelings of authenticity….
Growing breasts brought forth unprecedented
feelings of authenticity as women.”
As one participant stated: “I can see the
woman.
She’s there.
It’s not pretend.”
This is the key point that so many people
miss: It’s not about playing with Barbies
and being sexy and settling down with a husband.
It’s just about being a woman.
It’s not about dresses and makeup and spending
hours getting ready to go out.
It’s about being able to roll out of bed
and stagger to the grocery store in your pajamas.
It’s not something I put on in the morning
anymore – it’s just who I am.
Transitioning made my gender feel less pretend
and more real than ever.
It gives us the breathing room we need: safer
and more comfortable access to the same vast
array of gender expressions exhibited by cis
people.
Transitioning doesn’t mean we’re stereotypical
– we’re just typical.
I’m Zinnia Jones.
Thanks for watching, and tune in next time
for more Gender Analysis.
