Midway through my gig yesterday, I visited the ladies room at the large venue I was at. As I was washing my hands and about to leave, I noticed two teenagers next to a single sink, looking into the mirror.
The one appeared to be a girl, and the other one struck me as unusual upon first glance.
I tried not to stare, but did throw several glances here and there, and as I exited I took note of some things.
I immediately knew by the posture, demeanor and attire that the one teenager was attempting to be “trans.” As he was adjusting a blouse (with seeming intent focus and concern at its positioning) and looking in the mirror, I immediately wondered if “she” had on a breast binder, since the appearance was one of flat chested-ness. (At that point, I was assuming these were both young girls.)
As I walked out of the ladies room, I felt sadness, since I knew enough to know this teen was in the throes of confusion and many destructive forces, and somewhere likely present was a family being torn up over such behavior.
Later, there was a large family and the parents were having me do caricatures of all their children, two at a time.
This same teen, and another young man (who may have been unrelated), sat in front of me.
Though I was not feeling very happy and perky yesterday, I did what I always do while drawing. I maintain a pleasant, enthusiastic smile and I ask basic questions of those sitting in the chair to have some small-talk conversation while I’m focusing on their face and drawing them.
These days at gigs I always wear a nice, cute dress, earrings, and have my hair up–perhaps it is overkill in terms of feminine dress for an outdoor company picnic, but it’s what I feel most comfortable in. I do have the traditional black slacks/black shirt gig attire but I find it uncomfortable unless it is specifically a black-attire situation.
As this young teen sat before me, I asked my routine questions from yesterday such as,
“What grade are you in?”
“How is the new school year? Do you like your teachers?”
“What is your favorite subject?”
“Are you good in that?”
“Do you like to draw?”
“Do you play sports?”
I could immediately sense some undercurrent of discomfort–even possibly animosity–exuding from this teen. He seemed to avoid eye contact with me, and every time my eyes locked with his, as I warmly smiled, I saw some type of hardened stare at me. It is hard to describe. Not really a “hollow” look, but a look I might describe as contempt. It was in the eye contact.
I felt uneasy, as though I shouldn’t look too closely at him, even though that was my one job.
I had overheard bickering between him and his mother over what name was to go on the caricature. I heard his given name, which is a biblical name that most always signifies Christian parents. It’s an Old Testament name that is archaic, but unlike “Joshua” or “Jonathan” for example, is not as likely to be selected by the non-religious.
From the name, I determined this teen was male. However, he was wearing eye liner and glittering pink-purple eye shadow. His voice had both a male and a feminine quality. When he spoke, there was a speech demeanor that seemed quite unusual–patterned might be a good descriptor, although I’m not sure after what, per se. In general, it sounded muffled, sloppy and devoid of true communication/intellectual engagement. I did not sense there was any intellectual impairment in this teen; this speech pattern was one that communicated (to me) a “checking-out” of societal norms and an unbridled interest in self and fantasy.
I know that may sound judgmental, but if I had to put it in words (and since I’m writing about this, that is what I must do) that would be my way of describing my impression and the communication toward me.
The teen was a twelfth grader. When asked what his favorite class was, he didn’t really know. When asked what he was interested in, his response was along the lines of “just having fun.” When asked what he planned to do after graduation, his response was along the lines of “just having fun.”
He had been arguing to use some type of name that was odd and sounded “made up.” If I were to attempt my closest recall of this non-sense name it was something like “Mini-Mushka.” But I’m not sure.
At one point I believe he did say he liked art class and I asked what he liked to draw. His friend may have mentioned anime, to which he strongly responded “don’t get me started about anime” and I was unsure of the communication.
I do know that anime seems highly influential in the trans persona, from what I’ve read. There is some type of gravitation/obsession to anime, which as I understand, the characters tend to be somewhat genderless. There’s a lot to read about this connection if one searches, but Wikipedia gives a general overview.
The haircut of this young man resembled, somewhat, a shaggy anime-like style which was not typical for either a woman or a man, per se. In the end, he and his friend got up as dialogue continued in my hearing about what name to put. The mother asserted to put his given (biblical) name and said to him that she wanted these framed on the wall and the other name was not what she wanted.
There seemed to be a “hub bub” going over the desire for this non-sense-sounding name. In the end, I was happy to inscribe this given name on to the picture. I drew a cartoon–face only–which was based upon shapes of features and the hairstyle, and gave no space for including eye-liner and eye shadow, nor the overall attire.
I don’t think I captured the particular demeanor in my drawing, but the quality of our eye contact remains with me. Defiant might be another descriptor. I felt/sensed this young person had some type of hostility toward me, though I did nothing but politely smile and interact with him with as much similarity as possible to all others who sat in my chair.
While it could be that my particularly feminine appearance/attire was off-putting to him, I do not know. I was wearing a dress with a floral pattern I would categorize as wholesome–perhaps even youthful in its “girly” simplicity in some way.
I felt that something was present that went beyond any external cues that would have led to hostile eye-contact; I felt/sensed something spiritual at play.
But as I re-think this interaction, I end where I started: I saw a male standing at the mirror in the ladies room.
When I arrived, I was shown where the ladies room was, and there was a sign that said “women.”
No one was monitoring this space, nor determining whom could or could not enter.
And I wonder to myself, what does the internal experience feel like to someone such as this? To be able to confidently access this safe space designated for women, and for what purpose?
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