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gaydiesaster · 24 days

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Hello! I’m so sorry if you’ve talked about it before and I missed it, but as someone who’s struggling with their faith, I would love to hear about your journey. Did something bring you from Judaism to Islam?

(Totally cool to tell me to fuck off, also! I’m a stranger on the internet and I am not owed any details about your life.)

hey, anon! i’m definitely willing to share more about my journey.

to be clear, i converted to judaism, which is a long and involved process. i do not think my conversion process was done particularly well, unfortunately. i read a lot of theory about the Torah and not much of the Torah itself, which made me kind of ill-prepared to really take on what i was doing. it was also during 2021, so i didn’t get much immersion into jewish culture until after my mikveh. i also was not met with much resistance from the rabbi.

to be clear, i do not regret converting to judaism. it remains a big part of my journey and led me to islam and understanding Allah SWT better.

the reason i didn’t consider islam is because i didn’t really see it as a faith that people like me (white, queer, trans) could belong to. now, i grew up with a lot of muslims. my hometown has a pretty significant number of African, muslim immigrants, so i got to know about islam through my classmates at school, so i knew a lot of the basics and also had islam as just an everyday concept for me, not something foreign.

literally as soon as i went to the mikveh, islamic education started appearing in my life within my community, social spaces, schooling, etc. i started implementing some islamic concepts into my life, including covering my hair for months (which was also a gender dysphoria thing but don’t worry about it lol). the more i learned, the more i became interested, and when i read the first surah of the Quran, i cried because it hit me so hard, and i wasn’t ready to become muslim even though i knew it would happen. this was about a year ago.

the biggest things that i like about islam are the daily practices/rituals and the fact that it got me sober. daily routines such as praying at specific times a specific way, dhikr, and dedication to learning reflect a lot of the coping mechanisms that i’ve learned in therapy. as someone who struggles with alcohol abuse, having a higher power that motivates me to stay sober helps me a lot. knowing that there is something beyond me that is more powerful than my addiction has kept me sober on more than one occasion (and i will stay sober this time inshaAllah). dhikr, or remembrance of Allah SWT, reminds me to make good choices and keeps Allah SWT at the forefront of my life.

all of this is to say that islam as a way of life has helped me a lot. i feel like i’ve become a better person since choosing to accept islam because i’m more mindful and aware. having that inate structure makes me feel stable and self-aware.

if you’re struggling, i highly encourage you to read the Torah and the Talmud for judaism and the Qurah and books of hadiths/sunnah (ways of the Prophet SAW) for islam. really see and think about what resonates with you from each. journal about it. put tabs in the books where you find parts that make you go “wow!”

for me, learning about Muhammad SAW made me see him as a role model and someone i can emulate, especially as a man, ESPECIALLY as a trans man! the sunnah, which means the way, has literally become a pathway for me to understand how to be the best man i can be.

most importantly, touch grass, and i mean that so seriously. go to a synagogue. go to a masjid. talk to people in those communities about your thoughts, your theology, what you believe. talk with a rabbi or imam, and talk to lay people. had i done that before, i would have found that most of my innate thoughts about god reflect islam over judaism. and please, PLEASE do this offline! it is so helpful.

one thing that stopped me from doing that is the prejudice that i had about masjids being homo/transphobic, but when i went before reverting, i was fully accepted as a brother. now, i do have passing privilege and have to be stealth, but a lot of young muslims (who aren’t bullying people on tiktok) are totally chill with lgbtq people. no faith center will be perfect. i’ve been accepted at synagogues and faced transphobia at synagogues. but at the end of the day, i’m here to please Allah SWT and not people. i highly encourage you to keep that in mind.

that’s a lot of it, but pls feel free to message me if you have any other questions. there’s no judgement here.

#they speak #anon #asks

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turtlemagnum · 1 year

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coming to terms with some shit, gonna rant under the cut

so, some context here. i am severely mentally ill and neurodivergent, and i've known this for pretty much all my life. i've had PTSD since i was 6 goddamn years old, and i've also been struggling with ADHD, anxiety, depression, anger issues, and autism all my goddamn life. now, i've gotten better as time has gone on, at least in terms of not Freaking The Fuck Out. i'd say my anger has eased the most, probably because i have significantly less exposure to dickshitters these days. i'm also queer, i'd consider myself some manner of bisexual and some manner of nonbinary; albeit in a very loose sense. i think part of both of those are me mostly not especially caring about societal preconceptions of what a man should be. whenever someone has historically tried to call my masculinity into question, i've just sorta not really reacted at worst and been slightly amused at best. my mom insisted that i don't shave my legs because i'm a man, and i didn't care because i think body hair is Gross. so like, in terms of gender, i still present more or less like a man because i prefer the presentation styles of masculinity, but i don't adhere to it out of some sense of what i innately should be due to some misguided gender essentialism. i just like having pockets and don't care enough about my appearance to learn to do makeup (i feel as though it'd be like putting a V8 engine in a ford model T). in terms of sexuality, i'm less so bisexual in the sense of "i'm attracted to men and women at similar levels" but moreso "i'm almost exclusively attracted to women and people who identify as men that look enough like a woman to me (e.g. femboys)". i've heard some describe this as a valid form of bisexuality, but frankly i feel like i'm sorta faking it? but also some men are real pretty and cocks look pretty cool, so i dunno. i've pretty much known all of this for as long as i've been capable of critical thought, partially because my mom's also bisexual in a similar way (predominantly being attracted to men but acknowledging some lesser attractions to women), partially because she never talked down to me about stuff like mental illness and sexuality. i will say that i had no fuckin clue what being nb meant until high school, when this really cool nb person was really patient with me and explained that shit to me (hope you're doing well on the off chance you see this, skye), but hey ya can't win em all. i was also a so called "gifted kid" back when i was in school, teachers always fuckin loved me because i was slightly less of a dipshit than most other kids and i was good at taking tests. that, in combination with my variety of mental shit, gave me such a fucking superiority complex that took me until i was at least 16 or so to grow out of. i will say that the PTSD made me mature a lot faster than most kids, though obviously this is a bad thing and being mature for a fuckign kid still isn't very mature, but Still. all of this, in combination, has generally left me feeling fairly separate from other people, like i'm perpetually a stranger, on the outside looking in. a part of me wishes i could like things a normal amount, that i could like the things most other people seem to like but are mind numbing to me, i wish i could've had more of a childhood before gaining sentience right before becoming traumatized. but also, i feel a small freedom in my solitude. i feel as though i'd be significantly more boring without all of this, without all of my esoteric interests and beliefs, without my shitfucked sense of humor, without my desires and beliefs in a better world and a better future. in all earnestness, despite my regrets, and there are many, i feel i'm a better person for all i have been through. conflict can make you weaker, it can erode you and your will, your fighting spirit. but it can make you stronger, it can give you no choice but to hold on for dear life or to not live at all. it can enact growth.

things may seem bleak, they may seem like they'll never get better, but they can, and if enough people work together to make the world a better place, it can and it will. we can't all be strong, especially not on our own. that's why it's important to lean on the people you care about, and let them lean on you when they need to. the world can be a better place, for people like me, for people like you, for everyone.

i yearn for a world where people like me aren't forced to exist. not in the sense of wanting to die, or wanting other neurodivergent or queer people to not exist; but in the sense of not wanting other people to have been through so much as myself. i yearn for a world where children don't have to be strong, where adults can permit themselves vulnerability, where people can love and be loved freely without conflict and abuse. a world where weakness isn't necessarily encouraged, but certainly not punished. one of peace, of prosperity.

this got away from me, but alas, most things do these day. if you read all of this, stay safe out there. i won't lie and say i care about you personally, because chances are i don't know you. but most likely, someone loves you. remember them in the times to come. you'll likely need to at times

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transgenderteensurvivalguide · 4 years

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“Elliot Page doesn’t remember exactly how long he had been asking.

But he does remember the acute feeling of triumph when, around age 9, he was finally allowed to cut his hair short. “I felt like a boy,” Page says. “I wanted to be a boy. I would ask my mom if I could be someday.” Growing up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Page visualized himself as a boy in imaginary games, freed from the discomfort of how other people saw him: as a girl. After the haircut, strangers finally started perceiving him the way he saw himself, and it felt both right and exciting.

The joy was short-lived. Months later, Page got his first break, landing a part as a daughter in a Canadian mining family in the TV movie Pit Pony. He wore a wig for the film, and when Pit Pony became a TV show, he grew his hair out again. “I became a professional actor at the age of 10,” Page says. And pursuing that passion came with a difficult compromise. “Of course I had to look a certain way.”

We are speaking in late February. It is the first interview Page, 34, has given since disclosing in December that he is transgender, in a heartfelt letter posted to Instagram, and he is crying before I have even uttered a question. “Sorry, I’m going to be emotional, but that’s cool, right?” he says, smiling through his tears.

It’s hard for him to talk about the days that led up to that disclosure. When I ask how he was feeling, he looks away, his neck exposed by a new short haircut. After a pause, he presses his hand to his heart and closes his eyes. “This feeling of true excitement and deep gratitude to have made it to this point in my life,” he says, “mixed with a lot of fear and anxiety.”

It’s not hard to understand why a trans person would be dealing with conflicting feelings in this moment. Increased social acceptance has led to more young people describing themselves as trans—1.8% of Gen Z compared with 0.2% of boomers, according to a recent Gallup poll—yet this has fueled conservatives who are stoking fears about a “transgender craze.” President Joe Biden has restored the right of transgender military members to serve openly, and in Hollywood, trans people have never had more meaningful time onscreen. Meanwhile, J.K. Rowling is leveraging her cultural capital to oppose transgender equality in the name of feminism, and lawmakers are arguing in the halls of Congress over the validity of gender identities. “Sex has become a political football in the culture wars,” says Chase Strangio, deputy director for transgender justice at the ACLU.

(Full article with photos continued under the “read more”)

And so Page—who charmed America as a precocious pregnant teenager in Juno, constructed dreamscapes in Inception and now stars in Netflix’s hit superhero show The Umbrella Academy, the third season of which he’s filming in Toronto—expected that his news would be met with both applause and vitriol. “What I was anticipating was a lot of support and love and a massive amount of hatred and transphobia,” says Page. “That’s essentially what happened.” What he did not anticipate was just how big this story would be. Page’s announcement, which made him one of the most famous out trans people in the world, started trending on Twitter in more than 20 countries. He gained more than 400,000 new followers on Instagram on that day alone. Thousands of articles were published. Likes and shares reached the millions. Right-wing podcasters readied their rhetoric about “women in men’s locker rooms.” Casting directors reached out to Page’s manager saying it would be an honor to cast Page in their next big movie.

So, it was a lot. Over the course of two conversations, Page will say that understanding himself in all the specifics remains a work in progress. Fathoming one’s gender, an identity innate and performed, personal and social, fixed and evolving, is complicated enough without being under a spotlight that never seems to turn off. But having arrived at a critical juncture, Page feels a deep sense of responsibility to share his truth. “Extremely influential people are spreading these myths and damaging rhetoric—every day you’re seeing our existence debated,” Page says. “Transgender people are so very real.”

That role in Pit Pony led to other productions and eventually, when Page was 16, to a film called Mouth to Mouth. Playing a young anarchist, Page had a chance to cut his hair again. This time, he shaved it off completely. The kids at his high school teased him, but in photos he has posted from that time on social media he looks at ease. Page’s head was still shaved when he mailed in an audition tape for the 2005 thriller Hard Candy. The people in charge of casting asked him to audition again in a wig. Soon, the hair was back.

Page’s tour de force performance in Hard Candy led, two years later, to Juno, a low-budget indie film that brought Page Oscar, BAFTA and Golden Globe nominations and sudden megafame. The actor, then 21, struggled with the stresses of that ascension. The endless primping, red carpets and magazine spreads were all agonizing reminders of the disconnect between how the world saw Page and who he knew himself to be. “I just never recognized myself,” Page says. “For a long time I could not even look at a photo of myself.” It was difficult to watch the movies too, especially ones in which he played more feminine roles.

Page loved making movies, but he also felt alienated by Hollywood and its standards. Alia Shawkat, a close friend and co-star in 2009’s Whip It,describes all the attention from Juno as scarring. “He had a really hard time with the press and expectations,” Shawkat says. “‘Put this on! And look this way! And this is sexy!’”

By the time he appeared in blockbusters like X-Men: The Last Stand and Inception, Page was suffering from depression, anxiety and panic attacks. He didn’t know, he says, “how to explain to people that even though [I was] an actor, just putting on a T-shirt cut for a woman would make me so unwell.” Shawkat recalls Page’s struggles with clothes. “I’d be like, ‘Hey, look at all these nice outfits you’re getting,’ and he would say, ‘It’s not me. It feels like a costume,’” she says. Page tried to convince himself that he was fine, that someone who was fortunate enough to have made it shouldn’t have complaints. But he felt exhausted by the work required to “just exist,” and thought more than once about quitting acting.

In 2014, Page came out as gay, despite feeling for years that “being out was impossible” given his career. (Gender identity and sexual orientation are, of course, distinct, but one queer identity can coexist with another.) In an emotional speech at a Human Rights Campaign conference, Page talked about being part of an industry “that places crushing standards” on actors and viewers alike. “There are pervasive stereotypes about masculinity and femininity that define how we’re all supposed to act, dress and speak,” Page went on. “And they serve no one.”

The actor started wearing suits on the red carpet. He found love, marrying choreographer Emma Portner in 2018. He asserted more agency in his career, producing his own films with LGBTQ leads like Freeheld and My Days of Mercy. And he made a masculine wardrobe a condition of taking roles. Yet the daily discord was becoming unbearable. “The difference in how I felt before coming out as gay to after was massive,” says Page. “But did the discomfort in my body ever go away? No, no, no, no.”

In part, it was the isolation forced by the pandemic that brought to a head Page’s wrestling with gender. (Page and Portner separated last summer, and the two divorced in early 2021. “We’ve remained close friends,” Page says.) “I had a lot of time on my own to really focus on things that I think, in so many ways, unconsciously, I was avoiding,” he says. He was inspired by trailblazing trans icons like Janet Mock and Laverne Cox, who found success in Hollywood while living authentically. Trans writers helped him understand his feelings; Page saw himself reflected in P. Carl’s memoir Becoming a Man. Eventually “shame and discomfort” gave way to revelation. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” Page says, “and letting myself fully become who I am.”

This led to a series of decisions. One was asking the world to call him by a different name, Elliot, which he says he’s always liked. Page has a tattoo that says E.P. PHONE HOME, a reference to a movie about a young boy with that name. “I loved E.T. when I was a kid and always wanted to look like the boys in the movies, right?” he says. The other decision was to use different pronouns—for the record, both he/him and they/them are fine. (When I ask if he has a preference on pronouns for the purposes of this story, Page says, “He/him is great.”)

A day before we first speak, Page will talk to his mom about this interview and she will tell him, “I’m just so proud of my son.” He grows emotional relating this and tries to explain that his mom, the daughter of a minister, who was born in the 1950s, was always trying to do what she thought was best for her child, even if that meant encouraging young Page to act like a girl. “She wants me to be who I am and supports me fully,” Page says. “It is a testament to how people really change.”

Another decision was to get top surgery. Page volunteers this information early in our conversation; at the time he posted his disclosure on Instagram, he was recovering in Toronto. Like many trans people, Page emphasizes being trans isn’t all about surgery. For some people, it’s unnecessary. For others, it’s unaffordable. For the wider world, the media’s focus on it has sensationalized transgender bodies, inviting invasive and inappropriate questions. But Page describes surgery as something that, for him, has made it possible to finally recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, providing catharsis he’s been waiting for since the “total hell” of puberty. “It has completely transformed my life,” he says. So much of his energy was spent on being uncomfortable in his body, he says. Now he has that energy back.

For the transgender community at large, visibility does not automatically lead to acceptance. Around the globe, transgender people deal disproportionately with violence and discrimination. Anti-trans hate crimes are on the rise in the U.K. along with increasingly transphobic rhetoric in newspapers and tabloids. In the U.S., in addition to the perennial challenges trans people face with issues like poverty and homelessness, a flurry of bills in state legislatures would make it a crime to provide transition-related medical care to trans youth. And crass old jokes are still in circulation. When Biden lifted the ban on open service for transgender troops, Saturday Night Live’s Michael Che did a bit on Weekend Update about the policy being called “don’t ask, don’t tuck.”

Page says coming out as trans was “selfish” on one level: “It’s for me. I want to live and be who I am.” But he also felt a moral imperative to do so, given the times. Human identity is complicated and mysterious, but politics insists on fitting everything into boxes. In today’s culture wars, simplistic beliefs about gender—e.g., chromosomes = destiny—are so widespread and so deep-seated that many people who hold those beliefs don’t feel compelled to consider whether they might be incomplete or prejudiced. On Feb. 24, after a passionate debate on legislation that would ban discrimination against LGBTQ people, Representative Marie Newman, an Illinois Democrat, proudly displayed the pride flag in support of her daughter, who is trans. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, a Georgia Republican, responded by hanging a poster outside her office that read: There are TWO genders: MALE & FEMALE.

The next day Dr. Rachel Levine, who stands to become the first openly transgender federal official confirmed by the Senate, endured a tirade from Senator Rand Paul about “genital mutilation” during her confirmation hearing. My second conversation with Page happens shortly after this. He brings it up almost immediately, and seems both heartbroken and determined. He wants to emphasize that top surgery, for him, was “not only life-changing but lifesaving.” He implores people to educate themselves about trans lives, to learn how crucial medical care can be, to understand that lack of access to it is one of the many reasons that an estimated 41% of transgender people have attempted suicide, according to one survey.

Page has been in the political trenches for a while, having leaned into progressive activism after coming out as queer in 2014. For two seasons, he and best friend Ian Daniel filmed Gaycation, a Viceland series that explored LGBTQ culture around the world and, at one point, showed Page grilling Senator Ted Cruz at the Iowa State Fair about discrimination against queer people. In 2019, Page made a documentary called There’s Something in the Water, which explores environmental hardships experienced by communities of color in Nova Scotia, with $350,000 of his own money. That activism extends to his own industry: in 2017, he published a Facebook post that, among other things, accused director Brett Ratner of forcibly outing him as gay on the set of an X-Men movie. (A representative for Ratner did not respond to a request for comment.)

As a trans person who is white, wealthy and famous, Page has a unique kind of privilege, and with it an opportunity to advocate for those with less. According to the U.S. Trans Survey, a large-scale report from 2015, transgender people of color are more likely to experience unemployment, harassment by police and refusals of medical care. Nearly half of all Black respondents reported being denied equal treatment, verbally harassed and/or physically attacked in the past year. Trans people as a group fare much worse on such stats than the general population. “My privilege has allowed me to have resources to get through and to be where I am today,” Page says, “and of course I want to use that privilege and platform to help in the ways I can.”

Since his disclosure, Page has been mostly quiet on social media. One exception has been to tweet on behalf of the ACLU, which is in the midst of fighting anti-trans bills and laws around the country, including those that ban transgender girls and women from participating in sports. Mississippi Governor Tate Reeves says he will sign such a bill in the name of “protect[ing] young girls.” Page played competitive soccer and vividly recalls the agony of being told he would have to play on the girls’ team once he aged out of mixed-gender squads. After an appeal, Page was allowed to play with the boys for an additional year. Today, several bills list genitalia as a requirement for deciding who plays on which team. “I would have been in that position as a kid,” Page says. “It’s horrific.”

All this advocacy is unlikely to make life easier. “You can’t enter into certain spaces as a public trans person,” says the ACLU’s Strangio, “without being prepared to spend some percentage of your life being threatened and harassed.” Yet, while he seems overwhelmed at times, Page is also eager. Many of the political attacks on trans people—whether it is a mandate that bathroom use be determined by birth sex, a blanket ban on medical interventions for trans kids or the suggestion that trans men are simply wayward women beguiled by male privilege—carry the same subtext: that trans people are mistaken about who they are. “We know who we are,” Page says. “People cling to these firm ideas [about gender] because it makes people feel safe. But if we could just celebrate all the wonderful complexities of people, the world would be such a better place.”

Even if Page weren’t vocal, his public presence would communicate something powerful. That is in part because of what Paisley Currah, a professor of political science at Brooklyn College, calls “visibility gaps.” Historically, trans women have been more visible, in culture and in Hollywood, than trans men. There are many explanations: Our culture is obsessed with femininity. Men’s bodies are less policed and scrutinized. Patriarchal people tend to get more emotional about who is considered to be in the same category as their daughters. “And a lot of trans men don’t stand out as trans,” says Currah, who is a trans man himself. “I think we’ve taken up less of the public’s attention because masculinity is sort of the norm.”

During our interviews, Page will repeatedly refer to himself as a “transgender guy.” He also calls himself nonbinary and queer, but for him, transmasculinity is at the center of the conversation right now. “It’s a complicated journey,” he says, “and an ongoing process.”

While the visibility gap means that trans men have been spared some of the hate endured by trans women, it has also meant that people like Page have had fewer models. “There were no examples,” Page says of growing up in Halifax in the 1990s. There are many queer people who have felt “that how they feel deep inside isn’t a real thing because they never saw it reflected back to them,” says Tiq Milan, an activist, author and transgender man. Page offers a reflection: “They can see that and say, ‘You know what, that’s who I am too,’” Milan says. When there aren’t examples, he says, “people make monsters of us.”

For decades, that was something Hollywood did. As detailed in the 2020 Netflix documentary Disclosure, transgender people have been portrayed onscreen as villainous and deceitful, tragic subplots or the butt of jokes. In a sign of just how far the industry has come—spurred on by productions like Pose and trailblazers like Mock—Netflix offered to change the credits on The Umbrella Academy the same day that its star posted his statement on social media. Now when an episode ends, the first words viewers see are “Elliot Page.”

Today, there are many out trans and nonbinary actors, directors and producers. Storylines involving trans people are more common, more respectful. Sometimes that aspect of identity is even incidental, rather than the crux of a morality tale. And yet Hollywood can still seem a frightening place for LGBTQ people to come out. “It’s an industry that says, ‘Don’t do that,’” says director Silas Howard, who got his break on Amazon’s show Transparent, which made efforts to hire transgender crew members. “I wouldn’t have been hired if they didn’t have a trans initiative,” Howard says. “I’m always aware of that.”

So what will it mean for Page’s career? While Page has appeared in many projects, he also faced challenges landing female leads because he didn’t fit Hollywood’s narrow mold. Since Page’s Instagram post, his team is seeing more activity than they have in years. Many of the offers coming in—to direct, to produce, to act—are trans-related, but there are also some “dude roles.”

Downtime in quarantine helped Page accept his gender identity. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” he says.

Page was attracted to the role of Vanya in The Umbrella Academy because—in the first season, released in 2019—Vanya is crushed by self-loathing, believing herself to be the only ordinary sibling in an extraordinary family. The character can barely summon the courage to move through the world. “I related to how much Vanya was closed off,” Page says. Now on set filming the third season, co-workers have seen a change in the actor. “It seems like there’s a tremendous weight off his shoulders, a feeling of comfort,” says showrunner Steve Blackman. “There’s a lightness, a lot more smiling.” For Page, returning to set has been validating, if awkward at times. Yes, people accidentally use the wrong pronouns—“It’s going to be an adjustment,” Page says—but co-workers also see and acknowledge him.

The debate over whether cisgender people, who have repeatedly collected awards for playing trans characters, should continue to do so has largely been settled. However, trans actors have rarely been considered for cisgender parts. Whatever challenges might lie ahead, Page seems exuberant about playing a new spectrum of roles. “I’m really excited to act, now that I’m fully who I am, in this body,” Page says. “No matter the challenges and difficult moments of this, nothing amounts to getting to feel how I feel now.”

This includes having short hair again. During our interview, Page keeps rearranging strands on his forehead. It took a long time for him to return to the barber’s chair and ask to cut it short, but he got there. And how did that haircut feel?

Page tears up again, then smiles. “I just could not have enjoyed it more,” he says.”

#suicide m #transphobia m #Elliot Page #transgender #representation #celebrities #actors #tv #movies #rep #trans #transmasculine #nonbinary #queer #long post

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intersex-support · 2 years

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Hi! I know this might be kind of a weird ask, but I just needed a space to talk about this and your blog appears to be safe.

So I have what has been diagnosed previously as PCOS. I'm seeking genetic testing for various reasons, but the symptoms are relatively consistent. Anyway.

One thing I never see talked about is how people with PCOS can and do face medical abuse and "correction". I was put unwillingly onto puberty blockers - ones not even intended as such, it was a common off-label use that came with potential long term side effects. I'm also trans, but didn't know it at the time. Had I known, I may have chosen puberty blockers, but it was still very much a nonconsensual attempt to "correct" my "precocious puberty".

Then as an adult, due to, well long story, but abuse from my mom, I was convinced to take estrogen-based birth control that in all likelihood contributed to my worsening dysphoria, to "manage" the huperandrogenism I'm now actively encouraging with low dose testosterone. Without constantly being told it's ugly, I love being hyperandrogenous! It makes me euphoric!

Related to this, I also got told I was appropriating intersex experiences for wanting my (already intersex body) to more closely match my being intersex. I admittedly said it poorly, in a way that made it seem like I was generalizing all intersex bodies into a common misconception, but I was trying to say that me being altersex (or another word, I've heard that term can be intersexist but don't have an alternative, if it is I'm happy to change the term I use) is a direct result of me being intergender/intergender (again, don't know which terminology to use, sorry!). I was accused of fetishizing intersex conditions by someone who admitted that PCOS should be considered one.

I don't actually know whether I had any coercive surgery in infancy due to a lot of crap with birthfamily and being removed at nine months and adopted at 14 months. But every other experience I've had has been (mostly perisex and a few bad faith gatekeeping intersex) people coercing me into fitting more neatly into a binary sex, often medically, and often with transphobia on top. I've had people deny that I can experience transness in multiple ways (I use transfem, transmasc, and transneutral/transandrogenous, particularly because I also am plural which just further complicates things.

I just... I wish people understood that I have faced many of the struggles typical to the intersex community. I have never experienced gender like a perisex person. I have always been cautious about speaking to my own experiences because I've tried to be aware of privilege where I have it and to uplift the voices of others with different experiences than mine, even where there are no dynamics of privilege/oppression.

Having people like you say "yes, people with PCOS can use the intersex label, we have shared experiences, you belong" has also been incredibly healing. It's like... I feel like people can often innately recognize when they have shared community in regards to innate identity. I felt drawn to the queer community before my gender/sexuality eggs cracked, for example. I feel like exclusion only hurts people because it- well, essentially is a form of gaslighting. "No, your experiences in this specific aspect are fundamentally so alien to ours that we couldn't possibly talk about commonalities in any meaningful way, and will deny you a belonging that is already yours." Does that make any sense?

I'm not perfect in the way I say things, so I do wanna say that I'm absolutely willing to be corrected if something I have said is harmful.

Just uh,,, thank you for listening to this long vent.

(In case I interact via anon in the future, can I sign off with "starry anon"?)

Hey, anon 💜

I'm so sorry that you've had to put up with so much judgment, abuse, and coercion from so many people and places that you expected to be safe. You did not deserve any of that. You have PCOS and hyperandrogenism, and you are intersex. You belong in intersex spaces and anyone who says you doesn't is being a complete asshole. There's so many reasons like you've listed here, where you have so many commonalities of experiences with other intersex people, and deserve to be able to find compassion and solidarity. I'm so sorry that you've faced medical abuse, and I think you're brave for speaking up about it and talking about the fact that intersex people with PCOS can and do face medical abuse. You are not alone in that, and it absolutely wasn't your fault.

You are intersex, and there is no way that you can appropriate your own experiences. I sort of do think that altersex is a label that's used in an intersexist way a lot of times and I personally tend to be uncomfortable with it, and I tend to stay away from altersex because of my issues with it. I think altersex is really only being used by people who aren't intersex, so I could see why people might have thought you were fetishizing or appropriating intersex experiences, as if you say you are altersex people are going to think you are saying you are dyadic. You can just say that you're intersex and intergender if that's language that makes you feel comfortable, although I'm not going to tell you what language is and isn't right for you to use--that's a personal choice.

I don't know you and your story and I'm also not going to tell you what ways of experiencing your gender and what labels are okay for you to use--I know that it can get very complicated when we're intersex and we're sometimes reassigned gender or sex in childhood, or at puberty, or undergo certain types of transition that's unexpected for our AGAB. I don't think that it's a free-for-all that any intersex person ever can just claim to be transmasc or transfem or both or that every single intersex person has a claim to every label, but my policy is to trust intersex people when they tell me their labels and trust that they know what the most accurate and affirming language is to use based on their own lived experiences. I think this is something that individual intersex people have to really think through and decide what labels are appropriate for them to use, and be thoughtful about what times we need to stay in our lane and when we follow our instincts. It does get complicated and my approach is to just trust that people know what labels are actually accurate to their life, and I only bring things up if it is an issue. If people are appropriating labels, if they don't have a certain type of lived experience but they are claiming that they do, if they are perpetuating oppression, then I will call people out and deal with whatever they are actually doing. I'm not going to tell you that you can't use labels or not when I don't know your life and story, or say whether you should be doing things or not, and just trust that you have thought through what is appropriate and what is right for you and listened to what the communities you are a part of are telling you.

Even though you did use altersex language, or if you were confused and couldn't figure out the best way to phrase things, you still are intersex and have an intersex body. And I completely understand wanting intersex affirming and gender affirming things to feel more comfortable in your body. I think that a lot of intersex people do have dysphoria and I know a lot of us who really have strong feelings about wanting to return to our natural intersex bodies before medical abuse, or returning to a version of ourselves that we were never allowed to be. I think that's something that makes so much sense, and even though I can see why people would react badly if they thought you were dyadic and using confusing language, know that you are not doing anything wrong by being intersex and having these feelings, and you cannot appropriate your own experiences. You belong in intersex community and are allowed to share your own experiences.

This blog is a safe space for you, anon, and feel free to share your story or come and vent if you need it.

💜💜💜

-Mod E

#asks #actuallyintersex #intersex #to clarify bc we've been having a lot of discussions on and offline about this lately #i don't think that every intersex person ever. can claim to be transmasc or transfem #like for instance i think it would be entirely inappropriate for me to claim to be transfem. i was afab raised female #and even though I went through medical abuse and hormonal conversion therapy #I don't think i live in any meaningful way as a transfem person. because i am a trans man #so im like in my case it would be weird if i started claiming i was transfem u know. bc im not #but i do think that with intersex people. birth asssignment gets tricky #i have a friend who was amab. but then was raised as a girl from the age of 5. and than at puberty transitioned back. and he considers #himself a trans man #so im like okay i think there are times where people's birth assignment doesn't line up with the dyadic birth assignment for a trans experi #so it does get complicated when you are intersex. or when you're intersex and like #you're transitioning one way. in a way that isn't usually expected of your birth assignment #and i dont' think i get to make all the rules for who is what. i think that would be silly #i think that's something that we all just need to think about what labels are right for us to use and what our experiences are #and if we think we're overstepping then we totally might be! if we think we belong in a certain community or certain label #and the community accepts us! that can also be true #so basiaclly long story short: i dont think that being intersex means that now you can just say that you r whatever trans label you feel #like. if you don't have the lived experiences #and i think it's good for us to be aware of that. but i do think its complicated #and that if you do have the lived experiences. if a certain label you use is right for you. im going to trust you #bc i am not in charge and dont feel like you know. telling people what they can and can't do

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discyours · 2 years

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Thank you for your comment on the “fake bisexuals” post, those attitudes are exactly why I thought I was just an overzealous ally until I was 20 and learned FROM gender critical feminism, that if I have the capacity for sexual attraction to women, as a woman then I’m not straight. After an initial mental breakdown bc I couldn’t understand how I could have been so “wrong” about myself loudly proclaiming I was straight amongst my lgbt friends groups for two decades, once I recognized that truth, over the last few years I’ve undergone the natural process of upacking my internalized homophobia and misogyny which had been subconsciously hidden behind the thin veneer of the liberal feminism I had been so invested in. And gradually I began to see women more neutrally, then positively, THEN I was able to NOTICE my sexual and romantic feelings towards them. In hindsight I’ve had female crushes my whole life, but living in a homophobic society & family, on top of that attitude in the post being very prevalent, I had never even considered to think of them that way before. Like, one’s libido doesn’t dictate your innate sexual orientation! Different people experience attraction in different ways, the whole “If you don’t look at a woman and I want to eat her pussy then you’re not SSA” doesn’t even apply to all SSA women, or even to how I as a bisexual woman view men who I’m sexually attracted to, and on that post they were all but ignoring how bisexual women understandably have been impacted by the misogyny and homophobia that’s surrounded them all their life. I think more of us bi women never realize we’re not straight than straight women thinking they’re bisexual. Being bisexual doesn’t somehow automatically make us invulnerable to societal conditioning, and I think the fact that we also experience OSA can make unlearning that more is more “optional” for us *in a way* (ykwim?) because we have the option of dating the group we as women have been pressured to please our whole lives. Also, there are women who are 100% homosexual but did not realize until later in life. Sexual orientation is innate, but that doesn’t mean we all innately understand it right away or experience it in the same way. Honestly, I believe there must have been millions of bisexual people who have lived and died on this Earth never realizing they were bisexual. Anyway sorry this got so long but I just wanted to say thanks!! Bc I didn’t want to put myself out there publicly in disagreement w a topic I’m so emotionally sensitive about so I’m very glad you said something <3

It's a complicated issue tbh. Technically anyone who experiences any level of attraction to both sexes is bisexual, but I'm also heavily sympathetic to the idea that you shouldn't openly call yourself bisexual if your same sex attraction is so minor that you're functionally straight. it just feels alienating when you're very attracted to women and you meet a woman who insists on using the same label as you, but then goes on to say she's only ever dated men and is grossed out by the idea of actually sleeping with a woman. Both of those factors can be caused by internalised homophobia and it's 100% okay to struggle with that, but doing so to such an extent while still proudly calling yourself bisexual is gonna upset some people and I think that's fair.

I'd like more acknowledgement of how broad bisexuality is and how much societal conditioning can affect the way you interpret and express your attraction. I feel like the bi community has skipped straight past that step and just goes "oh you kind of like boobs but can only picture yourself ending up with a man? Welcome to the community, please know that you're no less "queer" than the rest of us and don't unpack anything whatsoever".

#anon

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winchestermendesgirl · 4 years

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Supernatural’s Legacy: The Trauma of Silence

Understanding the unique grief of Supernatural fans, and the power of stories to liberate and to punish. [Warning: spoilers for season fifteen of Supernatural]

(By Deirdre-t on Buzzfeed)

In the wake of Supernatural’s controversially underwhelming finale last Thursday, many fans are left adrift, angry, and deeply hurt. They are left grappling with an ending that blindsided them, not only leaving the traumatic death of a canonically queer lead emotionally unresolved but going so far as to scrub the character and all evidence of the decade-built queer romantic plot from the finale, mere episodes after a celebrated and victorious on-screen love confession between Castiel and Dean Winchester.

They were given a shell of a finale that saw all suggestion of queerness removed, all sense of heart and chosen family eliminated. Even the relationship between Sam and Eileen, too deeply tied to the themes of the queer love story, was dropped, dealing the added blow of abandoning a disabled character in favor of a random, unidentified partner for Sam.

Fans are, to put it simply, devastated.

And through all of their reactions, as people are processing their disappointment, grief, and rug-pulling confusion, one accusation stings so very clearly and pointedly for queer fans:

You’re just mad because you didn’t get your ship.

No.

The legacy of Supernatural and its finale’s impact goes so much deeper than fans of Dean and Castiel’s pairing not getting their way. This isn’t about a ship.

This is about stories, and the intricate ways in which they become part of us and our world– the ways our lives and struggles are reflected, subverted, and reinforced.

This is about a story and characters that people deeply connected with, a story that people let into their hearts and souls, devoted their time and love to because they saw themselves in it and had faith that they might be worth something to it in return. They had faith that once, just once, they would get what they deserve in this world, that they would see themselves treated with dignity, respect, and love. They had faith that the story being told would be finished, that the emotional catharsis and resolution they had waited fifteen years for– the resolution that so many have been denied in their own lives– would be granted. It was not.

And not only did Supernatural deny this resolution, it actively regressed every moment of growth that led to it. It spat in the face of its own themes: found family, choice, unconquerable love, self-determination and acceptance, freedom from the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that seek to control and suppress us. Themes that people connected with because they are real to them. Themes whose treatment impacts them. Whose reflections on their lives are tangible.

Whether it was the writers or the suits, creatives or executives ultimately responsible, Supernatural gutted this journey and took characters who were stand-ins for vulnerable people and denied them their truth and closure. They set up clear, beautiful, meaningful endings– I would go so far to say the narrative promised them– and they burned it all down. Unapologetically, cruelly, and yes, homophobically.

This affects people’s lives. This is real.

The treatment of Castiel, Dean, and their love story, and the ultimate messages of their endings, are unconscionable.

Castiel is a stand-in for viewers suffering from depression, PTSD, self-worth issues, isolation, alienation. His story is about breaking free from abusive and controlling circumstances and building a family who loves you and chooses you for who you are, and learning to believe in that love. His arc is about feeling unloved and unworthy, feeling like no one around you could possibly want you for who you are and sacrificing your own wants and needs to earn the small bit of space you dare to take up. Believing this all your life and slowly learning that it isn’t true. Learning that you are wanted, that you have worth, inherently, just by being you.

Castiel’s story built to a point where he specifically needed to hear this from Dean. From the one person who he chose, whose love was quite literally the foundational starting point of his journey to autonomy and self-acceptance. The narrative demanded this in order for Castiel to finally believe in and live his whole truth, in order to reach the end of his arc. It set up a simple need: someone who has never understood the love they have been given, the love they deserve, must be told that they have it and deserve it.

Instead, not only was this journey to accepted, reciprocated love and ultimate self-actualization left unfinished, its ending point on screen was a premature and self-sacrificial death. This is Supernatural, so I am not talking about death in the sense that it is innately bad, because more often than not in the show it is transformative, transcendent. I am talking about the death of his character in the sense that he truly and permanently is not allowed to experience another moment of growth. That he is punished by the story for expressing his truth, that his journey toward internal and external love and worth ultimately leads to him giving himself and that love up, and this is never meaningfully subverted.

Castiel dies by finally letting himself speak his truth– by allowing a moment of actualization that is never rewarded with experiencing the thing he has finally let himself admit he wants. That is never rewarded with actually experiencing the acceptance, love, and reciprocal choice that we have spent over a decade waiting for with him. Castiel, our stand-in character for overcoming depression, alienation, and self-hatred, confesses that he is in love with a man and is so filled with the happiness of this love, so fully actualized in his identity– his love, his queerness, his acceptance of self– that it kills him.

His depression personified consumes him in the vulnerability of his happiness, and he is never heard from in a meaningful way again. His journey is utterly unacknowledged emotionally by the family who he was journeying to, by the man whose love he died for. His intrinsically queer story ends with that queerness literally killing him. Because taking this power for yourself, taking control of your life and claiming love as your own, must be punished.

This could all have had meaning. It was supposed to. This was set up to be subverted, the dark before the dawn, with Cas’s actualization honored by a confirmation of reciprocal love (be it romantic, familial, platonic, whatever, his arc is utterly unfinished without this) and a peaceful eternity spent as a fully realized soul. The consumption of the shadow subverted by integration with it, by wholeness and love consuming it in return. Instead, he is left off screen, given an offhand mention of an unexplored move to heaven, and is never shown to experience any sort of love or reciprocity from the family he built or the man he loves again. The message, in the end, is clear, no matter what the original intention was. Speak your truth, and it will silence you. Live your truth, and it will punish you.

Dean, too, is silenced and buried by his ending. Like Cas, Dean’s character is a stand-in for people suffering from trauma and abuse, for people who have had their personhood diminished and sacrificed by their families and circumstances, for those who have been harmed and pushed aside by the very people in their lives who are supposed to love and protect them. Dean’s story is about learning to overcome the limitations placed on you by others’ expectations, learning to value your own wants, needs, and dreams when you’ve been told your whole life they don’t matter. It’s about letting go of the toxicity that a cruel world will imprint upon your soul– distilling yourself and your truth from the darkness that corrupts you when you’ve experienced the world and all of its ugliness, when you have had insurmountable pain inflicted on you and have dealt that pain back in return.

His story is about learning that you can love and be loved, and that this love does not have to come at the expense of your autonomy or identity. It’s about accepting that you are not your worst moments, you are not your flaws; that there is someone within you who is worthy of forgiveness and life, who is inherently good.

Dean’s arc was built to a point where speaking his truth and choosing to live it were integral to its resolution. And this truth could only be one thing, the narrative demanded one specific ending that would do this for him. This truth was that he loved Castiel, that he wanted to be with him. This truth fundamentally symbolized Dean finally taking control of his life and choosing the one person who had always chosen him in return, whose love reflected and rewarded every aspect of Dean’s growth and journey to selfhood.

Speaking this truth to Castiel, to the person who loved him for exactly who he was, who always saw his light even through the darkest moments of his soul, the person whose love is established as the only thing that ever truly grew outside of God’s control– the only thing that was REAL– was fundamental to Dean finally accepting his own goodness and the value of his love, of his identity, and breaking free of the structure that had controlled and corrupted him his entire life to experience something of his own. Dean loving Castiel in return is how he could finally love himself, because this love at its core symbolizes freedom, truth, forgiveness, choice, and the overwhelming power of the soul.

But Dean never gets to experience this. Dean is never freed.

In the end, Dean learns that Castiel loves him and has always seen his true self, and then he never gets to live that truth. He goes right back to the life he has spent his whole journey learning to free himself from: Daddy’s little soldier, marching orders straight from his book, with only his brother by his side. Left only with the person he had been forced, time and time again, to sacrifice his identity, goals, and soul for. None of the family, support, or love, nothing he has built or chosen for himself remains.

And this man who has been told all his life that he isn’t good for anything more than a violent death on a random hunt, alone and afraid and dirty and only worth the body he can throw on the sword, dies exactly in that way. His body burns, alone, only his brother there to watch the smoke curl from his pyre.

Dean’s death, like Castiel’s, did not have to be an inherently bad thing. The story had very clearly built to a choice in this matter: a choice on how to spend the rest of his life and who to do it with. If this choice had involved passing on from this world to the next, in the context of choosing a life in whatever plane he moved to, it wouldn’t have mattered whether that life was mortal or eternal, on earth or in heaven, dead or alive. But that is not what happened. Dean didn’t choose to move on. He fought for decades to learn that what he wanted mattered, that his soul and identity were worth something, that his choices were real. And in the end, he is taken from his life randomly and violently, with absolutely nothing left to show for it. No choice, no act of the soul, no meaning.

And even after he gets to heaven, to his eternal reward, it is devoid of his heart and empty of any choice he had or would have made for himself. He does not seek out any of the people taken from him, he does not go to the man who confessed his undying love for him and sacrificed himself to save him, he does not start building the life that he never got to experience on earth. He doesn’t experience a single moment of actualization or make any choice besides getting in his car and driving aimlessly. He drives and drives to the end, to Sam, existing solely for his brother even in death. No choice, no soul, no meaning.

Dean died because his truth could not be spoken. He was punished by the story, by our world, because his only true ending would have been to love and be loved by another man. His only true ending would have been to fully experience his own identity and choice, and to live a new life surrounded by the things he built with his soul and the people who loved him for it. The message, again, is clear. Dare to seek your truth, and it will be taken.

The love between Dean and Cas was never just something people wanted to see because it was gay, or cute, or whatever people try to reduce it to in order to delegitimize queer stories and their power. The love between Dean and Cas was so deeply tied to each character’s journey, so fundamental to the resolution of each individual’s struggle and growth, so essential to the core themes and emotional substance of the narrative at large, that removing it from the ending caused the entire story to collapse. Failing to resolve it rendered their pain, sacrifice, love, choice– rendered the soul of the story– moot.

So no, people are not just upset that their ship didn’t get to kiss. People are upset that its removal functionally destroyed the story they love, and that the characters they so deeply identify with never got the endings they had built toward for so very long. That they, as viewers, never got to experience the moments of catharsis, acceptance, joy, and peace demanded by what they’ve gone through over the last fifteen years.

People are upset that pieces of their own souls, the pain and love that they identified with so personally and meaningfully, were burned with it. Yes, this is about queerness being fundamentally integrated into the story and its themes, and then being removed cruelly and hopelessly; it is about the painful message for every queer person watching that in the end, the world does not love you or even acknowledge you back. That you do not matter to it, no matter how convincingly it tries to pretend otherwise.

But this is also about our broader identities and struggles– feeling alone and scared, feeling alienated and othered, struggling with depression and trauma, losing autonomy, fearing and hating your flaws, feeling trapped or unloved or toxic or unworthy– it’s about these deeply vulnerable aspects of the self that people let this story connect to. That people found comfort and value in seeing reflected, validated, and overcome. It’s about the deeply traumatizing experience of something you love, something you have found yourself in, turning around and telling you none of it mattered.

The trauma of knowing that this will fuel the very hate, injustice, and devastating indifference that we live in spite of each day. Knowing that our love can make us as vulnerable as it makes us strong, and that this vulnerability has been and will be used against us whether it is in a story or our world.

People are in pain. People are grieving.

They are grieving a story that meant the world to them, they are grieving characters who never got to live their truths or experience their peace, they are grieving the parts of themselves that they saw in them. They are grieving the people they used to be, in those moments when they let themselves believe that they could finally have this– the innocence and authenticity in believing that their stories mattered. In believing that years of waiting, of dedication and faith, of real-life pain and struggle, were about to be honored with a simple act of love that they have been denied over and over again in their stories and their lives.

This is not about a ship. This is about us. This is about the power of our stories, and the pain of their suppression. It always has been.

[disclaimer: this was not written by me. It was written by Deirdre-t on Buzzfeed. I just needed to share this because it’s perfect and I don’t know what to do with myself]

#this is it #this is exactly what i’ve been feeling for days #it was put into words perfectly #supernatural #spn #spnfamily #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #destiel #winchesters #cw #15x18 #15x20 #spn finale #spn final season #TheySilencedThem #jensen ackles #misha collins

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conduitandconjurer · 4 years

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Hi there! I’ve lurked for a little while and just recently followed. You have a really interesting take on Klaus and I’d like to ask: what kind of things do you do to get into character so to speak? Are there any important things about his character you like to keep in mind when you write him? And as someone who has written for many years but is considering rp, any advice for a first-timer? Thanks and hope you have a wonderful day/night!

First of all you should know that I’ve been rping on various platforms for over 15 years at this point, and messages like this still MAKE MY WHOLE WORLD BETTER <33333 Thank you SO much for your gracious and generous kind words. You took a second to extend a hello and compliment my hard work and it means so so much.

So Klaus and I are NOTHING alike, which is exactly why I choose to write muses like him. It provides me an outlet of escape from my own life (which has its ups and downs) and it’s a creative and intellectual challenge to understand what makes a person so behaviorally different from myself tick. Most writers like to write characters who are like them. And I do that too, but for me, I just need some single trait in a character that I resonate with. For Klaus, it’s his innate sweetness and vulnerability (which he tries and fails to conceal) and his need (and failure) to establish boundaries (with family and with ghosts), and finally it’s his fear of being insufficient as a person his family can rely upon (which he copes with by creating artificial emotional distance, and abusing substances, whereas I the mun marinate in guilt and try to overcompensate lmao). While we’re still not alike, I can BEGIN to understand WHY he behaves the way he does, and I can build my portrayal off of that.

Put another way, most of my muses are queer nonbinary he/him/they pronoun users, often neurodivergent, who are undergoing a moral struggle, usually somewhere in the antihero category, or even villains. I on the other hand am a queer cis disabled woman with PTSD who is a Lawful Good......and I think that, having a point for relating to but still not being exactly like my muses, I almost begin to see myself as these characters’ mother or advocate of some kind. I want to see them GROW and THRIVE. From that urge, I derive the compassion that every writer needs to have for their character to (try to) portray them authentically.

And that also means that the character is not going to remain within the bounds of their canonical portrayal. The way I write them will always START and be BASED ON that. But the character will grow far afield of it. Take Klaus, for instance. I sense you call my portrayal “interesting” (correct me if I’m wrong) because I choose to write Klaus as almost always post-season 2 AND sober. He’s more at peace with himself than he was during the first season, he’s begun to properly process his grief for Dave Katz, he’s getting clean and staying clean, he’s becoming more emotionally reliable. But he still makes mistakes, he still has the most severe, frustrating and painful (for him) case of ADHD I have ever seen, people still don’t “take him seriously” (his own words) and he has to grow a thick skin about their dismissive behavior.

The fandom, even a number of Klaus rpers, like to keep Klaus in this depressing stasis chamber where he’s constantly nihilistic, selfish, and strung out, and a lot of people see Klaus’s addictions as the brunt of jokes, and while that’s cool for them, and I’d never ask them to censor their portrayal, that makes me uncomfortable. As a person who’s worked with, still works with, at-risk youth at the college level, I just can’t jive with it. Addiction is an illness and it’s not funny, and there are underlying reasons for Klaus’s addictions. And what I want to do is excavate those underlying reasons, and watch him get the support he needs. He is still a snarky, sartorial, chaotic, quirkily sweet goofball when he’s sober. He’s still Klaus.

Things I do to get in the headspace:

--Listen to playlists that I make for the character or mood. Music is crucial. --Watch videos of Robert Sheehan talking. Doesn’t have to be as Klaus, but sometimes is. If you can’t hear the character in the dialogue (not only word choose but little mannerisms and speech patterns), rewrite it. Don’t settle until you can hear the actor’s voice. --Scream to my friends on Discord about how much I love specific elements of the character, to get psyched up. I’m so sorry, @apocalypsejumped, you are the main person I do this to with Klaus, lmfao.

--Never EVER look at my follower count, because it’s gonna either depress or intimidate me.

--Look at pictures of the character. I’m incredibly visual. Just looking at my own screenshots makes me want to dissect him more.

For advice? Oh lordy! Uhhhh.....

Write a lot. Practice a lot. I have a PhD and have written book manuscripts exceeding 600 pages, but you don’t have to go that far, lmao. That drabble in your head at 3 am? Get up and write it down. That passing bit of funny dialogue you think your muse would say? Write it down. I used to carry around a physical journal. Now I use my laptop.

Write fast and only edit minimally because this is for fun, avocational, and you don’t want to spoil it with too much plotting and refinement.

Drop threads that aren’t working for you. Again, this is not a job, and when it feels like one, scale back.

Resist the urge to over-format. If your posts cease to be easily legible, the aesthetic will only impede the flow of your prose. It’s okay to vary your writing voice character by character. My syntax, vocab/word choice, sentence length and structure, vary from one muse to the other, bc the standard rp pov is third person singular, present-tense, meaning your muse is narrating it all from their specific pov. Klaus and say, a very serious, formal character, would not have the same internal monologue, or even exposition.

Beware of writing partners who are passive aggressive or possessive, who get jealous of your writing with others, and guilt you for spending your time elsewhere than catering to their needs. I spent eight years in one of these writing partnerships and only escaped last March, and I am still recovering emotionally. Writing partners can absolutely be abusive, so make sure to enforce healthy boundaries and when they are violated repeatedly, run.

Pick a blog theme that is clearly organized and accessible.

Don’t pick “main” or heaven forbid “exclusive” writing partners until you have experimented with your chemistry with a number of “versions” of their character (especially canons). Take your time and see who you gel with. Sometimes you can have a great friendship with someone and your writing together still doesn’t click. It all depends on chemistry.

Pick a small group of like minded friends and write with them. Do not worry about “exposure” or “popularity,” they are over rated. Fandoms are genuinely crazy. Just sit in your sandbox with your trusted buddies. <3

Anyone else reading this, chime in with some writing advice for nonnie! <3 They’re an experienced writer but new to rp!

#save tag #Anonymous

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gingerfoxunicorn · 4 years

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How CW Tried to Erase The Greatest Love Story Ever Told and Why That Matters

I have been struggling to put into words these past days why the Supernatural clusterfuck finale hit me like a ton of bricks.

The sense of mourning and loss was to be expected, when having to say good-bye to a series that has been running for 15 seasons and that I have been personally invested in for the past seven years, a series that became my comfort show as I was clawing my way out of depression and has remained a lifeline for me, along with the found family of fandom.

What I couldn’t have seen coming was the tangled mess of disbelief, heartache, anger, and betrayal that engulfed me, like black goo, as I was forcing myself to watch the last installment in the series. To say it was abysmally bad would be an understatement – at least 12 seasons of character growth were snuffed out in one fell swoop. We were served the cosmic joke of seeing Dean, a complex, multi-layered character we love dearly reduced to a cardboard figure and killed in the most absurd way, for shock value, minutes after having been pied in the face in an inane gag. On the surface, Sam may seem to have fared better, but he too is reduced to a shell, bound to a blurry wife, rushing through life in a frankly ludicrous montage to be reunited with his dead brother. This is the life, am I right?

Finally, Castiel, the character I relate to on a deep personal level, a character whose innate goodness and penchant for self-sacrifice shines through his every gesture, was all but erased from a story he was central to, relegated to an afterthought. Which would be an outrage in itself, but is the more so considering his last appearance on the show was the heartrendingly beautiful moment he confesses his love to Dean, speaking his truth just as he sacrifices himself for Dean, AGAIN. So this character who has been used and abused his whole life, but always strives to give more, who has just come out as queer, is sucked into The Empty, never to be seen on the show. He is only mentioned in passing in the finale, no one really mourns for him, and the confession is never mentioned again. We are basically gaslit into wondering if that ever happened.

Dean is killed neatly so he never gets to speak his own truth and acknowledge his feelings for Cas, in this world or the next. This is not just a “bury your gays”, this is a “salt and burn your gays”, lest they explore their gayness in the afterlife. I cannot speak as to how traumatic this must have been for queer fans, especially after that confession and when all the signs seemed to point to Destiel as endgame.

It definitely felt soul-crushing to me, as someone personally invested in these characters and in their relationship. The gravitational pull between Cas and Dean is inextricably bound with their growth as characters, they bring out the best in each other and they find comfort in each other. And it goes deeper than that – their faith in each other repeatedly brings them back from the edge. After the confession, Dean, who has known nothing but violence, who spent 40 years in hell, literally, dares to see himself through Cas’s eyes. For a fleeting luminous moment, it looks as if he may finally be free from self-doubt, free to make his own choices. But he never gets to do that, because TPTB decided that a bi character, whom many abuse survivors identified with, doesn’t deserve to be saved. Instead, he is kept bound for eternity in a co-dependent relationship with his brother. As for Cas, he may as well have been left in The Empty, which incidentally is a bleak nothingness filled with self-doubt, so a mental landscape which is familiar to people struggling with depression or other mental health problems.

Let me reiterate that: two characters that many of us identified with, who were revealed or coded as queer, battling the inner demons of depression and self-doubt as much as they fought monsters, whose slow burn journey towards each other held a promise of healing both for them and for us, are silenced and, in Cas’s case, all but erased because “no-homo”.

CW callously tore out the "profound bond" between Cas and Dean from the final episodes, not caring that for many of us it was the true, beating heart of the story, that we saw our own struggles reflected in theirs, leaving us feeling reeling and shell-shocked, while denying us any hope of finding closure.

This act of violence tore at the entire tapestry of the show. The strong women characters that were an integral part of Sam and Dean’s found family were erased from the story as well. The only woman figure in the final episode is a blurry figure, supposedly Sam’s wife, while Eileen, set up as his endgame partner throughout the season, is erased from the story as well. The finale basically betrays the show’s guiding message that “Family don’t end with blood”.

More and more compelling evidence emerges that there may be original footage showing Dean reciprocate and possibly a full-on yes-homo reunion was shot (or definitely part of the original script). However, this was censored by the network before releasing the final episodes. It seems increasingly likely that the main reason for this outrage was corporate greed. In other words, the cast, the writers and the fans were fucked over because the greedy assbutts at CW were more interested in catering to a particular demographic than giving these characters the ending they deserved.

Can we acknowledge how fucked up it is that, after all this time, it’s still the straight white men that call the shots and have no qualms about silencing artists and queer characters, without caring they are basically telling queer people and other viewers invested in the characters’ struggle that we don’t matter?

We may feel soul-crushed and powerless right not, but there’s one thing we CAN do. We can speak up about what happened, we can speak up on behalf of the characters and artists CW basically gagged and silenced, and on behalf of all the vulnerable people, queer viewers in particular, hurt by this outrage. We can make some noise and call CW’s bullshit. What are they gonna do, silence all of us?

#supernatural destiel destielcanon theysilencedyou

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juniebgroans · 3 years

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I keep seeing tumblr posts and general tweets that describe being gender non-conforming or nonbinary or any identity that kind of exists outside of "man" and woman" (whether it's cis or trans) as a "political statement about gender" and I find that view distasteful for a couple of reasons.

1) When you construct your gender identity as a "political statement" or "something to piss off those binary establishment pricks" you are also implying that your identity is a choice. That you are choosing to present and behave in a particular way as a reactionary statement to the current conception of gender. And if that works for you, fine, but be wary of applying the idea of choice to the entire structure of the construct of gender, because a lot of people (most people, I would venture to say) don't choose to be a certain way....and the concept of choosing gender is reductive, conservative logic. ("Just choose not to be trans!")

2) When you construct your identity as a reactionary tool to piss off establishment conservatives, you are literally molding yourself for their gaze. Even if it's to make them mad you are still allowing the establishment to influence you and impact how you present. Trans liberation isn't about fucking over republicans - it's about living your life as a trans person and not being seen as unique or different or an oddity or a freak or whatever. If you're constructing gender non-conformity as something that's supposed to be seen as impossible to accept by society as a whole, something that's "taboo" and boundary-pushing...gender is something so intensely personal, why are we trying to figure out how cis conservatives play into our presentation? It's kind of like if a woman was like "Feminism is trying to piss off men as much as possible." No it's not - it's about the liberation of women, about fighting for reproductive rights, about fighting for trans womens' rights....trying to figure out a definition of feminism that specifically involves the male gaze is idiotic, so why should definitions of non-binary genders consider the cis and/or binary gaze???

People took the statement "the personal is political" back in the early 2010s and twisted it to the point of no return. "The personal is political" means that when structures are in place to punish certain identities, then having that identity is going to be fraught with more political issues than someone that isn't impacted by those structures. So like, being black is technically political because of the structural racism we've created in society. Being queer is technically political because of the political structures that deny queer people rights. What it doesn't mean: that you have to structure every aspect of your identity to touch on the political - in fact, it's impossible for you to choose to make your life a political statement, under the idea of "the personal being political".

It's stressful enough to deal with coming out and transitioning (however that looks like for you) so why do we have to make sure our identity creates a political statement? Like, me as an AFAB person putting on a binder - it's hard enough for me to deal with all of these repressed feelings I have, and how the people around me might behave, and whether or not I, myself like the way I look. Why should I even think about whether or not wearing a binder is a political statement and how conservatives might react? I just want my coworkers to use my pronouns without me correcting them - the idea of specifically asking myself every morning how to present to piss off cis people is such a burden to give other queer people.

Gender is confusing, it's made-up, it's innate, it's different for everyone. So making blanket statements about the people that exist outside or in-between the binary and how they should connect their identity to larger political struggles is an ephemerally, disastrous attempt to nail down the ontology of non-binary-ness.

#sam rants about their life #I've been having a lot of gender feelings and I feel weird #also this is not connected to any mutual to my knowledge #a few bigger accounts I follow have made some weird posts about gender and I feel squicky

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greatfay · 4 years

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controversial opinions?

Cold pizza actually not good. Tastes like angry bacteria.

There’s a completely separate class of gay men who are in a different, rainbow-tinted plane of reality from the rest of us and I don’t like them. They push for “acceptance” via commercialization of the Pride movement, assimilation through over-exposure, and focus on sexualizing the movement to be “provocative” and writing annoying articles that reek of class privilege instead of something actually important like lgbtqa youth homelessness, job discrimination, and mental health awareness.

Coleslaw is good. You guys just suck in the kitchen.

Generational divides ARE real: a 16-year-old and a 60-year-old right now in 2021 could agree on every hot button sociopolitical topic and yet not even realize it because they communicate in entirely different ways.

Sam Wilson is a power bottom. No I will not elaborate.

Allison’s makeover in The Breakfast Club good, not bad. She kept literally and metaphorically dumping her trash out onto the table and it’s clearly a cry for help. Having the attention and affection of a smart, pretty girl doing her makeup for her was sweet and helped her open up to new experiences. Not every loner wants to BE a loner (see: Bender, who is fine being a lone wolf).

Movie/show recommendations that start with a detailed “representation” list read like status-effecting gear in an RPG and it’s actually a turn-off for me. I have to force myself to give something a try in spite of it.

Yelling at people to just “learn a new language” because clearly everyone who isn’t you and your immediate vicinity of friends must be a lazy ignorant white American is so fucking stupid, like I get it, you’re mad someone doesn’t immediately know how to pronounce your name or what something means. But I know 2 languages and am struggling with a 3rd when I can between 2 jobs and quite frankly, I don’t have the time to just absorb the entire kanji system into my brain to learn Japanese by tomorrow night, or suddenly learn Arabic or Welsh. There are 6500 recorded languages in the world, what’s the chance that one of 3 I’ve learn(ed?) is the one you’re yelling at me about. Yes this is referring to that post yelling at people for not knowing how to pronounce obscure Irish names and words. Sometimes just explaining something instead of admonishing people for not knowing something inherently in the belief that everyone must be lazy entitled privileged people is uh... better?

Stop fucking yelling at people. I despise feeling like someone is yelling at me or scolding me, it triggers my Violence Mode, you don’t run me, you are not God, fuck off. Worst fucking way to "educate” people, it just feels good in the moment to say or write and doesn’t help. Yes I’ve done it before.

Violence is good actually.

Characters doing bad things ≠ an endorsement of bad things. Characters doing bad things that are unquestioned by the entire rest of the cast = endorsement of bad things, or at the least, a power fantasy by the creator. See: Glee, in which Sue’s awfulness is constantly called out, while Mr. Shue’s awfulness rarely is because he’s “the hero.” See also: the Lightbringer series, in which the protagonist is a violent manipulator who is praised as clever, charming, diplomatic, and genius by every supporting character (enemies included), despite the text never demonstrating such.

Euphoria is good, actually. It falls into this niche of the past decade of “dark gritty teen shows” but actually has substance behind it, but the general vibe I get from passive-aggressive tumblr posts from casual viewers is that this show is The Devil, and the criticism of its racier content screams pearl-clutching “what about the children??” to me.

Describing all diagnosed psychopaths as violent criminals is a damaging slippery slope, sure. But I won’t be mad at anyone for inherently distrusting another human who does not have the ability to feel guilt and remorse, empathy, is a pathological liar, or proves to be cunning and manipulative.

It’s actually not easy to unconditionally support and love everyone everywhere when you’ve actually experienced the World. Your perspective and values will be challenged as you encounter difficult people, experience hardship, are torn between conflicting ideas and commitments, and fail. My vow to never ever call the cops on another black person was challenged when an employee’s boyfriend marched into the kitchen OF AN ESTABLISHMENT to scream at her, in a BUSINESS I MANAGED, and threaten to BEAT the SHIT out of her. Turns out I can hate cops and hate that motherfucker equally, I am more than capable of both.

Defending makeup culture bad, actually. Enjoy it, experiment, master it, but don’t paint it as something other than upholding exactly what they want from you. Even using makeup to “defy the heteropatriarchal oppressors!” is still putting cash in their pockets, no matter how camp...

Not every villain needs to be redeemed, some of you just never outgrew projecting yourself onto monsters and killers.

Writing teams and networks queerbaiting is not the same as individuals queerbaiting. Nick Jonas performing exclusively at gay clubs to generate an audience really isn’t criminal; if they paid to go see him, that’s on them, he didn’t promise anyone anything other than music and a show. Do not paint this as similar to wealthy, bigoted executives and writing teams trying to snatch up the LGBTQA demographic with vague ass marketing and manipulative screenplays, only to cop out so as not to alienate their conservative audiences. And ESPECIALLY when the artists/actors/creators accused of queerbaiting or lezploitation then come out as queer in some form later on.

Queer is not a bad word, and I’ve no clue how that remains one of few words hurled at LGBTQA people that can’t be reclaimed. It’s so archaic and underused at this point that I don’t get the reaction to it compared to others.

People who defend grown-woman Lorelai Gilmore’s childish actions and in the same breath heavily criticize teenage religious abuse victim Lane Kim’s actions are not to be trusted. Also Lane deserved better.

Keep your realism out of my media, or at least make it tonally consistent. Tired of shows and movies and books where some gritty, dark shit comes out of nowhere when the narrative was relatively Romantic beforehand.

Actually people should be writing characters different from themselves, this new wave in the past year of “If you aren’t [X] you shouldn’t be writing [X]” is a complete leap backward from the 2010s media diversity movement. And if [X] has to do with an invisible minority status (not immediately visible disabilities, or diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, persecuted religious affiliations, mental illness) it’s actually quite fucked up to assume the creator can’t be whatever [X] is or to demand receipts or details of someone’s personal life to then grant them “permission” to create something. I know, we’re upset an actual gay actor wasn’t casted to play this gay character, so let’s give them shit about it: and not lose a wink of sleep when 2 years later, this very actor comes out and gives a detailed account of the pressure to stay closeted if they wanted success in Hollywood.

Projecting an actor’s personal romantic life and gender identity onto the characters they play is actually many levels of fucked up, and not cute or funny. See: reinterpreting every character Elliot Page has played through a sapphic lens, and insulting his ability to play straight characters while straight actors play actual caricatures of us (See also: Jared Leto. Fuck him).

I’m fucking sick of DaBaby, he sucks. “I shot somebody, she suck my peepee” that’s 90% of whatever he raps about.

“Political Correctness” is not new. It was, at one point, unacceptable to walk into a fine establishment and inform the proprietor that you love a nice firm pair of tits in your face. 60 years ago, such a statement would get you throw out and possibly arrested under suspicion of public intoxication. But then something happened and I blame Woodstock and Nixon. And now I have to explain to a man 40 years my senior that no, you can’t casually mention to the staff here, many of whom are children, how you haven’t had a good fuck in a while. And then rant about the “Chinese who gave us the virus.” Can’t be that upset with them if you then refused to wear your mask for 20 minutes.

Triggering content should not have a blanket ban; trigger warnings are enough, and those who campaign otherwise need to understand the difference between helping people and taking away their agency. 13 Reasons Why inspired this one. Absolutely shitty show, sure, but it’s a choice to watch it knowing exactly what it contains.

Sasuke’s not a fucking INTJ, he’s an ISFP whose every decision is based off in-the-moment feelings and proves incapable of detailed and logical planning to accomplish his larger goals.

MCU critique manages to be both spot-on and pointless. Amazing stories have been told with these characters over the course of decades; but most of it is toilet paper. Expecting a Marvel movie to be a deeply detailed examination of American nationalism and imperialism painted with a colorful gauze of avant-garde film technique is like expecting filet mignon from McDonalds. Scarf down your quarter pounder or gtfo.

Disparagingly comparing the popularity and (marginal) success of BLM to another movement is anti-black. It is not only possible but also easy to ask for people’s support without throwing in “you all supported BLM for black people but won’t show support for [insert group]” how about you keep our name out your mouth? Black people owe the rest of the world nothing tbh until yall root out the anti-blackness in your own communities.

It is the personal demon/tragic flaw of every cis gay/bi/pan man to externalize and exorcize Shame: I’m talking about the innate compulsion to Shame, especially in the name of Pride and Progress. Shame for socioeconomic “success,” shame for status of outness, shame for fitness and health, shame for looks, shame for style and dress, shame for how one fits into the gender binary, shame for sexual positions and intimacy preferences, shame for fucking music tastes. Put down the weapon that They used to beat you. Becoming the Beater is not growth, it’s the worst-case scenario.

Works by minorities do not have to be focused on their marginalized identities. Some ladies want to ride dragons AND other ladies. The pressure on minorities to create the Next Great Minority Character Study that will inevitably get snuffed at the Oscars/Peabody Awards is some bullshit when straight white dudes walk around shitting out mediocre screenplays and books.

Canadians can stfu about how the US is handling COVID-19 actually. Love most of yall, but the number of Canadian snowbirds on vacation (VACATION??? VA.CAT.ION.) in the supposed “hotbed” of my region that I’ve had to inform our mask policies and social distancing to is ASTOUNDING. Incroyable! I guess your country has a sizable population of entitled, privileged, inconsiderate, wealthy, and ignorant people making things difficult for everyone, just like mine :)

No trick to eliminate glasses fog while wearing my mask has worked, not a single one, it actually has affected my job and work speed and is incredibly frustrating, and I have to deal with it and pretend it’s not a problem while still encouraging others to follow the rules for everyone’s safety and the cognitive dissonance is driving me insane.

It’s really really really not anti-Japanese... to be uncomfortable with the rampant pedophilia in manga and anime, and voice this. I really can’t compare western animation’s sneakier bullshit with pantyshots of a 12-year-old girl.

Most of the people in the cottagecore aesthetic/tag have zero interest in all the hard work that comes with maintaining an isolated property in the countryside, milking cows and tending crops before sunrise, etc. And that’s okay? They just like flowers and pretty pottery and homemade pastries. Idk where discourse about this came from.

You think mint chip ice-cream tastes like toothpaste because you’re missing a receptor that can distinguish the flavors, and that sucks for you. It’s a sort of “taste-blindness” that can make gum spicy to some while others can eat a ghost pepper without crying.

Being a spectacle for the oppressive class doesn’t make them respect us, it makes them unafraid of us. This means they continue to devour us, but without fear of our retaliation.

Only like 4 people on tumblr dot com are actually prepared for the full ramifications of an actual revolution. The rest of you just really imprinted onto Katniss, or grew up in the suburbs.

Straight crushes are normal. They’re people first, sexual orientation second. Can’t always know.

The road to body positivity is not easy, especially if what you desire is what you aren’t.

You’re actually personally responsible for not voluntarily bringing yourself into an environment that you know is not fit for you unless you have the resolve to manage it. Can’t break a glass ceiling without getting a few cuts. This one’s a shoutout to my homophobic temp coworkers who decided working a venue with a drag show would be a good idea. This is also is a shoutout to people who want to make waves but are surprised when the boat tips. And also a shoutout to people who—wait that’s it’s own controversial opinion hold up.

Straight people can and should stay the fuck out of gay bars and queer spaces. “yoUrE bEInG diVisiVe” go fuck yourself.

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quietnqueer · 4 years

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How my queerness keeps me shy

The older I get, the more self-conscious I become of how my ‘backstory’, the narrative of my life thus far, differs from most people’s. On account of my being aro/ace. I haven’t done what most adults my age have done. Never had a partner never been on a date never been kissed fucked or in any way intimately touched.

This means I find a lot of everyday adult conversation awkward, uncomfortable, alienating. Office banter social chit chat conversations with family; so much of it winds up being about people’s dating/relationship dramas their partners; the life they live in relation to a significant other. And even if you’re not currently coupled up/married, it’s assumed you’ll have had some snogs/bad dates/boyfriends in the past; that you’ve got a few sexual/romantic skeletons in your closet; and therefore, some experience to share, some anecdote to bring to the party.

But no; not me. When talk turns to ‘who was your first boyfriend?’ / ‘have you got a partner?’ / ‘how did you meet?’ / ‘so-and-so’s getting married’ / ‘ever tried online dating?’ etc. I feel my queerness acutely. I squirm, shrivel up inside, hoping that the conversation will pass me by, that no one will ask me. Because what am I supposed to say? My life hasn’t been like everybody else’s; I haven’t had those same experiences. But to admit that? To say I’ve never had a partner never been on a date never been kissed fucked or in any way intimately touched? It scares me. So, I stay schtum. Or simply smile and laugh along, pretending to be relating to straight girl drama, like I know it, I’ve been there, ‘yeah yeah yeah’.

I wish I could look people in the eye, and tell them, confidently, unabashedly, that I’m not sexually attracted to people / I’ve never had a partner / I’m not made for marriage / I’m happy being alone etc. But I dread what they’ll think/say about me; that they’ll see a loser loner lady, a social malfunction; and that they’ll feel sorry for me, pity me, because women can’t be happy alone, can they? Sad spinster souls…

I think people will think this because of what I experienced as a child/adolescent. I was a quiet/shy kid, who didn’t talk a lot at school. From the age of 10, my friends started to turn on me because of this; I wasn’t rowdy enough for them, and they didn’t want to know me no more. So, I became a loner; the girl who’d hang out on her lonesome in the library at lunch, who struggled in PE to find a partner. I experienced even more social stigma, bullying and emotional abuse as a result. Not just from my peers/former friends, but from my parents and teachers as well.

They all sent the message, overtly or covertly, that it was weird/shameful/just plain wrong, to be shy and to struggle socially, to be on my own so much. Why couldn’t I just speak up and join in? Mix well with my peers get invited to parties? I was a billy-no-mates; and there’s no worse thing when you’re a teenager…

I remain a loner to this day. And I like it. I don’t get lonely. It’s just the way I’m wired; that’s why I reckon I never felt the need to speak much at school; sure shyness definitely had something to do with it; but innately, essentially, I’m just one of those people who doesn’t need other people all that much; I’m naturally solitary.

However, I still carry some of that stigma and shame I was infected with as a child, that told me that being solitary hanging out in your own company is weird/embarrassing/just plain wrong. A part of me still holds onto the poisonous notion that my quiet solitary nature is something to be overcome, transformed, fixed. That it makes me not good enough, not a proper grown-up… ‘if only she could come out of her shell, socialise more’.

So, if I were to tell people that I’ve never had a partner never been on a date never been kissed fucked or in any way intimately touched, I worry that not only will they think me strange, because, in an allo/amatonormative society it IS strange not have experienced these things, but that they’ll put my lack of sexual/romantic experience down to the fact that I’m simply ‘too’ quiet/shy… ‘I don’t fancy anyone’ – ‘you just need to get out more’; ‘I like being alone’ – ‘you’re just saying that because you don’t know how to be with people’.

Instead of accepting my singleness/asexuality as an orientation, as just-the-way-I-am, I worry that people will instead put it down to me having a social skills problem; that they’ll think if I were to just knock back a few shots of outgoing-ness scrubbed myself up a bit left the house more, I would eventually find myself keeling over with lust, I would ‘find someone’.

I think people will think this because I used to think it myself. Before coming across asexuality and aromanticism, I did put my lack of sexual/romantic experience down to my shyness; that maybe my social emotional development was ‘stunted’ in some way, so I lacked the ability to attract people and pursue relationships. But coming across aro/ace-ness has helped me to understand that it’s not my lack of social skills that’s stopped me from dating or having sex; it’s the lack of any innate desire to. Shy people can still get crushes, they can still want relationships. I’m just not one of them; because I also happen to be aro/ace.

Now, that’s not to say that my quietness has nothing to do with my queerness; it does intersect with it; but it’s not the cause of it. Let’s say I did become more socially confident; that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to start developing sexual/romantic attraction towards people. Personality and sexual/romantic orientation are separate things.

I know this, and as a result I feel a lot more confident in myself. But still the thought of telling anybody else, of disclosing my backstory, my sexless/dateless narrative; of coming out as asexual aromantic; it makes me queasy. ‘Cause I don’t want people to see me as I was seen at 12/13/14- years-old. As the loser loner girl, a social malfunction, who just needs to learn to speak up go out more. I worry I won’t be seen the way I want to be seen, as the woman I am now.

So, this is why when talk turns to ‘who was your first boyfriend?’ / ‘have you got a partner?’ etc. etc., I stay schtum. Hoping that the conversation will pass me by, that no one will ask me. Or I’ll simply smile and laugh along, pretending…

This is how my queerness keeps me shy.

#shy #shyness #quiet #introvert #aro #aromantic #aromanticism #ace #asexual #asexuality #aroace #single #single life #solitary #loner #socially awkward #social anxiety #asocial #acephobia

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letterboxd · 4 years

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Survival Mode.

In ten recent coming-of-age films, Ella Kemp finds the genre thriving—and looking very different than the 1980s might have predicted. Film directors and Letterboxd members weigh in on the specific satisfactions of the genre, especially in a pandemic.

There have been jokes, some more serious than others, about the art that will come out of this time. How many novels about a fast-spreading disease are you betting on? Will Covid-19 be better suited to documentary or fiction? But the art I’m most looking forward to, and revisiting now, is the art made about teenagers going through it.

Physical school attendance, so central to the John Hughes movies of the 1980s, is up in the air for so many. Sports practice, theater clubs, mall hang-outs; the familiar neighborhood beats of a teenager’s life are more confined than ever. All of us have had to tweak our reality to make the best of invasive changes forced upon us during the pandemic. In a sense, it feels like we are all coming of age.

Teenagehood, though, is a particularly tricky time of transition, and we don’t yet know the half of how the pandemic is going to impact today’s young adults—and, by association, tomorrow’s coming-of-age films. But in the last two years alone there have been enough brave new entries in the genre, about young people so enlivening, that there’s both plenty for young film lovers to lose themselves in, and plenty for us slightly older folks to watch and learn from.

So I sought out ten recent coming-of-age films (and several of the directors responsible) to see what these stories teach us about teenagers, and how we might empathize with them. The list—Jezebel, Beats, Zombi Child, Blinded by the Light, Selah and the Spades, The Half of It, Dating Amber, Babyteeth, House of Hummingbird and We Are Little Zombies—is by no means exhaustive. But it allows us to look at several things.

Firstly, that the genre is thriving, considering these titles barely scratch the surface. Secondly, these ten films look a whole lot different than their 1980s counterparts. Six are directed by women. Four tell queer stories or, at least, feature queer characters in a prominent subplot. Seven tell stories about Black people, Asian people, Pakistani people. Only three are from the US.

And: they’re really good. They understand teenagers as angry, energetic, passionate, confused, desperate and deeply intelligent beings, echoing the nuances that we know to be true in real life, but that can often get watered down on the screen.

Blinded by the Light (co-written and directed by Gurinder Chadha) We Are Little Zombies (written and directed by Makoto Nagahisa) Beats (co-written and directed by Brian Welsh)

The protagonists in these first three films use music to feel their way through panic, brought on by both internal and external circumstances. Screaming another’s lyrics, furiously composing their own anthems, dancing along and sweating out their fear to the beat, the ongoing beat, and nothing more. It’s salvation, it’s release—when you’re left with your own thoughts, the only way to fight through them is to drown them out.

Music acts as a source of enlightenment in Blinded by the Light, directed by Gurinder Chadha (who made 2002’s coming-of-age sports banger Bend it Like Beckham). In Thatcher’s Britain, Pakistani-English Muslim high schooler Javed discovers the music of Bruce Springsteen, and his world bursts wide open. The wisdom and fire of the Boss helps Javed to make sense of his own frustrations; that the film is based on a real journalist’s autobiography makes it all the more potent.

Meanwhile, in Beats, a real-life law enacted in Scotland in the 1990s temporarily banned raves: specifically, the gathering of people around music “wholly or predominantly characterized by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats”. As the UK struggles to contain a youthful, exuberant new counter-culture, the central characters face what it means to enter adulthood. The answer to both: a forbidden rave.

“I have to say, there’s probably no such thing as teenagers without complicated emotions,” We Are Little Zombies writer-director Makoto Nagahisa tells me. The Japanese filmmaker—who loves the genre, known as ‘Seishun eiga’ in Japan—wrestles with the frustration and hopelessness of the world by giving his film’s four orphaned teens the tools, and the permission, to find solace in something other than their everyday life. Following the deaths of their parents, the quartet create their own catchy, cathartic, truth-bomb music; it’s an instant hit with kids across Japan, but the adults miss the point, of course—that the cacophony of superstardom is filling the silence of their mourning.

Nagahisa-san’s film is named after a fictional 8-bit Nintendo Game Boy game that the main character is addicted to. “I used to get through my day relatively painlessly by pretending I was a video game character whenever bad shit happened to me,” he explains. Teenagers “are constantly feeling crushed by reality right now… I want them to know that this is a valid way to escape reality. That reality is just a ‘game’. I want them to know they don’t need to face tragedies, they can just survive. That’s the most important thing!” Who else needed to hear that right now?

Jezebel (written and directed by Numa Perrier) Zombi Child (written and directed by Bertrand Bonello) Selah and the Spades (written and directed by Tayarisha Poe) House of Hummingbird (written and directed by Kim Bo-ra)

Our next four films turn to technology, mythology, hierarchy and education to animate their protagonists’ lives with a greater purpose. In Jezebel, nineteen-year-old Tiffany finds her way through mourning with a new job, earning money as a cam girl and subsequently developing a bond with one of her clients. There’s a magnetic aura, one that harnesses grief and turns it into something more corrosive as this teen puts all her energy into it. Similarly there’s mysticism in the air in Zombi Child, in which Haitian voodoo gives a bored, heartbroken teenage girl a new purpose as she searches for a way to connect with the one she lost—and with herself.

Selah and the Spades and House of Hummingbird understand the third-party saviour as more of a structure, that of a school or an inspiring teacher. Selah finds herself by doing business selling recreational drugs to her classmates in a faction-led boarding school. Nothing mends a sense of aimlessness like power. This same framework lets Hummingbird’s Eun-hee, a schoolgirl in mid-90s South Korea whose abusive family invest their academic focus in her useless brother, search for love and find connection in her school books—and from the person who’s asking her to read them.

The films on this list are not perfect; some might be criticized for specifically following a formula, the tropes of the coming-of-age film, a little too well. Jezebel lets its protagonist rise and fall with familiarity, while Selah suffers the consequences of her extreme actions, and even Eun-hee reckons with a few recognizable pitfalls. But still, the fact that these films exist is “innately radical”, says Irish writer-director David Freyne, whose queer Irish comedy Dating Amber is covered below. The filmmaker describes the coming-of-age genre as mainstream, but in the best possible sense: “It’s a broadly appealing film,” he says.

This is why, to see these stories reframed with minority voices, with queer voices, is so quietly revolutionary. “The more you see them, the more broadly we see them being enjoyed—the more producers and financiers will realize these stories don’t have to be niche just because they happen to frame a minority voice. Everyone can enjoy it.”

Film journalist and Letterboxd member Iana Murray, a coming-of-age genre fan, echoes Freyne’s thoughts. “Representation is absolutely not the be-all end-all, but I’d love to see more coming-of-age films that reflect my experiences growing up as a woman of color,” she says, before introducing what I’d like to call the Rashomon Effect. “I see it as like one of those films that tell the same events from different perspectives, something like Rashomon or Right Now, Wrong Then,” she explains. “A story becomes even more vibrant when told through a different set of eyes, and that’s what happens when you allow women, people of color, and LGBT people to create coming-of-age narratives.”

Dating Amber (written and directed by David Freyne) The Half of It (written and directed by Alice Wu) Babyteeth (directed by Shannon Murphy, written by Rita Kalnejais)

Which brings us on nicely to our last three: wildly different titles, each with young protagonists at war with themselves, trying to make sense of their bodies and minds as best they can. In this context, companionship is everything. Finding a platonic soulmate in Dating Amber, a sexual awakening in The Half of It, a first love to make a short life worth living in Babyteeth. Each film is directed with a verve and passion that you know must be personal.

The story of a frustrated boy in the closet in Dating Amber aches with care from Freyne behind the camera, while Alice Wu directs Ellie Chu, the main character in The Half Of It, with patience and the kind of encouragement that quiet girls who live a life between two cultures are rarely given. And with Babyteeth, Shannon Murphy returns Australian cinema firmly to the center of the movie map, with a quintessentially Australian optimism and sense of humor, which Ben Mendelsohn called “delightfully bent”.

These perspectives are specific to each teen, but the intensity transcends genres and borders. It manifests musically, verbally, visually, aesthetically. These teens connect with their favorite music and means of entertainment, but also simply to their favorite clothes and accessories—blue bikinis and green wigs, red neck-scarves and floaty white dresses. These details give the characters ways to reinvent themselves while standing still, which certainly feels apt for a life lived, for now, at home.

‘Pretty in Pink’ (1986), written by John Hughes and directed by Howard Deutch.

Many argue that the coming-of-age genre peaked with John Hughes, who defined the framework in iconic 1980s films that have his stamp all over them, whether he wrote (Pretty in Pink, Some Kind of Wonderful) or also directed them (The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Sixteen Candles). Hughes’ world view was of a specifically suburban, white, American corner of the world, which he filled with misfits and ultra-hip soundtracks. “John Hughes was to the genre what The Beatles are to rock and roll,” confirms Letterboxd member Brad, maintainer of the essential coming-of-age movie list Teenage Wasteland.

After Hughes, the genre tumbled, Dazed and Confused, into the 1990s—notable voices include John Singleton with his seminal Boyz n the Hood, and Gus Van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho and Good Will Hunting. This was also the decade of Clueless, which informed the bright, female-forward fare of the 2000s, like Mean Girls, The Princess Diaries and the aforementioned Bend it Like Beckham. The last decade has seen new American storytellers step into Hughes’ shoes, including Greta Gerwig (Lady Bird and Little Women), Olivia Wilde and the writers of Booksmart, and the autobiographical voices of Jonah Hill (mid90s) and Shia LaBeouf (Honey Boy, directed by Alma Har’el).

It’s interesting to note—whether it’s the 1860s or the 1980s—that many coming-of-agers from the past decade take place in an earlier period setting. Social media has demanded the upheaval of entire lives, but it seems some filmmakers aren’t yet ready to grapple with its place on screen.

The audience, on the other hand, is far more adaptable. The way we’re watching coming-of-age films has shifted, and it’s more appropriate for the genre than we could have imagined. On the last day of shooting Dating Amber, Freyne recalls one of the young actors asking, “So, is this going to be on Netflix or something?” This is when cinemas were still open.

“That’s often how younger people are devouring content now,” Freyne reasons. His film, in the end, was snapped up by Amazon (a US release date is yet to be announced). “It’s creating a communal experience with the intersection of social media: live streams, fan art, daily messages… It’s made us feel incredibly connected, moreso than I think we would have got with a cinematic release.”

Streaming platforms also cater to one key habit of a younger film lover: the rewatch. The iconic teen films of the 80s embedded their reputations thanks to the eternal allure of the Friday night video store ritual, and constant television replays. These days, it’s only with a film finding a home on Netflix, on Amazon or on Hulu, that a younger person (or, in times of global crisis, any person) can both financially and logistically afford to devote themselves to watching, again and again, these people onscreen that they’ve immediately and irrevocably found a connection with.

It’s always felt hard to be satisfied with just one viewing of a perfect coming-of-age film—observe how many times Iana Murray has logged Call Me By Your Name. What is it about the slippery, universal allure of the genre? It’s possibly as simple as the feeling of being seen in the fog of intergenerational confusion. Says Nagahisa-san: “Grown-ups think of teenagers like zombies. Teenagers think of grown-ups like zombies. We’re never able to understand what others are feeling inside.”

“The reaction is always emotive rather than intellectual,” adds Freyne. “There’s something quite visceral and instinctive about coming-of-age films; it’s an emotional experience rather than an analytical one.” That emotional experience is tied up in the fact that we often experience coming-of-age movies just as we ourselves are coming of age, establishing an unbreakable connection between a film and a specific period in our lives. MovieMaestro Brad explains it best: “There is a bit of nostalgia in a lot of these films that take me back to my younger days, when life was simple.”

But that’s not to say only those coming of age can appreciate a coming-of-age film. On her favorite coming-of-age film, Mike Mills’ 20th Century Women, Murray explains, “It doesn’t see coming-of-age as exclusive to teenagers, because that process of growth is really about transition and change.” (In a similar vein, Kris Rey’s new comedy I Used to Go Here, in select theaters and on demand August 7, meets Kate Conklin, played by Gillian Jacobs, in a sort of quarter-life-crisis, needing to grow down a bit in order to grow up.)

Natalia Dyer in ‘Yes, God, Yes’ (2019), directed by Karen Maine.

There is endless praise, conflict and wonder to be found in the ten films mentioned above—and all the ones we haven’t even gone near (Karen Maine’s orgasmic religious comedy Yes, God, Yes, now available on demand in the US, deserves an honorary mention, as does Get Duked!, Ninian Doff’s upcoming stoner romp in the Scottish Highlands). The thing about this genre is it’s raw, it’s alive, and it’s always in transition. Just when you might think it’s gone out of fashion, it emerges in a new and fascinating form. And yet, there are still so many filmmakers who haven’t tackled the genre. I asked my interviewees who they’d like to see take on a story of teens in transition.

“I’d love to see Tarantino’s take on a coming-of-age tale,” says master of the genre himself, MovieMaestro/Brad. Murray gives her vote to Lulu Wang, saying, “I love the specificity she brought to The Farewell, I think it would transfer well to a genre that needs to escape clichés.” Freyne, meanwhile, wants to see if Ari Aster might have another story about young people in him. Maybe something a bit less lethal next time.

Ultimately, “you write from empathy, not from experience,” says Freyne. I think the same goes for watching, too. It won’t be tomorrow, and it might not be this year, but eventually, the world will emerge from Covid-19. What will we have learned from the films that we watched while we were waiting? From the sadness, the angst, the determination, the rage and the passion?

Nagahisa-san already knows, and his advice is everything we need right now: “You don’t need others’ approval of who you are, as long as you understand and approve of yourself. Do whatever pops up in your mind. Live your life without fear or despair. Just survive.”