When you look at me, what do you see?
When I tell you who I am, do you hear me?
What is identity? How do people identify?
THESE TWO QUESTIONS have intrigued me for
many years. Throughout my life, I have taken on
many forms of identities, along with role
expectations prescribed by those identities.
Biologically, I was born male. However, I was
never very successful at playing the 'boy' role.
Growing up I was always getting in trouble for
playing with dolls or acting like a 'girl'.
People treated me like the stereotyped 'sissy',
dishing out disapproving looks and hurtful
remarks which, try as I might, I just couldn't
understand.
By the time I started high school, I had been
given the labels 'faggot' and 'poofter', even
though I didn't have the faintest clue what
these names meant. When I did learn what these
names meant, I went along with them because they
seemed to describe me. After all, I was
attracted to boys, so, I thought this must be
what I am. As a consequence, to these
experiences, I identified as a gay-boy for many
years. I grew up to become a hairdresser and,
more importantly, personified the gay male
hairdresser stereotype to perfection.
By this time I had moved to Brisbane, living
within the 'gay community', fully engaged in the
gay nightclub scene. Counter to outward
appearances, however, I wasn't entirely
comfortable anymore with the 'gay' label. Rather
than 'gay', I began to identify myself as
'queer', with my definition of queer being,
"anything different and unusual". Different and
unusual in comparison to what, you may ask. In
my mind, and within myself, I felt I was
different and unusual in comparison to both the
straight and gay communities. After all, I slept
with men, so I couldn't possibly be straight.
However, I also slept with women, so I didn't
feel I was entirely gay either. Given my
biological status, it seemed faintly ridiculous
for me to identify as lesbian; and for some
reason, which I couldn't explain at the time,
the term bisexual had always made me feel
uncomfortable, so 'queer' I became.
I was very happy with my new chosen identity
and, within it, I found a freedom to 'be'.
Unfortunately, even though I found this concept
of queer to be quite a simple one, many people
around me seemed to find it quite confusing.
This confusion seemed to be compounded by one of
the most important events in my life.
I met a boy and fell in love. Even more
fortunate, my feelings were reciprocated. Many
of my friends, at the time, couldn't seem to get
their head around the fact that my new boyfriend
had been born, biologically, 'female'.
Ironically, I received more support and
encouragement, to explore this new relationship,
from my 'straight identifying' friends, than I
did from my 'gay identifying' friends. Some
couldn't understand why a 'gay boy' would want
to be in a relationship with a 'woman'. One
person asked me if this relationship meant that
I was 'straight' now. I have always felt that
friendships have a natural expiry date, after
all people change and grow apart, what I
couldn't predict however, was the number of
close friends I would lose at this time in my
life.
Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to imply
that I was the hard-done-by and misunderstood
innocent within this period of turbulent change,
because I certainly wasn't. I was absorbed
within that beautiful thing which is falling in
love, wanting to spend every waking moment with
the person I was in love with, coupled with a
new 'identity crisis' of my own. I just didn't
have the energy, or the patience, to be dealing
with negative criticism and ignorant opinions
about what I was doing with my life. In many
ways, I went through my own period of
"transition" over the next few years, with the
greatest impetus to my transformation being the
support and encouragement I received from my
partner.
When I stopped and surveyed my new reality, I
discovered that most of my old 'chosen family',
my closest friends, had disappeared from my
life, for one reason or another. I now found I
was no longer the person I once thought I was,
so I set about recreating, yet again, a new
reality for myself. This reality encompassed my
new 'chosen family', my partner and friends,
also, having moved away from Brisbane, a new
living environment.
Another fundamental change had taken place
within me. I no longer wanted to work within the
so-called beauty industry. The continual
questioning of my own and other peoples' beliefs
and ideas concerning sex, gender and sexuality,
lead me to the recognition that I wanted to
learn more about the world I had been living in.
The question of how I would go about this seemed
to have quite a simple answer. I decided I
wanted to go to university.
That decision was made many years, or a
lifetime ago, however you choose to perceive and
it was one of the best decisions I have ever
made. With the support and encouragement of my
partner, I have rediscovered a passion for
learning.
One constant that has remained with me,
throughout my studies, is the question of
identity and how people choose to identify.
'Being' in a relationship with someone who is
ftm, has certainly operated, on one level, as a
challenge to my own beliefs and opinions
concerning questions of identity. At the same
time, however, this remains only one aspect
within the intricate web of social relations and
forms of self-identification, which I come in
contact with on a daily basis. Given that all
human beings are generally viewed as unique
'individuals', it seems a logical step to
suggest that all human beings will also have a
unique method of self-identification.
One point which continues to fascinate and,
at times, frustrate me is the way in which
people seem to cling to one overarching identity
marker, for their expression of being. Whilst I
recognize a certain usefulness to such
identities, I also fond them to be quite
problematic. I myself have had a succession of
these markers throughout the years: gay-boy,
hairdresser, queer.
For other people their marker may have
nothing to do with sex, gender or sexuality.
Rather, their strongest source of identity seems
to be derived from such things as race or
nationality. The frustration I feel with this,
lies in the divisive nature and segregating
ability strong identification with only one
aspect of our being engenders; the
discrimination, abuse of power and senseless
violence, directed towards those who do not
'belong' to one group or another. What
fascinates me the most are the ways people
either deal or don't deal with another beings
identity change, as a challenge to their own
thought processes and abilities to perceive
'who' other beings really are.
At this time in my life, I feel that I am all
of the labels I have identified myself by, while
at the same time, I am none of them, completely.
I feel most comfortable with an identity marker
of 'a being', whatever that means, who is known
by the label, Michael.
This is the fundamental label I was given at
birth; it has been the only constant throughout
a multitude of change; and it is the only label,
which I now willingly choose to identify by.
My partner and I have been together for
approximately six and a half years now and
within this relationship I am still continually
inspired and challenged to revisit and question
my beliefs and ideas about the world within
which we live. As an example, I'll leave you
with a question:
Have you ever tried to have a conversation,
without employing the use of pronouns such as
she or he?
Try it, and if you have any responses or
thoughts, write in to the next issue with your
thoughts. I look forward to reading your
comments.
