Transman lists 4 things that he has discovered since he started living as a transgender man.
—
No one expects me to know how to cook. When the potluck lists go up at work, no one expects me to bring deviled eggs, spanakopita, or hash-browns casserole. I can be the dude who brings the Solo cups or a bag of stale chips. Yay me!
No more inane chatter in the bathroom. I’m in here to pee. I don’t care what you’re making for supper or that the boss has coffee breath and is a close talker and you got trapped on the elevator with him. Men make no eye contact, don’t engage in conversation, and don’t spend time in front of the mirror primping. The only noise you can expect to hear is farting and grunting.
I can get away with owning two pairs of pants. I can even get away with wearing them a couple of times in a row. People may “tsk-tsk” under their breath as I walk by in my rumpled pants, but I’m just another schlubby guy in a sea of slobs; if I were a woman, this would be a cardinal sin. I would lose the respect of my peers and supervisors. People on the street would take pictures of me and post them to their Facebook pages with snarky comments like, “biotch don’t own an iron.”
Comb? What comb? Crazy Einstein hair is okay on a man. Sure, he might hear the occasional, “beatnik! Get a haircut hippie!”, but generally, bedhead has become acceptable in most circles outside law enforcement and the military. A man with wild curly hair is “boyish,” “adventuresome,” and “carefree.” A woman with wild hair is in line to be the next Crazy Cat Lady of her town. This is a terrible double-standard, but I am comfortable taking advantage of it. My apologies to all those women with gorgeous heads full of ringlets that they feel compelled to tame through any means necessary–ironing, chemical straightening, sleeping in a knit cap, etc. You can keep repeating Transman’s mom’s mantra “Beauty is pain!” if you like, but Transman’s rollin’ out of bed and putting on his sweatpants. See you at the shindig.
This post originally appeared at adventuresoftransman.com
—
Photo: Smath./Flickr
I live in the South, and yes, most of the men around here do know how to cook and cook well. But, at social gatherings, we’re still not expected to bring food–unless it’s a big slab of meat and homemade barbecue sauce. It’s one of those strange hold-overs from the days of one-income households where the women were expected to do all the domestic things and men worked all day and came home to a clean house, hot meal, and a drink. Other things about this post are also not accurate to the reality–e.g. the schlubby guy image; while a… Read more »
Garret, I’m surprised you have’t had much response. It’s 2014,most women I know will expect a guy is able to cook. C’mon, you and I know you know how to cook …. but we’ll keep that between us. 😉
Shhhhh. There are some secrets I need to keep. If word gets out you can cook, next thing you know, you’re catering the office holiday party.
Morning y’all:
I’m from Louisiana, and you might be surprised to know that most men here, both the redneck and non-redneck varities, cook here. I’m not saying we’re all foodies here. In fact, I’m defin.saying we’re not all foodies here, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised how many men here take a lot of pride in their abilities in the kitchen.
Porte-toi bien,
C.