Link (Archive)
My masculinity is something that I grew up being ashamed of expressing, growing up in a more conservative household. As a transgender man, I was in denial of it for a long time, and the day I decided not to be anymore felt like coming home from a decade-and-a-half shift of work where I could finally take off my shoes and rest. Nowadays, I take a lot of pride in the guy that I get to be and am growing into as well as the fact that being masc is no longer an evil, life-destroying specter looming over me.
All of the above are among the many reasons I refuse to get TikTok. A lot of more liberal spaces on the app — even (and especially) Queer spaces — tend to have very negative rhetoric around men and masculinity. Phrases like “kill all men” or “all men are trash” are common to hear while online. This has extended to in-person talking habits; if I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to grit my teeth and bear a friend saying something to this effect to my face, I might finally be rich enough to pay for law school.
The demonization of masculinity is nothing new to online Queer communities. Many butches and studs have reported facing discrimination and pressure to present less masculine in Sapphic spaces. Trans men and transmasculine people are either told that our trans masculinity isn’t real enough to be demonized like real masculinity, or that we’re traitors to our sex.
I’ve been involved in my fair share of stupid internet politics. Being a minority online, I’ve gotten called every imaginable slur at some point, and in recent times, I’ve been hilariously accused of both bi- and transphobia. Throughout the years, I’ve had the dubious joy of watching the rise and fall of various hate movements. Often, they carry the same poison but find new ways to conceal the taste to make it go down easier. Such is the case with TERFs — members of the trans-exclusionary radical feministmovement.
TERFs separate themselves from other feminists via their rejection of trans people; they claim trans women are men pretending to be women in order to invade spaces for “real” (cis) women and trans men are at best confused and brainwashed girls. At worst, we’re the aforementioned gender traitors. Operating on a model of black-and-white feminism where 1) all men are singularly oppressors and all women are singularly oppressed by men, and 2) women can only win through men losing, TERFs refuse to acknowledge any other complexity that factors like race or class may contribute. This outlook on the world also provides insight into their hatred of trans people — we ruin their precariously built worldviewby either choosing the oppressed side (trans women), or switching sides in a world where “winning” against their narrow-minded version of sexism is the end-all-be-all. Thus, we must have ulterior motives for transition.
Although TERFs tend to be deeply unpopular with both pro-trans feminists and the lesbian community they often claim to protect, I’ve begun to notice rhetoric around men and masculinity circulating online and off that sounds dangerously familiar. When Elliot Page came out as transmasculine, there was a significant voice of anger from lesbians who saw it as a betrayal, a bid for heterosexual and masculine privilege or simply a cry for attention. While there were definitely out-and-proud TERFs involved, many were those who felt genuinely betrayed by the “loss” of a lesbian to the “other side.” Newsflash: there is no “other side.” Men are not the enemy of women. Masculinity and femininity are not diametrically opposed forces in the same way that gender equality is neither a patriarchy nor a matriarchy. It’s equal parts angering and worrying to see that people in my community are so opposed to embracing and relating to masculinity that they’d rather lose a role model than see good in a man or even feel “tricked” into doing so.
This was the basis for one of my clearest freshman year memories: I was hanging out with a group of friends last year and a discussion about which of us would die first in a horror movie turned into writing a whole self-insert movie plot based on our predictions (for those curious, I was in consideration for being the secret killer). I jokingly asked if I was still trans in this canon, as being so might fall into the “trans serial killer” trope, to which one of my friends replied, “Of course, why would you want to be a cis man?” I remember laughing off the comment uncomfortably — in some way, to be a cis man was all I’ve ever wanted. Don’t get me wrong, trans joy is very real and I’m happy with being trans; but as I was learning what being a man was, almost all of the people I looked to were cis men. I looked to those close to me — my dad, my grandparents, my friends — for cues on what the social category of “man” meant in the modern world. I looked to celebrities to learn how to project myself to the wider world without shame. Some of my favorite parts of me come from the cis men in my life and, for better or worse, most of my understanding of masculinity comes from them as well. And sure, I have the support of people like my friend to express that masculinity while I’m pre-testosterone and easier to perceive as “they” rather than “he” pronoun-wise — but will I still have that when my voice drops and I grow facial hair (fingers crossed)? Or will they also decide that I’m too much of a man and, therefore, the enemy?
I’m not saying my friend’s a TERF — I remain her friend, after all. Rather, I don’t think a lot of women have thought about the power they hold over trans men. Generally, the modern Queer movement online and in general has a habit of ignoring transmasculine issues. A lot of people simply don’t know what to do with us. In my experience, women tend to focus on my less masculine characteristics, as if attributing my character only to my femme traits and concluding the more representative masculine part to be a flaw or quirk that is, for now, ignorable. As someone who uses both he/him and they/them pronouns, I’ve noticed that, while men tend to use he/him or a mix of both, women almost always refer to me as they/them. It’s definitely not just me either. The tendency of people to emphasize softer, more traditionally feminine aspects of transmasculine people and infantilize us has been a long-standing issue. A large factor of gender is, unfortunately, the people around us. Gender markers and categories are agreed upon by society at large; the reason that “passing” is so important to many trans people is due to this experience. That’s why it’s so harmful when TERFs claim that trans men are just women that are brainwashed or misguided and why it also sucks when the women in our lives insist on inducting us into some sisterhood, in spite of our self-determination.
I love being a guy, and I’ve spent too long trying to internalize that being one isn’t bad or evil to deal with surface-level gender activists — full-on TERFs or just inconsiderate acquaintances — telling me that as well. “Trans men are men” isn’t just an Instagram graphic to repost on your story. Your trans man friend is a man with man thoughts and man aspirations, and if that’s unfathomable to you, you are not a trans ally and should evaluate why you’ve made masculinity into a beast out of Lovecraftian horror. Much like Lovecraft’s creatures, the demonization of the masculine is built on overblown disgust and refusal to understand; the “beast” might get a lot easier to fathom if we stop looking at gender dynamics in such an opposing way. As someone who’s effectively been on both “sides” of the experience, masculinity isn’t the other side of femininity at all; it’s more like a step to the side. Don’t let the TERFs trick you into thinking otherwise. Hate groups relying on having a target to aim at and fearmonger about, whether that be minorities like trans people or — when that becomes insufficient — the very idea of masculinity. Online radicalization is a slippery slope; don’t make it easier by taking the first step on your own.
Hating men is weird
I love being a guy.My masculinity is something that I grew up being ashamed of expressing, growing up in a more conservative household. As a transgender man, I was in denial of it for a long time, and the day I decided not to be anymore felt like coming home from a decade-and-a-half shift of work where I could finally take off my shoes and rest. Nowadays, I take a lot of pride in the guy that I get to be and am growing into as well as the fact that being masc is no longer an evil, life-destroying specter looming over me.
All of the above are among the many reasons I refuse to get TikTok. A lot of more liberal spaces on the app — even (and especially) Queer spaces — tend to have very negative rhetoric around men and masculinity. Phrases like “kill all men” or “all men are trash” are common to hear while online. This has extended to in-person talking habits; if I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to grit my teeth and bear a friend saying something to this effect to my face, I might finally be rich enough to pay for law school.
The demonization of masculinity is nothing new to online Queer communities. Many butches and studs have reported facing discrimination and pressure to present less masculine in Sapphic spaces. Trans men and transmasculine people are either told that our trans masculinity isn’t real enough to be demonized like real masculinity, or that we’re traitors to our sex.
I’ve been involved in my fair share of stupid internet politics. Being a minority online, I’ve gotten called every imaginable slur at some point, and in recent times, I’ve been hilariously accused of both bi- and transphobia. Throughout the years, I’ve had the dubious joy of watching the rise and fall of various hate movements. Often, they carry the same poison but find new ways to conceal the taste to make it go down easier. Such is the case with TERFs — members of the trans-exclusionary radical feministmovement.
TERFs separate themselves from other feminists via their rejection of trans people; they claim trans women are men pretending to be women in order to invade spaces for “real” (cis) women and trans men are at best confused and brainwashed girls. At worst, we’re the aforementioned gender traitors. Operating on a model of black-and-white feminism where 1) all men are singularly oppressors and all women are singularly oppressed by men, and 2) women can only win through men losing, TERFs refuse to acknowledge any other complexity that factors like race or class may contribute. This outlook on the world also provides insight into their hatred of trans people — we ruin their precariously built worldviewby either choosing the oppressed side (trans women), or switching sides in a world where “winning” against their narrow-minded version of sexism is the end-all-be-all. Thus, we must have ulterior motives for transition.
Although TERFs tend to be deeply unpopular with both pro-trans feminists and the lesbian community they often claim to protect, I’ve begun to notice rhetoric around men and masculinity circulating online and off that sounds dangerously familiar. When Elliot Page came out as transmasculine, there was a significant voice of anger from lesbians who saw it as a betrayal, a bid for heterosexual and masculine privilege or simply a cry for attention. While there were definitely out-and-proud TERFs involved, many were those who felt genuinely betrayed by the “loss” of a lesbian to the “other side.” Newsflash: there is no “other side.” Men are not the enemy of women. Masculinity and femininity are not diametrically opposed forces in the same way that gender equality is neither a patriarchy nor a matriarchy. It’s equal parts angering and worrying to see that people in my community are so opposed to embracing and relating to masculinity that they’d rather lose a role model than see good in a man or even feel “tricked” into doing so.
This was the basis for one of my clearest freshman year memories: I was hanging out with a group of friends last year and a discussion about which of us would die first in a horror movie turned into writing a whole self-insert movie plot based on our predictions (for those curious, I was in consideration for being the secret killer). I jokingly asked if I was still trans in this canon, as being so might fall into the “trans serial killer” trope, to which one of my friends replied, “Of course, why would you want to be a cis man?” I remember laughing off the comment uncomfortably — in some way, to be a cis man was all I’ve ever wanted. Don’t get me wrong, trans joy is very real and I’m happy with being trans; but as I was learning what being a man was, almost all of the people I looked to were cis men. I looked to those close to me — my dad, my grandparents, my friends — for cues on what the social category of “man” meant in the modern world. I looked to celebrities to learn how to project myself to the wider world without shame. Some of my favorite parts of me come from the cis men in my life and, for better or worse, most of my understanding of masculinity comes from them as well. And sure, I have the support of people like my friend to express that masculinity while I’m pre-testosterone and easier to perceive as “they” rather than “he” pronoun-wise — but will I still have that when my voice drops and I grow facial hair (fingers crossed)? Or will they also decide that I’m too much of a man and, therefore, the enemy?
I’m not saying my friend’s a TERF — I remain her friend, after all. Rather, I don’t think a lot of women have thought about the power they hold over trans men. Generally, the modern Queer movement online and in general has a habit of ignoring transmasculine issues. A lot of people simply don’t know what to do with us. In my experience, women tend to focus on my less masculine characteristics, as if attributing my character only to my femme traits and concluding the more representative masculine part to be a flaw or quirk that is, for now, ignorable. As someone who uses both he/him and they/them pronouns, I’ve noticed that, while men tend to use he/him or a mix of both, women almost always refer to me as they/them. It’s definitely not just me either. The tendency of people to emphasize softer, more traditionally feminine aspects of transmasculine people and infantilize us has been a long-standing issue. A large factor of gender is, unfortunately, the people around us. Gender markers and categories are agreed upon by society at large; the reason that “passing” is so important to many trans people is due to this experience. That’s why it’s so harmful when TERFs claim that trans men are just women that are brainwashed or misguided and why it also sucks when the women in our lives insist on inducting us into some sisterhood, in spite of our self-determination.
I love being a guy, and I’ve spent too long trying to internalize that being one isn’t bad or evil to deal with surface-level gender activists — full-on TERFs or just inconsiderate acquaintances — telling me that as well. “Trans men are men” isn’t just an Instagram graphic to repost on your story. Your trans man friend is a man with man thoughts and man aspirations, and if that’s unfathomable to you, you are not a trans ally and should evaluate why you’ve made masculinity into a beast out of Lovecraftian horror. Much like Lovecraft’s creatures, the demonization of the masculine is built on overblown disgust and refusal to understand; the “beast” might get a lot easier to fathom if we stop looking at gender dynamics in such an opposing way. As someone who’s effectively been on both “sides” of the experience, masculinity isn’t the other side of femininity at all; it’s more like a step to the side. Don’t let the TERFs trick you into thinking otherwise. Hate groups relying on having a target to aim at and fearmonger about, whether that be minorities like trans people or — when that becomes insufficient — the very idea of masculinity. Online radicalization is a slippery slope; don’t make it easier by taking the first step on your own.
