It’s only happened to me a few times now I think about it. Probably over eight, but under fifteen.
By far, the worst experience I had was just before I took my driving theory test. I was already nervous at the doors of the DVLA. Everyone said that the theory test was the easiest thing, that most people passed it on the first go. Naturally, this made me anxious about not passing, knowing that I’d have to admit to people that I wasn’t even capable of cramming some facts about road signs into my brain last minute.
In the lift on the way up, I met a lovely girl who was just as nervous. We bonded over our joint anxiety of dealing with ridicule if we failed the test. We got to the hallway and waited in line. She was ahead of me and once we got near the end I saw over her shoulder a man taking everyone’s name. He was older and slightly grumpy-looking from what I remember. Then, he looked up from his register, turned to see us chatting in the line and called my new friend over.
What happened next did no favours for my nerves…as this girl walked over to him to register, he looked over her shoulder back at me and said: “Is he your friend? Are you guys together?” He smiled as he said it, he was clearly just trying to lighten the mood and make conversation. However, the girl, realising his mistake straight away, didn’t say anything. She simply laughed and half looked over at me. But he persisted and asked her a couple more times: “Oh thought he was your friend, but you just got chatting in the queue, eh?” Every time he said “he” I winced. He kept trying to look over and catch my eye to include me in the conversation, but I desperately tried to avoid his gaze. After what felt like an excruciatingly long wait, the girl finally went ahead into the exam room. I walked up to the man, gave him my provisional license which showed my feminine name and picture of myself with longer hair, whilst still avoiding eye contact as much as possible.
He looked at my ID, then at me, and handed it back without saying anything. I was secretly grateful for that. I did not pass my driving theory test that day.
Unlike most, my gender became more ambiguous to strangers as I got older. For me, being misgendered does not bring cutesy memories of a seven-year-old me being mistook for a little boy at the supermarket. Rather, for me, being misgendered is something that I started dealing with toward my late teens, when I plucked up the courage to cut my hair short and wear the kinds of clothes I actually wanted to wear.
Before then, I didn’t really worry about the person at the cashier slipping up at Tesco, or being introduce to a friend of my parents only to see the look of confusion on their face before my dad mercifully steps in to introduce me clearly as “his daughter”.
The first time it happened, I’m not even completely sure which time it was, but I do know it was deeply embarrassing. It’s still embarrassing, but I think it’s getting better, slowly.
I wouldn’t say I’ve gotten better at dealing with it on the outside, per say. I still have no idea what to say when someone mistakes me for a boy. However, I can deal with it on a personal level more easily. Instead of retreating away and getting in my own head about it, I can walk away and just laugh at myself.
Years ago, that sort of encounter would have hung over me for the rest of the day, causing me to reevaluate all my choices of expression. I would feel ashamed about not fitting in, ashamed of making someone else confused or embarrassed, as if it were my problem. I now know that it is not my problem. If someone says the wrong pronoun, that’s their mistake and I am under no obligation to correct or educate them.
The reason people sometimes “misgender” me, or anyone for that matter, is because they have grown up with ideas of what a man or a woman should look like. This is something I cannot blame them for. We’ve all grown up with heteronormative assumptions on how one should present themselves, and it sucks. However, having been lucky enough to grow up with the internet, and in a city which celebrates difference (for the most part) my lack of a clear gender makes me feel part of something a bit revolutionary.
Through just existing and wearing what I want to wear, I am able to challenge a stranger’s perspective on who is allowed to wear what. That kind of expression most definitely feels like a power.
I must admit though, every time someone mistakes me for a guy, I am still deeply uncomfortable in the moment. The moment it happens, a sense of dread starts to build inside me, and I start thinking about the quickest route out of the situation.
But then I take a step back and realise that it’s not me who’s in the wrong. It’s not me who needs to change by dressing differently or changing my pronouns to suit others who may be confused. It’s not even up to me to correct those people who do use the wrong pronouns. Why should I have to explain myself to a stranger just to make them feel better.
Being mistaken for a guy doesn’t inherently piss me off. I honestly couldn’t care less from a personal standpoint. I am aware of the way I dress, and I choose to dress this way to make myself more comfortable. What makes me uncomfortable is the fact that I have to deal with the reactions and embarrassment that comes out of someone else’s mistake. I know that every time someone says he instead of she, I have a decision to make. Do I ignore them and let them continue to say the wrong thing, or do I correct them?
To this day, I can’t think of a time I have actually corrected someone for using the wrong pronouns to their face. Rather, I’ve felt far too embarrassed and just tried to shut down the conversation as quickly as possible. It is, of course, so much worse when there is someone with me, listening in on the conversation. That has been the case a few times, luckily not most of the time. But still, those are the moments so cringe-worthy that I struggle to fall asleep at night thinking about them.
Still though, it is something that I will have to keep facing so long as I present myself this way. Which is fine, I don’t mind too much. In my opinion, it’s society that needs to change its face, not me.
Queer as Yolk 