Trans Joy: Genderqueer Joy
Ahead of Smutathon 2021, we’re publishing a series of Trans Joy posts. As we’re fundraising for Gendered Intelligence and Trans Lifeline this year, we want to flip the script on trans people being asked to perform their pain over and over again to prove that they deserve human rights.
Instead, we want to celebrate trans joy and gender euphoria. We’ve teamed up with Quenby Creatives, whose Trans Joy series highlights the positive side of trans experiences to bring some balance to trans discourses.
Today’s Trans Joy post is by the brilliant Kat Stark. Kat Stark (They/Them) is a genderqueer, sex-positive, geeky, queer, slutty, feminist, non-monogamous pervert who lives on the unceded lands of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations (Vancouver, Canada). They’re the author of two books: Waking Up Polyamorous and Yelling In Pasties: The Wet Coast Confessions of an Anxious Slut. Kat also co-hosts the podcast On The WetCoast and has lent their voice to narrate several audiobooks. You can find out more, along with toy reviews and blog posts, at OnTheWetCoast.com.
“The descant Kat sang was soaring and glorious. As are they.”
The musical director (MD) of my choir giving me such a compliment recently while easily using my pronouns was a moment that I was able to sit in my genderqueer joy. It isn’t super-often that my long-term friends are able to use ‘they’ without an initial ‘she’ stumble and it doesn’t usually bother me much since ‘she’ isn’t entirely wrong. But whenever I hear someone use ‘they’ to refer to me it feels entirely right.
It wasn’t until my mid 40s that questioning my afab gender was even something that crossed my mind. Other than the years of being a ‘tomboy’ in Elementary school I’d always felt extremely female and leaned towards femme. It most likely started once my monogamous marriage opened up and I began wearing a strap-on dick for sex with people of all genders. Initially it was the taboo and juxtaposition of my femme presentation with my silicone cock that gave me a buzz but the more I wore it the more right it felt.
I bought myself a packer, a binder, and a couple second-hand suits and began dressing in a hybrid fashion I labelled ‘futch’ (portmanteau of femme/butch). Attending the fancy black tie party for a friend’s big birthday in a set of tails rather than a dress while in full femme makeup, I loved how comfortable straddling that line felt to me. Rather than wearing my traditional full femme lingerie regalia, dressing up for sexy dates became a hybrid of masc button downs, ties, and boxers paired with a lacy bra, smoky eyes, and heavily winged eyeliner. Outer trappings aren’t everything that give a sense of identity but they’ve helped me to sit more comfortably in the inbetween.
Most friends have been amazing at embracing my fluctuating identity as well as my pronouns, though often with the “she, I mean they” stumble. Due to a strong tendency toward people-pleasing I don’t always correct people who get it fully wrong since I don’t want to be a bother (and it can get exhausting to hear the lengthy apology that you end up comforting them over).
Because of those complexities, my MD friend effortlessly using my pronouns in that special shout out made me blush and squee. I felt seen and embraced and loved and it meant the world. That boost was a good reminder that it is worth the bother, as am I.
Donate to Gendered Intelligence
Donate to Trans Lifeline
At time of publishing, we’ve raised: