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@genderapparitions
Yes!This is so perfect!
My first piece of writing about my genders. Enjoy.
Companies that offer custom-made clothing for transgender and gender non-conforming people are coming to the forefront, as more diverse models gain visibilit...
Bindle & Keep is a bespoke men and womenswear company based out of New York City that endeavors to provide you with the finest fabrics, an unparalleled attention to detail, and white-glove client service.
When a friend asked us to tag along at her consultation with Brooklyn-based suiting company Bindle & Keep, we said yes because we love playing dress-up — and helping others play dress-up,…
if you're wearing a binder right now
a gentle reminder to straighten up your posture and to breathe in deep for 5 seconds and breathe out for 5 seconds, repeat, then relax
if there is a word or term you think should be here, or if you think one of the terms could have a better definition, let us know! Ace short for “asexual” AFAB “assigned female at birth” (see DFAB,...
if you're wearing a binder right now
you are lovely and you are worthy and, most of all, you are valid
now take a deep breath and let the fresh air sink down into your lungs
and let your belly expand outwards as you inhale
keep your chest and shoulders relaxed
now exhale slowly through your nose (if you can) by relaxing your body
"I was the mystery of an anatomy, a question asked but not answered," says poet Lee Mokobe, a TED Fellow, in this gripping and poetic exploration of identity...
This author's actually glad to have this conversation about the mistakes you're making as an ally – because learning is what it's all about. Here's to more growth!
“Many of the narratives around trans people are that we hated ourselves when we were younger and love ourselves once we get older. For so many of us, that’s totally not true. No matter how comfortable we are in our bodies, the minute we go outside we’re under attack. Growing up in a small a Texas town that was predominantly white, evangelical, and cisgender, I was called a terrorist, a faggot, and a tranny every single day. I have a sister who’s 3.5 years older than me that I love so much. When people asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, I’d say, ‘My sister!’ Everyone thought that was really cute, but I don’t think they realized that I actually wanted to be her and wasn’t joking. As I developed, people started to say that I needed to man up and outgrow my femininity. I was marked as the other, not just because of my gender, but because of my race. People would ask me, ‘Why do all Indian people smell bad? Why are you all dirty?’ I would wash my hands but the brown wouldn’t come off. I thought we were all ugly and need to be white to be beautiful. I became really really really depressed. I was spat on by the world. At 13, when I was alone in my room, I took a belt to my neck. At that point, nothing in my life could’ve made it better. But I stopped and started to weep. I made a plan to work really freaking hard, get a full scholarship, and get out of town. If someone would have asked me, ‘What are you?’ I would have never chosen man. I use trans-feminine to describe myself because I feel like my femininity exists outside of womanhood. I am both a man and a woman and neither a man or a woman. We conflate genitalia with gender and create norms about every single thing without realizing that none of us fit into them. Why do we put the onus on people to change their bodies versus having society shift their norms? We don’t have to be categorized by gender.”
– Alok Vaid-Menon in today’s new episode of the What’s Underneath Project.
For Alok’s entire story, watch the video!
Forget the images you’ve learned to attach To words like cock and clit, Chest and breasts. Break those words open Like a paramedic cracking ribs To pump blood through a failing heart. Push your hands inside. Get them messy. Scratch new definitions on the bones. Get rid of the old words altogether. Make up new words. Call it a click or a ditto. Call it the sound he makes When you brush your hand against it through his jeans, When you can hear his heart knocking on the back of his teeth And every cell in his body is breathing. Make the arch of her back a language Name the hollows of each of her vertebrae When they catch pools of sweat Like rainwater in a row of paper cups Align your teeth with this alphabet of her spine So every word is weighted with the salt of her. When you peel layers of clothing from his skin Do not act as though you are changing dressings on a trauma patient Even though it’s highly likely that you are. Do not ask if she’s “had the surgery.” Do not tell him that the needlepoint bruises on his thighs look like they hurt If you are being offered a body That has already been laid upon an altar of surgical steel A sacrifice to whatever gods govern bodies That come with some assembly required Whatever you do, Do not say that the carefully sculpted landscape Bordered by rocky ridges of scar tissue Looks almost natural. If she offers you breastbone Aching to carve soft fruit from its branches Though there may be more tissue in the lining of her bra Than the flesh that rises to meet it Let her ripen in your hands. Imagine if she’d lost those swells to cancer, Diabetes, A car accident instead of an accident of genetics Would you think of her as less a woman then? Then think of her as no less one now. If he offers you a thumb-sized sprout of muscle Reaching toward you when you kiss him Like it wants to go deep enough inside you To scratch his name on the bottom of your heart Hold it as if it can- In your hand, in your mouth Inside the nest of your pelvic bones. Though his skin may hardly do more than brush yours, You will feel him deeper than you think. Realize that bodies are only a fraction of who we are They’re just oddly-shaped vessels for hearts And honestly, they can barely contain us We strain at their seams with every breath we take We are all pulse and sweat, Tissue and nerve ending We are programmed to grope and fumble until we get it right. Bodies have been learning each other forever. It’s what bodies do. They are grab bags of parts And half the fun is figuring out All the different ways we can fit them together; All the different uses for hipbones and hands, Tongues and teeth; All the ways to car-crash our bodies beautiful. But we could never forget how to use our hearts Even if we tried. That’s the important part. Don’t worry about the bodies. They’ve got this.
How To Make Love To A Trans Person by Gabe Moses (via internet-niche)