The Politics of Aesthetics

When we ask what the conditions of intelligibility are by which the human emerges, by which the human is recognized, by which some subject becomes the subject of human love, we are asking about conditions of intelligibility composed of norms, of practices, that have become presuppositional, without which we cannot think the human at all. Judith Butler (2001). “Doing Justice to Someone: Sex Reassignment and Allegories of Transsexuality”. GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 7 (4): 621-36.

Today I wore boxers. It felt transitively gender appropriate and maybe even, essential, since I was heading off to see the plastic surgeon about chest reconstruction. Recall, that this is the only plastic surgeon in British Columbia who does chest surgery for fTm trans folks AND who does breast reconstruction. This guy, I figured, would get my particularities. But still, I needed the performative insurance boxers might provide. After all, I would need to convince the surgeon that doing chest contouring would be, in my case, an genderqueerly appropriate form of post mastectomy/breast cancer “reconstruction surgery“.

Typically, chest, or “top surgery” is regarded by the medical professionals and the health care system in British Columbia as a form of fTm Sex Reassignment Surgery (SRS). The rules regarding SRS are archaic and extraordinarily discriminatory towards transgendered folks. They include proscriptive requirements, such as, for example, that a candidate for SRS “pass” successfully for a member of the “opposite sex” for a minimum period of two years PRIOR to approval for surgery and that this successful “passing” be observed and recorded by “qualified professionals”. It is also the case that candidates for SRS need to be interviewed and approved for surgery by two mental health professionals.

Step Two, if we are to think of Step One, as the deliberate selection of the Calvin Kleins, involved filling out copious forms. Dr. B wanted to know such a lot about me. There were 8 pages of questions about my sexual and gender identity in relation to temporality, as in, “Who were you when you were born?” (identification via biology), and “Who would you like to become?” (identification via surgery). I was asked to use the space inside of an empty circle to demarcate, with a single dividing line, just how much of ME was f or m at those two critical times - past and future - actual and virtual. All my circles were covered with lines going every which way, tartan-esque, and sported a lively mix of f and m. It was appropriately messy.

Complete these sentences: Gender Identity. I think of myself as a _____. Ideally, I would like to think of myself as a _____.

I experimented with playful answers, as in: How did others perceive your gender identity as a child? Answer: Simplistically. How do others perceive your gender identity now? Answer: Generously.

Step Three was the live interview with Dr. B, who was intelligent, informative and kind. Dr. B is a really stunning example of ethical medical sensibilities. He was emphatic about wanting to use respectful language in asking me about “personal aspects” of my life, and encouraged me to correct him if he went astray. Dr. B didn’t read my answers on the forms. That impressed me. He just chatted away and asked lots of questions. Medical protocol requires doctors to establish that patients seeking any form of SRS actually, seriously want surgery based on what is called, in transgender health discourse, the test of Real Life Experience (RLE). And so the performative criterion becomes, Can I establish that I have a stable and longstanding record of making successful choices in the world that are recognizable and public actions which would pass as Otherly gendered?

I knew that many of the queries were quite important to get right, no matter how casual they may have appeared, like, “Would your ideal gender identity include male genitalia?” If I sounded like I love being a woman “just the way I am,” including all my womanly parts, I would fail the necessary performance of some stable elements of gender dysphoria that would make wanting a male chest something other than totally pathological. Fortunately, “bottom surgery” (as we trannies call it) is a pretty risky biz, so I made some kind of blisteringly ironic statement about preferring a dick I could slam in a drawer to one that might whither away and drop off my body. It seemed persuasive. And I meant well. “Have you told your parents?” This was a tough question, on all kinds of levels, not the least of which is, “What’s to tell?”. Once again, humour was my friend. Most of the time, I was able to assert my stubborn attachment to a transitive relation to gender — a moving project with no fixed address. I insisted on standing in the space of gender queer, and of living a life that is about playful complexity, rather than having ever inhabited something as apparently simple as a tick box on a form.

We moved on to Step Four, because I passed Step Three. OMG. Who was born of this moment - this institutionalized accomplishment of intelligibility?

Dr. B told me enthusiastically that he would not require me to be evaluated by a psychiatrist, because it seemed like I “had a really stable and healthy identity in relation to my complex gender”. And so I learned about the various options for my chest reconstruction, which include several variations, from fixing the problems residual to the bilateral mastectomy, to a full chest contouring operation. I have lots to think about. At the end of today, I was fixated on two thoughts:

If I had been talking about using reconstruction to get a 36DD chest, I would not have been required to disclose whether I felt like I had been born, secretly, as Dolly Parton, and now needed surgery to correct a lack of fit between the inside feeling and the outward appearance.

Maybe everyone should have to read Foucault as a right of passage into adulthood, and yearly thereafter. There might even have to be a test.

I am left with enormous respect for a doctor who has learned so very much about how to care under conditions of institutionalization, uncertainty and risk. I am, also, so very proud that I found within myself the courage to insist on speaking truth to power about a kind of complexity of intelligibility for which there are so very many punishments, sanctions and harsh measures.

 

What am I Missing?: It’s Rant Time!

I was expecting the micro-sized package of crummy pretzels, instead of which, placed on the cheap plastic tray beside my drink offering, was a prayer. “Oh, I’m sorry”, I ventured to the Alaska Air flight attendant, “I didn’t order the Christian meal.” Okay, so I was looking just a tad smug when I directed my thinly veiled ire to her prompt attention. “Well!” she said, tersely, “Most of our passengers find the prayer a comfort.”

I felt pretty much the same kind of astonishment comingled with disappointment and anger when my family physician offered me, yesterday, during a visit when I went to talk about how to manage diverticulitis, an advertisement for the Been-A-Boob breast prosthetic that is marketed with the Janac sports bra. Now before I go on to relate more of this story, let me very clearly state here that I LOVE my GP. She is wonderful, kind, very competent and has been a true supporter and cheerleading team member during my medical catastrophe of 2007.

Gazing down at the advertisement for the augmented sports bra, I tried to figure out a non-controversial and non-confrontational way to move on - a socially appropriate segue to dislodge my doctor from her own discomfort in the face of my public breastlessness. I noticed that the founder of Janac Sportswear is a Dragon Boat paddler, and so I ventured forth something banal about how in the Spring, I too was going to be paddling in a Breast Cancer boat, and that I was doing a lot of post-mastectomy physiotherapy as a way of getting strong in anticipation of my paddling. That seemed all very healthful and positive, and was intended to get us both onto a different terrain. Undeterred, my doctor suggested, then that, “Well great, once you get yourself a sports bra, you can be one of the regulars on the team.”

“One of the regulars on the team.” I could have said that my entire life stands as a testament to my absolute dedication to undo the notion that one might ever aspire to being “one of the regulars.” But of course, I didn’t. Where’s Foucault when you need him — like the moment in Annie Hall when Marshall McLuhan appears out of the blue in a movie theatre line-up to interrupt the babbling of an arrogant man in the line (go watch the excerpt, it’s still really funny).

Lest you think that I am disparaging the desires of anyone other than me who wants breast reconstruction or to wear a breast prosthetic, stop right here. I think that people should be totally supported to seek out whatever brings them peace and happiness following the removal of one or both breasts. I am happy that a whack of tax dollars are going to pay for breast reconstruction for women undergoing mastectomies. What irks me is that my own choice to go breastless, and keep it that way, is not being supported. And it is both discouraging and of critical concern that options like Been-A-Boob or reconstruction are being presented to women couched in a deliberately crafted discourse of Repair of Damaged Goods, Aspiration to Return to Normalcy, or one might say, Non-Voluntary Enlistment in Normalization. The message is clear - (1) You are disfigured. (2) You feel really bad about that. (3) We can help you get the help you know you need to fix this problem.

But, one must always ask, “What IS the problem here?” The Janac Sports Bra literature tells the reader that she can “Look Good at Home and at the Gym.” What am I missing? Who is going to appreciate my Sports Bra as I work around the house? Who is going to be bothered by my flat chest as I work out at the gym? From my vantage point, the fact that I can now work out at the gym without the encumbrance of a sweaty clingy bra is nothing short of a miracle. It’s one of the few silver linings in this really fucked up cloud. What am I missing here?

Jacqueline, who blogs as Rebel One in Eight, makes Rhea Belle a line of clothing that is specially designed for post-mastectomy women, and it’s not about a cover-up! Take a look at Jacqueline’s Caged Bird T-shirt! I love her Brand tagline: “Not a statistic. More than fashion. It’s a rebellion.”

So please help me out here. What AM I missing?