GRAY'S ANOMALY

Things are getting hairier. On my head. (Let’s not talk about ears, brows and nose, please.) As a woman said to me at the gym last week, I’m getting shaggier. She meant it as a compliment. I think. 

 

Yes, I’m letting my hair grow out to some proximation of my Big Hair ’80s era. My hair has certainly receded in the passing decades and it’s thinner but the top of the noggin is still well covered and, for that, I am grateful. I think bald men can be very sexy, but I tell myself my head needs hair. Too many moles hide underneath. 

 

They are still hiding, aren’t they? 

 

Hair insecurity makes me reluctant to look too long into the hand mirror that mostly gathers dust in the bathroom vanity. 

 

I’m letting the hair grow out while I still have hair to grow out. It means that the cleaner, closer-cut, left-parted haircut—I call it my “Swedish cut” after seeing so many immaculately, conservatively groomed men during trips to Stockholm—is giving way to big curls. The back of the head, in particular, is curling up. 

 

“Just don’t grow a mullet,” everyone says. 

 

The fact they say that makes me realize it is, in fact, looking a little mullet-y at the moment. Without hand mirror scrutiny, I believe I’m in the awkward phase of growing things out. It’ll get better, I keep telling myself. My hairstylist will have to clean up the neckline during my next visit. 

 

I’m also sprouting facial hair—mustache and beard. When I was twenty and in my first year of teaching—yes, in the ’80s—I grew a mustache to try to look older. I was a high school special education teacher and some of my students were a year older since Texas law permitted students to be enrolled in secondary school until they were twenty-one. I’m rather thankful I don’t have any photos from that period. I don’t think it was a good luck. 

 

This is the first time I’ve attempted a beard. I’ve sometimes been a lazy shaver, letting facial whiskers linger for up to ten days but then I’ve always felt uncomfortably itchy, causing me to lather up the shaving cream and revert to a smoother look. I’m now about six weeks into the beard. It seems as full as it’s likely to get. The itching has subsided. My boyfriend and my best friend are fans of the beard. “You look Scandinavian,” I am told. I will always take that as a compliment. 

 

So far, I’ve gone to the barber twice for beard trims with electric razors. (The thought of a blade trim worries me too much. I imagine myself flinching at the wrong moments and having my chin, cheeks and neck gushing blood.) The process is quite soothing and extremely detail-oriented. I imagine it’s something like having a massage…which I’ve never had. (The thought of my body being needed like bread dough is as appealing as a bloody blade shave.) 

 

Arr, Graybeard!

I’ve come close to getting rid of the beard several times. A few more days, I keep telling myself. I am conflicted by the look. While my hair is blond with some gray growing in, the beard is one hundred percent gray. I feel old. I look like a skinny version of Santa. (Am I even that skinny? Do kids I pass do a double-take. “Santa?!”)

 

Without the beard, I look considerably younger than sixty. With it, I feel sixty-five. I keep asking myself why I would sacrifice looking more youthful? What’s the beard’s appeal?

 

This weekend, my boyfriend, Evan, suggested I dye the beard and mustache. One box of Just For Men blond beard dye and—Bam!—I lost a decade. (Maybe more?) 

 

Somewhat blonder facial scruff...

So now I’m a big, shaggy faker. I have blond highlights in my hair and blond dye for my beard. I am relieved. I’d even say I am happy. I am no longer peeking into the bathroom mirror with dread. The beard will stay a while longer, at least.

 

The concern now is about whether I’ll know when to say my final goodbyes to all blondness. There will come a time when the color will look blatantly painted on, when people will see me for the blond fraud I am, an old guy trying unsuccessfully to look younger. I’ve seen it in other men and women. I just wonder if I’ll see it in me. Will I know when to let the dyes die? Will it take friends and family holding a hair intervention? Will someone slide an anonymous note under my door? “Today’s the day for you to go gray.”

 

For now, I believe I still have enough natural, non-gray hairs on my head to carry off the blond deception. When it’s all gray, may I have the common sense to let things be. Frankly, I think a full head of gray hair can be sexy, too. It can look distinguished. It can convey confidence. It’s possible, I have self-esteem issues around the terms sexy, distinguished and confident. Maybe the real work to be done is inside the head rather than at surface level.

 

  

SHAPE (Documentary Film Review)

I’ve seen a lot of mediocre documentaries since the introduction of streaming channels. They can be cheaply made, a series of interviews on a single set, a few cheesy reenactments, too often the key people not participating in the production, leaving the “truth” to be told by people two or three degrees from what actually happened. Because of this, I now make snap decisions, tuning out many a documentary within the first five minutes.  

 

Shape: When Idolisation Leads to Exclusion is an Australian documentary available for watching on YouTube that I may have given up on, but someone I respect as a deeper thinker recommended it to my partner, Evan, and so I decided to stick it out. I would watch it; Evan would watch it; then we’d come together to discuss over FaceTime. Being as we have a Vancouver – Denver long-distance relationship, our version of movie night can take a few days to unfold. 

 

Shape unfolds on a simple set, a stage on which six different queer people appear separately to offer their opinions on finding one’s place in the gay community and how one’s appearance plays a major factor in a de facto sorting system.

 

The interviewees, along with how they are identified in the film are: Miss Jay (drag queen); Stewart (casual model / dance party promoter); Stefan (Gen X, 55); Aaron (President, Vic Bears); Budi (intersectionality, equity and justice trainer; consultant; director, Ananda Training & Consultancy); and Glen (associate professor, La Trobe University / clinical psychologist).

 

Aaron, a self-described bear,
sees gay men as having
restrictive views on body shape.
He believes there is even
work to be done among bears.

Nothing in the film is earth-shattering, at least not for anyone who has been immersed in the gay community in the past several decades. From the film’s outset, I found myself nodding but wondering if I needed to stick with the ninety-minute documentary. It felt like listening to a new alphabet song—all familiar letters, just different rhythms and notes. 

 

And yet I stayed with it. I resisted the temptation to get up and tidy the living room or do the dinner dishes while the documentary droned on. I wondered if there might be a different take, however slight, when listening to a half dozen people immersed in, or at least exposed to, Australia’s gay scene.

 

“To be as diverse as we think we are,” Aaron says, “we need to get rid of the discrimination.” Hmm…the differences, if any, would be subtle.

 

Stefan, in his mid-50s, often
comes across as exasperated 
by ageism amongst gays.

The film is slow in the beginning. With half a dozen interviewees, it takes a while to get to know them. They have each been chosen to offer a slightly different take on gay inclusion, and lack thereof. Connection on film, just as in the gay scene takes time. For many a viewer, the familiarity of the gripes made about gay interactions may lead one to turn away—been there, heard that. 

 

Still there’s something to be said for the cumulative effect of six strangers, talking separately, yet echoing one another, delivering one consistent message: things are messed up. 

 

The film becomes most compelling when the interviewees are asked to read and react to Grindr profiles. In the virtual world, many do not even consider the pretense of politeness and acceptance. It’s brutal hearing profiles men have typed, saved and posted that boldly—and offensively—say this is what I want; this is what I don’t want. “This” is not a product, however; instead, it is whole groups of people. We know this about Grindr, but listening to the participants read and respond makes one want to auto-delete everyone’s profile. Grindr is too far gone. Is there a way to start over?

 

I had another reason to be hesitant in viewing Shape. The main topic is about an important one—how our looks, in general, and our bodies, more specifically—affect our integration into the gay community. I have an eating disorder. Too much talk over body ideals and body flaws can be triggering. I’m presently in one of my greater periods of struggle. One body shot or one phrase might hit me the wrong way and set me back even more. Because of this, I am grateful the film limits its images of body ideals at least until two-thirds in. One shirtless white model, who does not have a speaking part poses between interview segments. Then there is a model who would be called a twink, one who would be a daddy and one who is Asian, each of them fitting a proximation of a body ideal. By limiting the men and images, I did not become overwhelmed by notions of body perfection. 

 

When the film starts to talk about men portrayed on social media and in ads, there is a deluge of The Body Beautiful but by then I was invested enough in the film and I’d heard enough from the interviewees, each offering a form of support by saying this objectification and the higher stature it brings in the gay community are fucked up. 

 

Budi, who is of Indonesian
descent, makes many astute
comments about how gays 
discriminate over race, height
and views of masculinity and
femininity.

I didn’t reach for the button to close my YouTube window. I managed to watch the whole documentary without feeling any more messed up than I am. In fact, I went away with my feelings affirmed. Yes, the “community” has some growing up to do. The acceptance and inclusion we seek in greater society is often lacking within the Pride fold, particularly amongst gay men.

 

In general, I think gays are nicer people. We’re kind; we’re sensitive. 

 

Until we’re not. There’s the group mentality that I witnessed—and, yes, partook in—as I was coming out in the late ’80s. The gay bar was a sieve, washing away all the Not Good Enoughs, limiting everyone’s gaze to men with seemingly perfect hair, faces and bodies. Little things—a bit of body hair, a possible love handle, an underwhelming bicep—constituted reasons to overlook so many people. “Swipe left” culture existed long before the apps.  

 

I’ve often lamented that groups of gay men often go through a difficult journey—even now—in coming out, only to find rejection and cliquey behaviors in the very “community” that knows all too well about the struggle to be truly accepted for who we are. Why must we continue to dismiss and discriminate amongst our own?

 

Shape is worth a watch. Better yet, it’s worth watching with a partner and/or friends. While the messages are familiar, sometimes it helps to hear things from other people, offering another opportunity for reflection about our place in the “community” and what we can do or not do to stop us from swimming in the shallow end so we can explore deeper topics and people. The discussion that can arise during and after watching this documentary might cause some of us to rethink how we view our own, be it ourselves or our community. 

 

If you do watch it, feel to leave a comment or two about your thoughts. I’m curious to know what takeaways others get from the film.

 

 

 

 

THE WIN COLUMN

A writing colleague, a good friend of mine, is trans. We connect through FaceTime once a week to share a writing session. It starts with a check-in (How’s your week of writing going? What are you working on today?) and is followed by an hour where we disconnect and write before FaceTiming again to talk about how the hour went. 

 

They live in Seattle. As “safe” an area as any for someone who is trans in the United States but it’s still in the U.S. where Trump has already issued executive orders about trans in the military, trans girls and women in sports and trans healthcare for people under eighteen. I have sensed my friend’s unease with every phone call since the election. It’s hard not to feel targeted or to sense walls closing in.

 

For gay white cisgender men such as myself, the equivalent would be to live in a country whose newly appointed ruler issued orders banning gay marriage, gays in the military, gay adoption and discussion of anything gay in schools. If your tendency is to quibble over anything I mentioned that is not an exact equivalent, check your personal feelings and beliefs about people who are trans. How many do you know? Have you listened to them talk about trans issues? How much are you willing to be an ally and to truly include them in the Pride “community” we speak of every June if not throughout the year?

 

I have told my friend I will drive down to Seattle (or Olympia, the state capital) and rally alongside them. Just give me a date. I want them to feel my support is real, that there is substance behind my words.

 

Part of my frustration, however, has been that I’m not seeing rallies. I’m not hearing well-packaged soundbites like the highly effective, enduring “Love Is Love,” that helped people get behind gay marriage. I have not been able to point to an organization that is leading the cause to fight back and advocate for trans rights. GLAAD and HRC exist but their agendas are diverse and I’m not sure how many trans people see these organizations as representing their voices. I imagine trans advocates want trans people actually taking the lead. They need to be empowered while the rest of us, LGBTQ and otherwise, get behind them and lift them up.

 

I asked my friend, “What organization is leading the campaign for trans rights?”

 

I wanted the answer to roll off their tongue. There was a pause, but it didn’t take too long before they replied, “Maybe A4TE?” It was a tentative response. I didn’t ask them to explain what the letters and number stood for. I could do my own research.

 

Advocates For Trans Equality.

 

Not an organization known in households. Not yet.

 

A4TE.

 

A4TE.

 

A4TE.

 

A4TE, A4TE, A4TE…

 

I got it wrong a couple of times in the past week. Not rolling just yet. But I can say I’m getting familiar with the organization.

 

Advocates for Trans Equality is a merger of sorts, coming into being just last year after two organizations established in 2003 joined forces: National Center for Transgender Equality (NCTE) and Transgender Legal Defense and Education Fund (TLDEF). Honestly, I’d never heard of either or, if I had, the names didn’t stick with me. Maybe I had just never made trans rights enough of a priority.

 

I spent an hour going through their website. At first, I was underwhelmed. This is it? That’s all? But then I subscribed to their newsletter and read the first one. I was emailed a link and listened to an excellent 90-minute webinar, “Trans Rights vs. Trump: How A4TE Is Fighting Back.” I started to feel more encouraged. The information is getting out there. A4TE is taking a lead.

 

A4TE, A4TE, A4TE.

 

One part of the website in particular resonated with me. When I scrolled down the ABOUT tab, I clicked on the first option, HISTORY, and reading through the web page, I came upon the heading, What We’ve Done, which begins with:

 

Over the last twenty years, NCTE secured over 100

federal policy changes in various agencies and

helped defeat hundreds of anti-trans state bills

across the country, and TLDEF saw major

victories and had unflappable persistence in

courtrooms across the country, having worked

on some of the most significant trans legal

victories in the nation.

 

The following six paragraphs offered specifics regarding what the separate organization accomplished before merging. There are significant victories arising from battling various institutions and the governments of the day. 

 

While Trump’s executive orders are setbacks and are clearly disheartening if not devastating to trans people and their families, the prior wins represent hope. Change can happen. There is an organization with a track record of victories. Defeats occur as well, perhaps fueling a sense of incensement that can rally people, but the victories motivate too. There are things in the win column. All is not lost. All is not dark. 

 

Hopefully, you will check out the website for Advocates for Trans Equality. I recommend subscribing to the newsletter. (The "subscribe" button appears at the bottom of each page on their website.) Read or skim the ones you have time for in your busy life. Perhaps mark them to be read later. 

 

I want the rallies. I want the “good trouble” the late Congressmen John Lewis mentioned. I want the court challenges. I want safety and security for people who are trans. I want more in the W column.

 

  

I AM ONE: A BOOK OF ACTION

 

 

Words by Susan Verde

 

Illustrations by Peter H. Reynolds

 

(Abrams Books for Young Readers, 2020)

 

Back in November, I posted two pieces about going Beyond the Vote. (You can read them here and here.) Trump had won the U.S. election and the Republicans held power in both the Senate and the House of Representatives but that only meant that people seeking change and advocating for trans and queer rights as well as topics like climate change and freedom from book banning needed to actively and steadfastly pursue other channels to affect change.

 

Frankly, going beyond and around formal political structures is where the fun is. The late U.S. Congressman John Lewis referred to some of these non-legislative actions as “good trouble.” I smile every time I think of the phrase and I recall some of the things I did during the height of the AIDS crisis. I was not a member of ACT UP which was more radical than I dared to be as I still had one foot in the closet. Still, I participated in protests and marches. When I attended monthly meetings as an AIDS Project Los Angeles volunteer, I removed all my money to have it stamped as “gay dollars” to remind people when the bills went back into circulation that gays had money and the economic power that went with it.

 

Clearly, we need to get creative in how we fight back against many of Trump’s executive orders and it will take a swell of participation from allies. Just this weekend, the president has gotten me more incensed than ever by imposing 25% tariffs on Canadian and Mexican goods while setting tariffs on China at 10%. Tell me how it makes sense to be most economically punishing to your long-term neighbors, your most natural trading partners? Why even target Canada (and Mexico)? We’ve had a good thing going between North American countries. I know that Canadians are outraged.

 

I, of course, can participate in protest actions and change initiatives relating to more than one issue and now I most certainly must. Trans and queer rights remain at the forefront. Canadian pushback now stands alongside that. 

 

I’ve talked with people over the past week who feel scattered and overwhelmed by the rapid change Trump is creating through his promised rainstorm of executive actions. That’s normal. Catch your breath, everybody.

 

But Susan Verde and Peter H. Reynolds’ book I Am One: A Book of Action reminds us in a simple yet inspirational way that change starts with one person doing one action. The message is comparable to the image of a drop in a bucket seeming inconsequential until another drop and another and many, many more are added in. Keep it coming. Keep doing the work. Let others see and feel your actions. Let those who are so motivated do the same or similar actions. Let them try another course of action. Let everything build.

 

A Book of Action was inspired by a quote from the Dalai Lama: “Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water, the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects.” The book begins with a key question: “How do I make a difference?”

 

Yeah, we all feel that little old me syndrome from time to time. I hear people who are less hopeful opt out with the defeatist statement, “What difference does it make?”

 

All I know is I have control over my own thoughts and actions. I always believe in doing what I can. For the issues that matter most to me, I must move beyond talking the talk. I must walk the walk. Actions matter.

 

As the book reminds us, “Beautiful things start with just One.” 

 

One seed to start a garden.

One stroke to start a masterpiece.

One note to start a melody. 

 

Starting matters. That first action is the root of bigger things, sometimes even a movement. Not every action will have legs, but it’s worth giving it a go and seeing if it might. It’s worth checking out online what people are doing and adopting your own version of an action or actions that seem within your ability.

 

 

The book reminds us that that pebble drop in water the Dalai Lama referred to can create ripples and, with enough pebbles dropped, we can imagine ripples evolving into swells, then waves. 

 

It’s time to act. Try something. Try something else. Comment on and acknowledge what others are doing. Action feels so much better than sitting, stewing and fretting. 

 

I may be reading I Am One: A Book of Action on the daily for the next while. The book itself calms me and reminds me of opportunity, pushing me past passivity. 

 

Again, it’s time to act. 

 

What will it be?