I have a complex relationship with conventional beauty standards. Or, more accurately, feminine beauty standards.
Growing up, I was the archetypal tomboy. This was fine in elementary school, but once I officially became a teenager, my boyishness made me stick out like a sore thumb. Conformity, though, was by no means comfortable. That meant being a girl, a label I felt deeply uncomfortable with. I wouldn’t discover the language to conceptualize this discomfort until years later. Before, I only had that searing feeling of being different. This difference, in my head, equated to being unattractive.
I’ve since embraced my identity outside the gender binary, but my experience in my adolescence soured my body image for years. The modern beauty standard is excruciatingly cisnormative and White. For pride month, I wanted to discuss how this standard has impacted other members of the trans community. In particular, I wanted to speak with members of the community whose experiences were not identical to mine. I ended up speaking with Ciara, the University Observer’s Art and Design Editor. Despite different backgrounds, I found myself relating to Ciara (perhaps a little too much).
They, like me, grew up socialized as a woman. We both grew up in religious environments, and have struggled with reconciling our queerness with the belief system we were raised in. Unlike me, though, they were raised in a religious Muslim household. With that came wearing a hijab, a garment that immediately marked them as a woman. This pushed them to clothing that was baggier and more masculine to compensate. In fact, we were both inclined to more “masculine” things - clothes, sports, and honestly, the freedom that came with being a boy. Or, more accurately, the freedom that came with not being a girl. However, it became apparent that for Ciara, it wasn’t that they wanted to be a boy; they just weren’t a girl. In a world dictated by a black and white binary of boy and girl, there was no third option. Without the framework to understand their gender identity, Ciara chalked this sentiment up to misogyny. It wasn’t until they made friends with trans people that Ciara began to realize their experiences weren’t exactly typical for girls. When they turned nineteen and headed to college, Ciara found themselves able to explore their own relationship with gender. Living alone gave them the ability to pick and choose the aspects of femininity that appealed to them. This exploration was absolutely crucial.
Growing up being seen as a woman subjects you to certain expectations. Ciara reflected on their own struggles with needing to be both humble and modest but also beautiful as a woman. They expressed how frustrating it was to feel expected to roll out of bed every morning looking effortlessly stunning. I can understand that. For myself, femininity had always been more of a cage than anything else. Personal exploration of gender expression is what helped break down this idea of femininity as being synonymous with being a woman. University was a shock to my system: I went from strict, unspoken expectations about appearance to what amounts to a free for all. In a place where no one would really bat an eye at wearing a onesie to a lecture, self-expression doesn’t hold the same weight it used to. It’s much more acceptable to lie outside the conventional. Mixing and matching what I liked about femininity and masculinity was invaluable in finding a place in my own skin. As it turns out, I can rock a crop-top and eyeliner without being a girl.
As it turns out, I can rock a crop-top and eyeliner without being a girl.
Then there’s also the question of, for lack of a better term, pretty privilege. Pardon me if it’s egotistical to say, but being the recipient of a college glow up is a shift. Growing up, I thought that ‘unconventional’ meant ‘unattractive.’ Now, my gender ambiguity isn’t a disqualifier. College has ushered in confidence I’ve never felt before. I’d only ever seen this as a benefit, but in talking with Ciara, they brought up an interesting worry. They said they do worry about losing so-called “pretty privilege” and no longer being seen as attractive by others. I’d never thought of it like that, and it stuck with me. In many senses, being good looking is an ‘in’. It affects how people see you. And, for better or for worse, others’ opinions often inform how we perceive ourselves.
Social expectations in some way bind us all. University certainly provides an ample opportunity to break out of some of the molds we are situated in. However, this relative freedom is by no means perfect. For Ciara, insecurities still remain, their roots in transphobia. Like many trans people, they are faced with the question of how to navigate their own safety without sacrificing their identity. Transphobia is a real concern. There’s all sorts of questions that being trans introduces to any situation, particularly romantic. How will this person react when they find out? Will I be in danger? And - perhaps less pressing - will they still like me? Online dating has provided some relief from this for Ciara. Organic meetings can be unpredictable. Comparatively, thanks to the wonders of Tinder and Hinge, it’s easier to be straight out the gate about your gender identity. If it’s an issue, swipe left.
Like many trans people, they are faced with the question of how to navigate their own safety without sacrificing their identity. Transphobia is a real concern. There’s all sorts of questions that being trans introduces to any situation, particularly romantic.
The world is by no means perfect and safe for trans people. And at the personal scale, I still struggle with my self image daily. So, for me at least, knowing that there are people who understand your experiences is so comforting. Especially when it comes to my gender identity and relationship with my body. These are things that had always been a personal burden that only isolated me. Hearing someone put into words your own discomfort is a welcome reminder that there are in fact people like me. I’m not alone. I have a community.