Notable Assholes: On Being Called A “Shemale Stripper”
I ran into quite a few notable assholes and bigots while touring. They were absolutely the exception, far outnumbered by the people who – in person, on Facebook, and via email – told me how much they enjoyed my work, and how important it was to them. I heard from allies, friends and family and partners of trans people, trans people themselves, and those who had never before encountered someone who so strongly questioned society’s gender assumptions. And yet, I also encountered some assholes and bigots.
Cincinnati was the first fest, and the fist asshole, with a volunteer asking if she could call me by my old name, and later that you “can’t erase a Y chromosome.” For more on that, check out these three posts.
Kansas City had the following delightful interaction:
Call Me Maybe is playing loudly in the background.
ME: This song reminds me of camp. My campers sang this song constantly, and I had the chorus in my head for weeks.
HIM: Who the hell would let you near campers?
Of course, he quickly backpedaled: He wasn’t speaking for himself, just on behalf of others. He would never doubt my qualification to work with children, but wouldn’t every other person on the face of the planet? (Read More—>)