How, if at all, is the notion of dis­cur­sive resi­gni­fi­ca­tion lin­ked to the notion of gen­der paro­dy or imper­so­na­tion ? First, what is meant by unders­tan­ding gen­der as an imper­so­na­tion ? Does this mean that one puts on a mask or per­so­na, that there is a “one” who pre­cedes that “put­ting on,” who is some­thing other than its gen­der from the start ? Or does this miming, this imper­so­na­ting pre­cede and form the “one,” ope­ra­ting as its for­ma­tive pre­con­di­tion rather than its dis­pen­sable artifice ?

The construal of gen­der-as-drag accor­ding to the first model appears to be the effect of a num­ber of cir­cum­stances. One of them I brought on myself by citing drag as an example of per­for­ma­ti­vi­ty, a move that was taken then, by some, to be exem­pla­ry of per­for­ma­ti­vi­ty. If drag is per­for­ma­tive, that does not mean that all per­for­ma­ti­vi­ty is to be unders­tood as drag. The publi­ca­tion of Gender Trouble coin­ci­ded with a num­ber of publi­ca­tions that did assert that “clothes make the woman,” but I never did think that gen­der was like clothes, or that clothes make the woman. Added to these, howe­ver, are the poli­ti­cal needs of an emergent queer move­ment in which the publi­ci­za­tion of thea­tri­cal agen­cy has become quite central.

The prac­tice by which gen­de­ring occurs, the embo­dying of norms, is a com­pul­so­ry prac­tice, a for­cible pro­duc­tion, but not for that rea­son ful­ly deter­mi­ning. To the extent that gen­der is an assi­gn­ment, it is an assi­gn­ment which is never quite car­ried out accor­ding to expec­ta­tion, whose addres­see never quite inha­bits the ideal s/he is com­pel­led to approxi­mate. Moreover, this embo­dying is a repea­ted pro­cess. And one might construe repe­ti­tion as pre­ci­se­ly that which under­mines the conceit of volun­ta­rist mas­te­ry desi­gna­ted by the sub­ject in language.

As Paris Is Burning made clear, drag is not unpro­ble­ma­ti­cal­ly sub­ver­sive. It serves a sub­ver­sive func­tion to the extent that it reflects the mun­dane imper­so­na­tions by which hete­ro­sexual­ly ideal gen­ders are per­for­med and natu­ra­li­zed and under­mines their power by vir­tue of effec­ting that expo­sure. But there is no gua­ran­tee that expo­sing the natu­ra­li­zed sta­tus of hete­ro­sexua­li­ty will lead to its sub­ver­sion. Heterosexuality can aug­ment its hege­mo­ny through its dena­tu­ra­li­za­tion, as when we see dena­tu­ra­li­zing paro­dies that rei­dea­lize hete­ro­sexual norms without cal­ling them into question.

On other occa­sions, though, the trans­fe­ra­bi­li­ty of a gen­der ideal or gen­der norm calls into ques­tion the abjec­ting power that it sus­tains. For an occu­pa­tion or reter­ri­to­ria­li­za­tion of a term that has been used to abject a popu­la­tion can become the site of resis­tance, the pos­si­bi­li­ty of an enabling social and poli­ti­cal resi­gni­fi­ca­tion. And this has hap­pe­ned to a cer­tain extent with the notion of “queer.” The contem­po­ra­ry rede­ploy­ment enacts a pro­hi­bi­tion and a degra­da­tion against itself, spaw­ning a dif­ferent order of values, a poli­ti­cal affir­ma­tion from and through the very term which in a prior usage had as its final aim the era­di­ca­tion of pre­ci­se­ly such an affirmation.

It may seem, howe­ver, that there is a dif­fe­rence bet­ween the embo­dying or per­for­ming of gen­der norms and the per­for­ma­tive use of dis­course. Are these two dif­ferent senses of “per­for­ma­ti­vi­ty,” or do they converge as modes of cita­tio­na­li­ty in which the com­pul­so­ry cha­rac­ter of cer­tain social impe­ra­tives becomes sub­ject to a more pro­mi­sing dere­gu­la­tion ? Gender norms ope­rate by requi­ring the embo­di­ment of cer­tain ideals of femi­ni­ni­ty and mas­cu­li­ni­ty, ones that are almost always rela­ted to the idea­li­za­tion of the hete­ro­sexual bond. In this sense, the ini­tia­to­ry per­for­ma­tive, “It’s a girl!” anti­ci­pates the even­tual arri­val of the sanc­tion, “I pro­nounce you man and wife.” Hence, also, the pecu­liar plea­sure of the car­toon strip in which the infant is first inter­pel­la­ted into dis­course with “It’s a les­bian!” Far from an essen­tia­list joke, the queer appro­pria­tion of the per­for­ma­tive mimes and exposes both the bin­ding power of the hete­ro­sexua­li­zing law and its expro­pria­bi­li­ty.

To the extent that the naming of the “girl” is tran­si­tive, that is, ini­tiates the pro­cess by which a cer­tain “gir­ling” is com­pel­led, the term or, rather, its sym­bo­lic power, governs the for­ma­tion of a cor­po­real­ly enac­ted femi­ni­ni­ty that never ful­ly approxi­mates the norm. This is a “girl,” howe­ver, who is com­pel­led to “cite” the norm in order to qua­li­fy and remain a viable sub­ject. Femininity is thus not the pro­duct of a choice, but the for­cible cita­tion of a norm, one whose com­plex his­to­ri­ci­ty is indis­so­ciable from rela­tions of dis­ci­pline, regu­la­tion, punish­ment. Indeed, there is no “one” who takes on a gen­der norm. On the contra­ry, this cita­tion of the gen­der norm is neces­sa­ry in order to qua­li­fy as a “one,” to become viable as a “one,” where sub­ject-for­ma­tion is dependent on the prior ope­ra­tion of legi­ti­ma­ting gen­der norms.

It is in terms of a norm that com­pels a cer­tain “cita­tion” in order for a viable sub­ject to be pro­du­ced that the notion of gen­der per­for­ma­ti­vi­ty calls to be rethought. And pre­ci­se­ly in rela­tion to such a com­pul­so­ry cita­tio­na­li­ty that the thea­tri­ca­li­ty of gen­der is also to be explai­ned. Theatricality need not be confla­ted with self-dis­play or self-crea­tion. Within queer poli­tics, indeed, within the very signi­fi­ca­tion that is “queer,” we read a resi­gni­fying prac­tice in which the desanc­tio­ning power of the name “queer” is rever­sed to sanc­tion a contes­ta­tion of the terms of sexual legi­ti­ma­cy. Paradoxically, but also with great pro­mise, the sub­ject who is “quee­red” into public dis­course through homo­pho­bic inter­pel­la­tions of various kinds takes up or cites that very term as the dis­cur­sive basis for an oppo­si­tion. This kind of cita­tion will emerge as thea­tri­cal to the extent that it mimes and ren­ders hyper­bo­lic the dis­cur­sive conven­tion that it also reverses. The hyper­bo­lic ges­ture is cru­cial to the expo­sure of the homo­pho­bic “law” that can no lon­ger control the terms of its own abjec­ting strategies.

One might be temp­ted to say that iden­ti­ty cate­go­ries are insuf­fi­cient because eve­ry sub­ject posi­tion is the site of conver­ging rela­tions of power that are not uni­vo­cal. But such a for­mu­la­tion unde­res­ti­mates the radi­cal chal­lenge to the sub­ject that such conver­ging rela­tions imply. For there is no self-iden­ti­cal sub­ject who houses or bears these rela­tions, no site at which such rela­tions converge. This conver­ging and inter­ar­ti­cu­la­tion is the contem­po­ra­ry fate of the sub­ject. In other words, the sub­ject as a self-iden­ti­cal enti­ty is no more.

It is in this sense that the tem­po­ra­ry tota­li­za­tion per­for­med by iden­ti­ty cate­go­ries is a neces­sa­ry error. And if iden­ti­ty is a neces­sa­ry error, then the asser­tion of “queer” will be neces­sa­ry as a term of affi­lia­tion, but it will not ful­ly des­cribe those it pur­ports to represent. As a result, it will be neces­sa­ry to affirm the contin­gen­cy of the term : to let it be van­qui­shed by those who are exclu­ded by the term but who jus­ti­fia­bly expect repre­sen­ta­tion by it, to let it take on mea­nings that can­not now be anti­ci­pa­ted by a youn­ger gene­ra­tion whose poli­ti­cal voca­bu­la­ry may well car­ry a very dif­ferent set of investments.

As much as it is neces­sa­ry to assert poli­ti­cal demands through recourse to iden­ti­ty cate­go­ries, and to lay claim to the power to name one­self and deter­mine the condi­tions under which that name is used, it is also impos­sible to sus­tain that kind of mas­te­ry over the tra­jec­to­ry of those cate­go­ries within dis­course. This is not an argu­ment against using iden­ti­ty cate­go­ries, but it is a remin­der of the risk that attends eve­ry such use. The expec­ta­tion of self-deter­mi­na­tion that self-naming arouses is para­doxi­cal­ly contes­ted by the his­to­ri­ci­ty of the name itself : by the his­to­ry of the usages that one never control­led, but that constrain the very usage that now emble­ma­tizes auto­no­my ; by the future efforts to deploy the term against the grain of the cur­rent ones, and that will exceed the control of those who seek to set the course of the terms in the present.

If the term “queer” is to be a site of col­lec­tive contes­ta­tion, the point of depar­ture for a set of his­to­ri­cal reflec­tions and futu­ral ima­gi­nings, it will have to remain that which is, in the present, never ful­ly owned, but always and only rede­ployed, twis­ted, quee­red from a prior usage and in the direc­tion of urgent and expan­ding poli­ti­cal pur­poses. This also means that it will doubt­less have to be yiel­ded in favor of terms that do that poli­ti­cal work more effec­ti­ve­ly. Such a yiel­ding may well become neces­sa­ry in order to accommodate—without domesticating—democratizing contes­ta­tions that have and will redraw the contours of the move­ment in ways that can never be ful­ly anti­ci­pa­ted in advance.

Importantly, howe­ver, there is no power, construed as a sub­ject, that acts, but only, to repeat an ear­lier phrase, a rei­te­ra­ted acting that is power in its per­sis­tence and insta­bi­li­ty. This is less an “act,” sin­gu­lar and deli­be­rate, than a nexus of power and dis­course that repeats or mimes the dis­cur­sive ges­tures of power. Hence, the judge who autho­rizes and ins­talls the situa­tion he names inva­ria­bly cites the law that he applies, and it is the power of this cita­tion that gives the per­for­ma­tive its bin­ding or confer­ring power. And though it may appear that the bin­ding power of his words is deri­ved from the force of his will or from a prior autho­ri­ty, the oppo­site is more true : it is through the cita­tion of the law that the figure of the judge’s “will” is pro­du­ced and that the “prio­ri­ty” of tex­tual autho­ri­ty is esta­bli­shed. Indeed, it is through the invo­ca­tion of conven­tion that the speech act of the judge derives its bin­ding power ; that bin­ding power is to be found nei­ther in the sub­ject of the judge nor in his will, but in the cita­tio­nal lega­cy by which a contem­po­ra­ry “act” emerges in the context of a chain of bin­ding conventions.

Where there is an “I” who utters or speaks and the­re­by pro­duces an effect in dis­course, there is first a dis­course which pre­cedes and enables that “I” and forms in lan­guage the constrai­ning tra­jec­to­ry of its will. Thus there is no “I” who stands behind dis­course and exe­cutes its voli­tion or will through dis­course. On the contra­ry, the “I” only comes into being through being cal­led, named, inter­pel­la­ted, to use the Althusserian term, and this dis­cur­sive consti­tu­tion takes place prior to the “I”; it is the tran­si­tive invo­ca­tion of the “I.” Indeed, I can only say “I” to the extent that I have frst been addres­sed, and that address has mobi­li­zed my place in speech ; para­doxi­cal­ly, the dis­cur­sive condi­tion of social recog­ni­tion pre­cedes and condi­tions the for­ma­tion of the sub­ject : recog­ni­tion is not confer­red on a sub­ject, but forms that sub­ject. Further, the impos­si­bi­li­ty of a full recog­ni­tion, that is, of ever ful­ly inha­bi­ting the name by which one’s social iden­ti­ty is inau­gu­ra­ted and mobi­li­zed, implies the insta­bi­li­ty and incom­ple­te­ness of sub­ject-for­ma­tion. The “I” is thus a cita­tion of the place of the “I” in speech, where that place has a cer­tain prio­ri­ty and ano­ny­mi­ty with res­pect to the life it ani­mates : it is the his­to­ri­cal­ly revi­sable pos­si­bi­li­ty of a name that pre­cedes and exceeds me, but without which I can­not speak.

Screwing is, for a man, a defense against his desire to be female,” pro­claims the SCUM Manifesto. The para­dox of the male libi­do is that it isn’t actual­ly male. Nowhere is this more evident today than in the manos­phere, that awful­ly named borough of the Internet where pickup artists, men’s rights acti­vists, incels, Men Going Their Own Way, and other alt-right com­mu­ni­ties go to com­mi­se­rate, swap tips, and air their woman-hating and racism without fear of repri­sal. At the heart of the manos­phere lies the convic­tion that men—paradigmatically, though not always, white men—have lost sta­tus in the past fif­ty years, ulti­ma­te­ly thanks to the rise of femi­nism. To awa­ken to this fact is to take the red pill—a phrase bor­ro­wed from the 1999 film The Matrix, whose hacker pro­ta­go­nist Neo is given the choice bet­ween a red pill and a blue. The lat­ter will return Neo to his simu­la­ted eve­ry­day life with no memo­ry of the choice ; the for­mer, which he picks, trans­ports him out of the Matrix and into the real world where huma­ni­ty has been ensla­ved by sen­tient machines. In recent years, the alt-right has co-opted the scene as a parable for seeing past femi­nist brain­wa­shing to the truth : femi­nism is a disease, all women wish to be domi­na­ted, and nice guys finish last.

Of course, ano­ther inter­pre­ta­tion of the red pill is pos­sible. Trans women have clai­med The Matrix as an alle­go­ry for gen­der tran­si­tion since at least 2012, when direc­tor Lana Wachowski publi­cly came out as a trans woman while doing press for the film Cloud Atlas. (Her sis­ter and codi­rec­tor Lilly fol­lo­wed suit in 2016.) The sym­bo­lism is easy to find in the plot : Thomas Anderson’s double life (he’s a hacker by night), his cho­sen name (Neo), his vague but mad­de­ning sense that some­thing is off about the world (“a splin­ter in your mind,” resis­tance lea­der Morpheus calls it). Neo has dys­pho­ria. The Matrix is the gen­der bina­ry. You get it.

And then there’s the red pill itself, less a meta­phor for hor­mone the­ra­py than a lite­ral hor­mone. Many have poin­ted out online that back in the nine­ties, pres­crip­tion estro­gen was, in fact, red : the 0.625 mg Premarin tablet, deri­ved in Matrix-like fashion from the urine of pre­gnant mares, came in smooth, cho­co­la­tey maroon. Trans allies on Twitter now glee­ful­ly bran­dish this fact as a well, actually–style rejoin­der to the alt-right’s recent co-opta­tion of the red pill scene as a parable for “awa­ke­ning” from femi­nist brainwashing.

There’s some­thing to this. Taken serious­ly, it sug­gests that the manos­phere red-piller’s resent­ment of immi­grants, black people, and queers is a sadis­tic expres­sion of his own gen­der dys­pho­ria. In this rea­ding, he is an abor­tive man, a beta trap­ped in an alpha’s body, consu­med with the desire to be female and des­pe­ra­te­ly trying to repress it. His desire to increase his man­hood is not pri­ma­ry, but a second-tier defense mecha­nism. Those around him assume he is a lea­der, a pro­vi­der, a pre­sident ; but his grea­test fear is that they are mis­ta­ken. He radicalizes—shoots up a school, builds a wall—in order to avoid tran­si­tio­ning, the way some clo­se­ted trans women join the mili­ta­ry in order to get the girl bea­ten out of them.

But there’s ano­ther level. The Wachowski sis­ters, even if they knew about Premarin, could never have pre­dic­ted that the most com­mon form of pres­crip­tion estro­gen today would be blue. Aquamarine, actually—a tiny, coarse 2 mg estra­diol pill sup­plied by Israeli phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal com­pa­ny Teva that turns to pow­der in your mouth. At present, I take the blue pill twice a day, once upon waking and once before bed, sen­ding myself back into the simu­la­tion. By this logic, the hid­den trans woman of The Matrix is not the mes­sia­nic Neo, but Cypher, the slea­zy trai­tor, who agrees to hand Morpheus over to the machines in exchange for being rein­ser­ted into the Matrix. “Ignorance is bliss,” he tells the agents, mouth full of jui­cy, nonexistent steak. (Recall that cipher is an old word for zero.) “I don’t wan­na remem­ber nothing. Nothing. You understand?”

Valerie would have appro­ved of hor­mone the­ra­py, I think. The SCUM Manifesto alludes, posi­ti­ve­ly, to a futu­ris­tic world where men are trans­for­med into women “by means of ope­ra­tions on the brain and ner­vous sys­tem.” This was one of SCUM’s non­ge­no­ci­dal solu­tions for the few men who might remain after the revo­lu­tion. Another, hin­ted at in a foot­note, sounds a lot like the Matrix—a vast vir­tual rea­li­ty net­work that men would willin­gly plug them­selves into as “vica­rious livers.” “It will be elec­tro­ni­cal­ly pos­sible for [men] to tune into any spe­ci­fic female [they want] to and fol­low in detail her eve­ry move­ment,” Valerie explains, decla­ring it a “mar­ve­lous­ly kind and humane way” for women to treat their “unfor­tu­nate, han­di­cap­ped fel­low beings.”

Isn’t that the whole point of gender—letting someone else do your living for you ?

If you’ve ever seen sis­sy porn, you’ll know that tur­ning people female is exact­ly what sis­sy porn says it does. Also known as for­ced femi­ni­za­tion or “for­ced fem,” sis­sy porn seems to have begun cir­cu­la­ting prin­ci­pal­ly on the micro­blog­ging plat­form Tumblr in or around 2013. The genre is cha­rac­te­ris­ti­cal­ly user-gene­ra­ted rather than pro­du­ced by a tra­di­tio­nal stu­dio : in large part, sis­sy content crea­tors would appro­priate videos, stil­ls, and ani­ma­ted GIFs from mains­tream hete­ro­sexual or “she­male” pornography—intellectual pro­per­ty is noto­rious­ly dif­fi­cult to pro­tect in today’s porn industry—and modi­fy this mate­rial with cap­tions alte­ring their ori­gi­nal mea­ning. In late 2018, when the micro­blog­ging plat­form moved to ban gra­phic sexual content, sis­sy porn crea­tors, like many other sex wor­kers, were for­ced to flee to other plat­forms, inclu­ding Twitter and Instagram.

Sissy porn’s cen­tral conceit is that the women it depicts (some cis, some trans, most­ly but not always white) are in fact for­mer men who have been femi­ni­zed (“sis­si­fied”) by being for­ced to wear makeup, wear lin­ge­rie, and per­form acts of sexual sub­mis­sion. This is exe­cu­ted through the unique form of second-per­son address in which cap­tions are typi­cal­ly writ­ten : sis­sy porn direct­ly addresses its vie­wers and pre­sumes to inform them of their own desires : “You love to be fucked in the ass,” for ins­tance, or “You want to suck cock.” (Sissy porn often uses cock as an uncoun­table mass noun, like water or sugar, pre­su­ma­bly because there can always be more.) Captions fur­ther ins­truct vie­wers to unders­tand that the very act of loo­king at sis­sy porn itself consti­tutes an act of sexual degra­da­tion, with the impli­ca­tion that, whe­ther they like it or not, vie­wers will inevi­ta­bly be trans­for­med into females them­selves. This makes sis­sy porn a kind of meta­por­no­gra­phy, that is, porn about what hap­pens to you when you watch porn. In other words, sis­sy porn takes the impli­cit­ly femi­ni­zing effect of all por­no­gra­phy (even the most vanilla) and pro­motes it to the level of expli­cit content—often with spec­ta­cu­lar results.

At the cen­ter of sis­sy porn lies the asshole, a kind of uni­ver­sal vagi­na through which fema­le­ness can always be acces­sed. In the mid­st of the AIDS cri­sis, the gay male cri­tic Leo Bersani famous­ly wrote that public hor­ror of anal sex betrayed a hate­ful envy of the “into­le­rable image of a grown man, legs high in the air, unable to refuse the sui­ci­dal ecs­ta­sy of being a woman.” Sissy porn takes this lite­ral­ly. Getting fucked makes you female because fucked is what a female is. At the same time, sis­sy porn remains whol­ly unin­te­res­ted in who’s doing the fucking. Men appear, when they appear, only in frag­ments : a hand, an ass, a stray leg. Tops are props ; their func­tion is pure­ly struc­tu­ral. “To call a man an ani­mal is to flat­ter him,” Valerie writes in SCUM. “He’s a machine, a wal­king dil­do. It’s often said that men use women. Use them for what ? Surely not pleasure.”

Sissy porn makes frequent use of fetish objects—makeup, lin­ge­rie, breasts, high heels, and the color pink—but unlike the clas­si­cal Freudian fetish, these objects pro­mise cas­tra­tion, ins­tead of war­ding against it. For Freud, the fetish was a clear sub­sti­tute for the “absent female phal­lus.” The lit­tle boy, trau­ma­ti­zed by the dis­co­ve­ry that his mother has no penis and fea­ring lest the same fate befall his own, looks for reas­su­rance to an object that can replace that penis—a high-hee­led shoe, for ins­tance, or the touch of vel­vet. The fetish is thus “a token of triumph over the threat of cas­tra­tion and a pro­tec­tion against it.” Yet even Freud knew that the fetish, in disa­vo­wing cas­tra­tion, the­re­by impli­cit­ly ack­now­led­ged it ; sis­sy porn exploits this weak­ness, trans­for­ming the fetish from an assu­rance that the penis will be kept safe into a gua­ran­tee that the penis will be lost fore­ver. This means that, in cases where the sis­sy is a trans woman, even her own feti­shi­zed penis becomes a sym­bol of cas­tra­tion. If her penis is limp, it is mocked for its tiny size and cal­led a “clit­ty”; if it is hard, this is sim­ply proof that she is enjoying her degradation.

In fact, to be a sis­sy is always to lose your mind. The tech­ni­cal term for this is bim­boi­fi­ca­tion. Captions often ins­truct vie­wers to sub­mit them­selves to hyp­no­sis, brain­wa­shing, brain-mel­ting, dum­bing down, and other tech­niques for scoo­ping out intel­li­gence. “Why do I like the concept of being a Bimbo?” asks one user. “It’s because my brain is always full. I’m always wor­rying if Master tru­ly loves me. Am I enough ? Am I making good choices ? Do people actual­ly like me ? How can I live in a coun­try like this with this cur­rent poli­ti­cal cli­mate ? Where else could I even ima­gine going?” The ges­tures most often loo­ped in GIF for­mat almost always regis­ter the eva­cua­tion of will : wil­ting faces, trem­bling legs, eyes rol­led back into heads. Even the GIF for­mat itself com­mu­ni­cates this, a kind of cen­tri­fuge for dis­til­ling the fema­le­ness to its barest essentials—an open mouth, an expec­tant asshole, blank, blank eyes.

Sissy porn did make me trans. At very least it ser­ved as a neat alle­go­ry for my desire to be female—and increa­sin­gly, I thought, for all desire as such. Too often, femi­nists have ima­gi­ned power­less­ness as the sup­pres­sion of desire by some exter­nal force, and they’ve for­got­ten that more often than not, desire is this exter­nal force. Most desire is non­con­sen­sual ; most desires aren’t desi­red. Wanting to be a woman was some­thing that des­cen­ded upon me, like a tongue of fire, or an infection—or a men­tal ill­ness, at least if you believe the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, where gen­der dys­pho­ria can be found sand­wi­ched bet­ween fri­gi­di­ty and pyro­ma­nia. The impli­ca­tion is obvious : No one in their right mind would want to be female.

Which, remem­ber, is all of us.

Everyone is female, and eve­ryone hates it. If this is true, then gen­der is very sim­ply the form this self-loa­thing takes in any given case. All gen­der is inter­na­li­zed miso­gy­ny. A female is one who has eaten the loa­thing of ano­ther, like an amoe­ba that got its nucleus by swal­lo­wing its neigh­bor. Or, to put a finer point on it : Gender is not just the miso­gy­nis­tic expec­ta­tions a female inter­na­lizes but also the pro­cess of inter­na­li­zing itself, the self’s gentle sui­cide in the name of someone else’s desires, someone else’s narcissism.

The claim that gen­der is social­ly construc­ted has rung hol­low for decades not because it isn’t true, but because it’s wild­ly incom­plete. Indeed, it is tri­vial­ly true that a great num­ber of things are social­ly construc­ted, from money to laws to genres of lite­ra­ture. What makes gen­der gender—the sub­stance of gen­der, as it were—is the fact that it expresses, in eve­ry case, the desires of ano­ther. Gender has the­re­fore a com­ple­men­ta­ry rela­tion to sexual orien­ta­tion : If sexual orien­ta­tion is basi­cal­ly the social expres­sion of one’s own sexua­li­ty, then gen­der is basi­cal­ly a social expres­sion of someone else’s sexua­li­ty. In the for­mer case, one takes an object ; in the lat­ter case, one is an object. From the pers­pec­tive of gen­der, then, we are all dumb blondes.

This need not be contro­ver­sial. Feminists far less outra­geous than Valerie have long argued that femi­ni­ni­ty expresses male sexua­li­ty pret­ty much from the begin­ning. The orga­ni­zers of the famous Miss America pro­test in 1968—the ori­gin of the famous bra-bur­ning myth—railed in a press release against the “Degrading Mindless-Boob-Girlie Symbol” they consi­de­red the pageant to epi­to­mize. None have put it more stark­ly than the anti­por­no­gra­phy femi­nist Catharine MacKinnon, whose 1989 book, Toward a Feminist Theory of the State, fea­tures a leng­thy cata­logue of examples :

Each ele­ment of the female gen­der ste­reo­type is revea­led as, in fact, sexual. Vulnerability means the appearance/reality of easy sexual access ; pas­si­vi­ty means recep­ti­vi­ty and disa­bled resis­tance, enfor­ced by trai­ned phy­si­cal weak­ness ; soft­ness means pre­gna­bi­li­ty by some­thing hard. Incompetence seeks help as vul­ne­ra­bi­li­ty seeks shel­ter, invi­ting the embrace that becomes the inva­sion, tra­ding exclu­sive access for pro­tec­tion … from that same access. Domesticity nur­tures the consequent pro­ge­ny, proof of poten­cy, and ideal­ly waits at home dres­sed in Saran Wrap. Woman’s infan­ti­li­za­tion evokes pedo­phi­lia ; fixa­tion on dis­mem­be­red body parts (the breast man, the leg man) evokes feti­shism ; ido­li­za­tion of vapi­di­ty, necro­phi­lia. Narcissism ensures that woman iden­ti­fies with the image of her­self man holds up : “Hold still, we are going to do your por­trait, so that you can begin loo­king like it right away.”

Indeed, MacKinnon has built an entire intel­lec­tual career out of the claim that “it is sexua­li­ty that deter­mines gen­der, not the other way around.” For her this means that men and women are construc­ted though an “ero­ti­ci­za­tion of domi­nance and sub­mis­sion” whose cen­tral pro­cess is non­con­sen­sual sexual objec­ti­fi­ca­tion. Hence the famous line : “Man fucks woman ; sub­ject verb object.”

To be female is to be an object—MacKinnon is right about this, I think. Where she errs is in the assump­tion that fema­le­ness is a condi­tion res­tric­ted to women. Gender is always a pro­cess of objec­ti­fi­ca­tion : trans­gen­der women like Gigi Gorgeous know this pro­ba­bly bet­ter than most. Gender tran­si­tion begins, after all, from the unders­tan­ding that how you iden­ti­fy your­self subjectively—as pre­cious and impor­tant as this iden­ti­fi­ca­tion may be—is never­the­less on its own basi­cal­ly worth­less. If iden­ti­ty were all there were to gen­der, tran­si­tion would be as easy as thin­king it—a light bulb, sud­den­ly swit­ched on. Your gen­der iden­ti­ty would sim­ply exist, in mute abs­trac­tion, and no one, least of all your­self, would care.

On the contra­ry, if there is any les­son of gen­der transition—from the sim­plest request regar­ding pro­nouns to the most inva­sive surgeries—it’s that gen­der is some­thing other people have to give you. Gender exists, if it is to exist at all, only in the struc­tu­ral gene­ro­si­ty of stran­gers. When people today say that a given gen­der iden­ti­ty is “valid,” this is true, but only tau­to­lo­gi­cal­ly so. At best it is a moral demand for pos­si­bi­li­ty, but it does not, in itself, consti­tute the rea­li­za­tion of this pos­si­bi­li­ty. The truth is, you are not the cen­tral tran­sit hub for mea­ning about your­self, and you pro­ba­bly don’t even have a right to be. You do not get to consent to your­self, even if you might deserve the chance.

You do not get to consent to yourself—a defi­ni­tion of femaleness.

The the­sis of this lit­tle book is that fema­le­ness is a uni­ver­sal sex defi­ned by self-nega­tion, against which all poli­tics, even femi­nist poli­tics, rebels. Put more sim­ply : Everyone is female, and eve­ryone hates it.

Some expla­na­tions are in order. For our pur­poses here, I’ll define as female any psy­chic ope­ra­tion in which the self is sacri­fi­ced to make room for the desires of ano­ther. These desires may be real or ima­gi­ned, concen­tra­ted or diffuse—a boyfriend’s sexual needs, a set of cultu­ral expec­ta­tions, a lite­ral pregnancy—but in all cases, the self is hol­lo­wed out, made into an incu­ba­tor for an alien force. To be female is to let someone else do your desi­ring for you, at your own expense. This means that fema­le­ness, while it hurts only some­times, is always bad for you. Its ulti­mate toll, at least in eve­ry case here­to­fore recor­ded, is death.

Clearly, this is a wild­ly ten­den­tious defi­ni­tion. It’s even more far-fet­ched if you, like me, are applying it to everyone—literally eve­ryone, eve­ry single human being in the his­to­ry of the pla­net. So it’s true : When I talk about females, I am not refer­ring to bio­lo­gi­cal sex, though I’m not refer­ring to gen­der, either. I’m refer­ring ins­tead to some­thing that might as well be sex, the way that reac­tio­na­ries des­cribe it (per­ma­nent, unchan­ging, etc.), but whose nature is onto­lo­gi­cal, not bio­lo­gi­cal. Femaleness is not an ana­to­mi­cal or gene­tic cha­rac­te­ris­tic of an orga­nism, but rather a uni­ver­sal exis­ten­tial condi­tion, the one and only struc­ture of human conscious­ness. To be is to be female : the two are identical.

It fol­lows, then, that while all women are females, not all females are women. In fact, the empi­ri­cal exis­tence, past and present, of gen­ders other than man and woman means that the majo­ri­ty of females are not women. This is iro­nic, but not a contra­dic­tion. Everyone is female, but how one copes with being female—the spe­ci­fic defense mecha­nisms that one conscious­ly or uncons­cious­ly deve­lops as a reac­tion for­ma­tion against one’s fema­le­ness, within the terms of what is his­to­ri­cal­ly and socio­cul­tu­ral­ly available—this is what we ordi­na­ri­ly call gen­der. Men and women must the­re­fore be unders­tood not as irre­con­ci­lable oppo­sites, or even as two poles of a spec­trum, but more sim­ply as the two most com­mon phy­la of the king­dom Females. It might be asked : if men, women, and eve­ryone else all share this condi­tion, why conti­nue to refer to it with an obvious­ly gen­de­red term like females ? The ans­wer is : because eve­ryone alrea­dy does. Women hate being female as much as any­bo­dy else ; but unlike eve­ry­bo­dy else, we find our­selves its select delegates.

This brings me to the second part of my the­sis : Everyone is female—and eve­ryone hates it. By the second claim, I mean some­thing like what Valerie meant : that human civi­li­za­tion repre­sents a diverse array of attempts to sup­press and miti­gate fema­le­ness, that this is in fact the impli­cit pur­pose of all human acti­vi­ty, and, most of all, that acti­vi­ty we call poli­tics. The poli­ti­cal is the sworn ene­my of the female ; poli­tics begins, in eve­ry case, from the opti­mis­tic belief that ano­ther sex is pos­sible. This is the root of all poli­ti­cal conscious­ness : the daw­ning rea­li­za­tion that one’s desires are not one’s own, that one has become a vehicle for someone else’s ego ; in short, that one is female, but wishes it were not so. Politics is, in its essence, anti-female.

This claim extends to the varie­ty of women’s move­ments in the twen­tieth and twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry that may be col­lec­ted under the name of femi­nist poli­tics ; in fact, the conscious dis­co­ve­ry that being female is bad for you might be des­cri­bed as quin­tes­sen­tial­ly femi­nist. Perhaps the oldest right-wing accu­sa­tion brought by men and other women against femi­nists, whe­ther they deman­ded civic equa­li­ty or anti-male revo­lu­tion, was that femi­nists were real­ly asking, quite sim­ply, not to be women any­more. There was a ker­nel of truth here : Feminists didn’t want to be women any­more, at least under the exis­ting terms of socie­ty ; or to put it more pre­ci­se­ly, femi­nists didn’t want to be female any­more, either advo­ca­ting for the abo­li­tion of gen­der alto­ge­ther or pro­po­sing new cate­go­ries of woman­hood unen­cum­be­red by fema­le­ness. To be for women, ima­gi­ned as full human beings, is always to be against females. In this sense, femi­nism opposes miso­gy­ny pre­ci­se­ly inas­much as it also expresses it.

Or maybe I’m just projecting.

Everyone is female.

The worst books are all by females. All the great art heists of the past three hun­dred years were pul­led off by a female, wor­king solo or with other females. There are no good female poets, sim­ply because there are no good poets. A list of things inven­ted by females would include : air­planes, tele­phones, the small­pox vac­cine, ghos­ting, ter­ro­rism, ink, envy, rum, prom, Spain, cars, gods, cof­fee, lan­guage, stand-up come­dy, eve­ry kind of knot, double par­king, nail polish, the let­ter tau, the num­ber zero, the H‑bomb, femi­nism, and the patriar­chy. Sex bet­ween females is no bet­ter or worse than any other kind of sex, because no other kind of sex is pos­sible. Shark attacks exclu­si­ve­ly tar­get females. All the astro­nauts were female, which means the moon is a female-only zone. The 1 percent is 100 percent female. The entire Supreme Court is female. The entire United States Senate is female. The pre­sident is, obvious­ly, a female.

Females domi­nate the fol­lo­wing pro­fes­sions : zoo­kee­ping, haber­da­she­ry, land­sca­ping, invest­ment ban­king, long-dis­tance tru­cking, luthe­rie, consul­ting, talent mana­ge­ment, tort law, taxi­der­my, real estate deve­lop­ment, ortho­don­tia, pri­son admi­nis­tra­tion, and the mafia. Not all females are serial killers, but all serial killers are female, inclu­ding the necro­philes. The entire incar­ce­ra­ted popu­la­tion is female. All rape sur­vi­vors are females. All rapists are females. Females mas­ter­min­ded the Atlantic slave trade. All the dead are female. All the dying, too. The hos­pi­tals of the world are full of them : females in beds or gin­ger­ly wal­king about, full of pain, reco­ve­ring, slip­ping away. All the guns in the world are owned by females.

I am female. And you, dear rea­der, you are female, even—especially—if you are not a woman. Welcome. Sorry.

En ce moment je cherche pour mes vieux jours une méthode qui me per­met­trait de pas­ser en dou­ceur du futur au condi­tion­nel. On raconte qu’au cours de la deuxième année de son règne, Nabuchodonosor a fait quelques rêves trou­blants qui ont agi­té son esprit et ren­du son som­meil capri­cieux. Il convoque les ensor­ce­leurs, mages, astro­logues, devins et enchan­teurs du coin pour qu’ils l’aident, et leur dit :

— J’ai rêvé un rêve, et mon esprit s’est trou­blé du désir de com­prendre ce rêve.

Après une phrase de défé­rence qui sou­haite au roi de vivre long­temps, voire éter­nel­le­ment, les enchan­teurs lui répondent :

— Raconte ton rêve et nous t’en don­ne­rons le sens.

Nabuchodonosor se sent obli­gé de pré­ci­ser sa requête :
— Je vais être très clair : si vous ne me faites pas connaître et mon rêve et son inter­pré­ta­tion, je vous le dis, vous allez tous mou­rir très vio­lem­ment, vous serez, selon les tra­duc­tions, soit décou­pés soit mis en mor­ceaux, le résul­tat est à peu près équi­valent, et vos mai­sons seront chan­gées en tas de fumier ou bien en bour­bier, mises au rebut ou bien encore trans­for­mées en tas de décombres ou d’immondices. Mais si vous me don­nez et mon rêve et son inter­pré­ta­tion, alors je serais géné­reux et gen­til avec vous, je vous don­ne­rais des cadeaux et des hon­neurs, peut-être même de riches cadeaux et de grands honneurs.

Certainement aus­si sur­pris que nous par la requête de Nabuchodonosor, la bande des enchan­teurs tente de jouer la carte de la fausse naï­ve­té et, sur un ton léger, réex­pose la méthode habituelle :
— Très bien, que le roi donc nous raconte d’abord son rêve, et ensuite nous lui don­ne­rons son interprétation.
— Je vois bien que vous ten­tez de gagner du temps com­pre­nant qu’irrévocable est mon pro­pos, reprend Nabuchodonosor qui com­mence pro­ba­ble­ment déjà à s’énerver un peu, mais je vous le redis : rap­por­tez-moi mon rêve et son sens, sinon vous serez mécham­ment punis.
Ne pou­vant plus se défi­ler, les enchan­teurs se trouvent dans la néces­si­té d’être expli­cites. Ils résument au roi l’impasse dans laquelle il les met :
— Votre ques­tion est vrai­ment dif­fi­cile, vous savez : jamais per­sonne n’a deman­dé ça à qui­conque. À vrai dire, c’est même un peu exces­sif, car, à moins d’être un dieu, c’est-à-dire sans corps de chair ou habi­tant une autre demeure que les êtres de chair ou dont l’habitat n’est pas dans la chair, il est tout sim­ple­ment impos­sible, sur la terre sèche, de répondre à votre demande.

À ce moment pré­cis de l’histoire, toutes les ver­sions concordent : Nabuchodonosor s’irrite furieu­se­ment, sort de ses gonds, écume, s’énerve, entre dans une colère noire, devient vrai­ment furieux, s’emballe, finit par se fâcher et décide, sans d’ailleurs prendre le temps de peser le pour et le contre, de tuer tous les sages de Babylone. Un décret est publié, et l’on part, entre autres, à la recherche de Daniel et de ses amis pour les massacrer.

Après s’être ren­sei­gné sur les rai­sons qui ont conduit à une sen­tence si sévère, Daniel demande à Nabuchodonosor de lui accor­der un petit délai avant le mas­sacre. Il rentre chez lui, raconte toute l’histoire à ses amis, et ensemble, ils dis­cutent afin de ten­ter de trou­ver une manière de s’en sortir.

— Au petit matin, Daniel va voir Nabuchodonosor qui, tou­jours autant obsé­dé par son rêve, lui demande d’emblée :
— As-tu fina­le­ment trou­vé ce dont j’ai rêvé et pourquoi ?
— Oui, j’ai trou­vé ton rêve et sa signi­fi­ca­tion, répond Daniel. Je résume ce qui s’est pas­sé : tu t’es cou­ché tôt, ton esprit a diva­gué, tu ne dor­mais pas encore, tu t’es mis à pen­ser à l’avenir et, dans ton som­meil, tes rêves ont répon­du à tes questions.
— C’est-à-dire ?
— C’est-à-dire qu’ils t’ont fait savoir ce qui allait se pas­ser, très exac­te­ment. Tu as rêvé et ton rêve t’a don­né une vision, une pré­mo­ni­tion même : au matin, tu te réveille­ras, tu seras trou­blé par ton rêve, tu cher­che­ras à com­prendre ce qui te trouble, tu feras venir astro­logues, devins, mages, ensor­ce­leurs, tu deman­de­ras à connaître ce qui t’a trou­blé, tu seras très clair, tu exi­ge­ras qu’on t’expose simul­ta­né­ment ton rêve et son inter­pré­ta­tion puisqu’ils n’existent pas l’un sans l’autre et que per­ce­voir et racon­ter orga­nisent la manière dont on per­çoit et raconte. D’ailleurs, tu seras même prêt à sup­pri­mer d’un seul décret toute la sagesse de Babylone si elle pen­sait pou­voir les dis­so­cier, si elle esti­mait par exemple que l’on pou­vait racon­ter sans inter­pré­ter, per­ce­voir ou décrire sans com­po­ser, et qu’il exis­te­rait ain­si comme des sortes de choses en soi, brutes, simples, arides, per­dues dans des espaces neutres, des choses aux­quelles on se cogne­rait ou qui nous aspi­re­raient dans un tour­billon silen­cieux. Alors que tout, ton rêve y com­pris, est tou­jours immé­dia­te­ment pris dans ton trouble qui l’enveloppe et le fait explo­ser et dans celui des choses qui t’enveloppe et te fait exploser.

,
« La fin des histoires »
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Po&sie n° 180
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p. 168–170