|
By Ian Lundy
 We
lived with my Aunt and two cousins back then, my mother and I. It
was a precious time when there was very little separating dreams
from waking life. A time when I knew everything and nothing. I knew
nothing of the word “gender” and everything about being
a boy. My cousin knew, too. He told me so. You’re my son, he
said. And I’m your father. Ok? Ok. It was perfect because it
was what we were both missing: fathers, and the chance to be sons.
It worked so well that I played
it at preschool with my friends. We sat at a long rectangular
table
in little chairs and imagined
a house. A family unit. All nuclear-like. That’s how the TV
told it to us. And so I was “Billy,” the son, and Angela,
the girl who shared my birthday and who was to someday be my wife–I
never spoke this to her, I figured she just knew it and the whole
matter was settled–was the mother. And there was also Eunice,
a girl who I despised for her ugly name and lack of spit control.
(I could never remember how we were related.) And someone else was
my sister, the daughter–could it have been dear old Eunice?
Possibly. Another little person was the father. I haven’t the
slightest idea who. We were four little girls playing a game, but
all I cared about was being Billy, Angela’s son. The boy, not
the man. The son. Derek’s son.
By kindergarten, I knew I wasn’t to speak of the game my cousin
Derek and I had played together, the same game I’d played at
preschool with Angela, Ugly Eunice, and the others. Still, there
were times when I forgot myself. Like the day I went boppin’ into
Wal-mart, bad as can be. My mother called to me from behind in a
voice that sounded polite to surrounding strangers, and like the
sky had torn itself in two in my ears. I crept back to her, knowing
not what she’d say, but why.
Don’t walk like that. And we
were through.
&&& \\\
I first went out in a tie long before
I identified as trans, long before I was comfortable with myself.
My friend Nelson, who had the
longest, prettiest eyelashes I’ve ever seen and who sometimes
went by Bonquesha, found several suits on the street, practically
brand new. Said it looked like some rich guy suddenly went ass-out,
right then and there. Didn’t even have enough time left to
pack, just left everything right there on the curb. So Nelson snatched
the clothes up. I mean, seriously. He came over with the suits still
in the plastic from the dry cleaners. He picked out a few choice
things for himself and then offered me a pair of slacks, a shirt,
and a tie that were all a little too small for him. I looked a little
sloppy in them, but I didn’t care.
Nelson had been in the Navy. He knew
how to tie a tie several ways with equal precision. He told me
that if a tie were striped–like
mine–and if it were tied properly, the stripes would line up
in a near-perfect right angle, sort of like one half of a diamond.
And then he proceeded to demonstrate. When he was done, he placed
the tie around my neck.
&&& \\\
Being that we were in DC and DC sucks,
we were all dressed up with no place to go. (Washington DC is
a fake metropolis, a semblance
of a city. The suburbanites come in, make their money during the
daylights hours, and are out before dusk. The city actually offers
government subsidies to businesses to encourage them to hire DC residents,
but that’s another story entirely. This story is about ties.)
We started out at an uppity downtown hotel that wouldn’t have
us--I can’t remember what the deal was. Maybe they claimed
they were closing. Maybe they claimed the hotel bar wasn’t
open to the public. All I remember is that the lights were bright
and artificial, the kind they have in public school libraries across
America, the kind designed to dumb you into numbness. I didn’t
want to stay and neither did Nelson. It was all stale and uptight
in there. Joey, the fag friend we brought along, wanted to bust the
door down. We left instead. Joey talked mad smack all the way back
to the car. It was bullshit, he said. Nelson had already forgotten
it. I just wanted to be in the backseat where it was dark and familiar.
We drove to some straight club that
had the audacity to pull velvet rope bullshit just blocks off
Dupont Circle. They were coming in
and acting like they owned the place, with their faggoty-ass frosted
windows. We went because we wanted to be seen. I was intimidated
because of all the pretenses the breeders were making. I was also
worried the bouncer would tackle me as I crossed the threshold of
the bar and then hold me up high over his head while proclaiming
me a woman. Instead, I walked hunchback into the place, scraped together
my last $6 dollars and bought an overpriced beer that I could nurse
so I didn’t fidget myself to death.
I shadowed Joey and Nelson. I mustered a meager two-step while they
danced. I might as well have seated myself on one of their laps at
the bar. And I washed my hands more thoroughly than ever before in
the bathroom.
\\\
That night I lay awake in my bed feeling
something close to what it must be like for adolescent boys waking
up from their first wet
dream: excited, scared, hoping it will happen every night and never
again. And I kept the tie that Nelson had tied for me in the same
knot for two years. Every now and then I’d strut around the
house in it, and afterwards, tell myself that I had to find a way
to make due as a dyke.
It was another two years before I
went out in public wearing a tie. This time it was all my idea.
I was to accept an award at the Cotton
Club for a story I wrote about how I was arrested for being black
at night in Brooklyn, and I wanted to do it in a tie. If it weren’t
for my ex, I never would’ve done it, though. I wouldn’t
have had the patience to push on because I kept getting frustrated
with trying on clothes that were too big. And I wouldn’t have
had the strength to endure people’s stares, or the confidence
to go into the dressing room and try on what I wanted to buy. (It
was really crazy because at the time, I was still using the women’s
facilities; I took my men’s clothes into the women’s
dressing room, and my ex came with me. She gave everybody dirty looks
and ran blocks against store clerks who tried to hassle me.)
&&& \\\
Eventually, after traveling across
boroughs and with my ex as my bodyguard, I settled on a pale
yellow shirt, a yellow silk tie, and
brown slacks. Those clothes fit better than any men’s dress
clothing I’d ever worn. When I looked in the mirror on the
day of my ceremony, I couldn’t stop a shit faced grin from
spreading across my face, and when I stepped outside and finally
onto the train, sweat poured from my armpits like a portable shower.
I was delighted to learn that, in
addition to my award ceremony, also being held at the Cotton
Club was a wedding reception for an
elderly black couple. Both our experiences and the events that brought
us there were discussed simultaneously, to the delirium of all gathered.
By the end of a 10-minute eternity, they’d gotten an earful
that included weed possession and a strip search, and I now knew
that God was good and worked in mysterious ways, and that only by
His miracle could those two souls ever have been reunited after all
those long years.
Finally, I took the stage and while
I was up there, the MC inquired about the band my ex had strategically
placed around my ring finger.
When I told him it was a gift from my girlfriend, who just happened
to be in the audience, he gasped at the thought of me being married–a
charge I had no time to deny–then made my ex stand while the
entire audience applauded us both for reasons they will never comprehend.
A store clerk at Macy’s had tied the tie I wore that day at
my ex’s request, and it stayed that way for two years. Though,
to my credit, I at least wore it out in public several times afterward.
&&& \\\
Grad school graduation and I wanted
to wear a tie. I’d worn
a regular old shirt, khakis, and sneakers to undergrad graduation–to
my mother’s fright. This time I wanted to do it the way I’d
always wanted to do it. My mother was flying in from Florida. No
matter. I couldn’t let that stop me. I went shopping alone
one day on a whim. (I’d discovered Express for Men.) I got
a pair of slacks that fit well, a nice faggy shirt from H&M and
an orange tie, again from Macy’s. I looked good.
My mother wouldn’t speak. She was fine during graduation, when
I had my robe on, but during lunch, my normally good-spirited mother
would not laugh. She acted the same way toward my ex. When I wasn’t
around they were the best of friends. Add me to the picture and the
ex becomes a girlfriend. That was a problem.
I kept cracking jokes, anyway, trying
to keep the mood light. My mother, she was tight-lipped. She’d insisted on going to a
fancy place, something she’d seen on TV, something people back
in Fort Pierce would’ve heard of. So we went to Tavern on the
Green. They thought I was a child prodigy. We were dressed in a graduation
slash this is an important day sort of way and the people around
us noticed, leaning into our forced conversation. Tom here’s
a City College alum, class of ’86–psychology. And oh,
Bob went to City College too, Business School. Congratulations. My
mother, nothing.
But I’d tied that tie myself. I’d
been working on my thesis. I wanted to wear a tie while I was
writing; it made me feel
more professional, like writing was my job, which was a great feeling
because I had none that produced income at the time. I found a website.
It showed four different ways to make a knot. At first it was two
hours of running back and forth between my monitor and the bathroom
mirror, frustration, etc. But eventually I got it.
My ex became my ex, right as I began trying to pass on the job. I
had just started an internship and I had to have shirts and ties,
enough to wear everyday. This time I had to shop alone, not because
it was a spur of the moment excursion, but because there was no one
at home to come with me.
I had been too afraid to wear a tie on the interview, so I wore one
of my dress shirts, top button undone, and a pair of slacks. They
read me as male. My first official day of the internship was the
day that followed the night when the four years with my ex concluded.
I lay sleepless that night, but I hauled myself to work the next
morning anyway.
And so I began passing on the job. Now I wear a tie to work everyday
because I feel like it reinforces my gender presentation. Most days
I feel good, but every now and then, I feel kinda weird, like I have
a dick dangling from my neck.
&&& \\\
I think I was in 6th grade when I
became obsessed with wearing vests and ties. My Tía Mercedes was moving from her apartment in
El Barrio and she gave me all of her husband’s sweaters, vests,
ties, and hats
My father taught me how to make a
tie. I remember when I asked him his eyes lit up because he was
so excited to teach me. We were in
the hall of our small two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn and he showed
me in front of the full-length mirror. He was so proud and patient
teaching me. I always tend to think of how my father never questioned
why I would want to learn how to make a tie. He really doesn’t
question anything and just accepts me how I am.
Macho
28
&&& \\\
I think my dad must have shown me
at some point when I was younger. Then I sort of forgot. So I
looked up tying ties on google and found
the Men’s Wearhouse website which has some nice graphics of
different knots.
male/bi
28
&&& \\\
i am still in the process of learning how to tie a tie. When I was
little, i would hide until my dad left the room and take out his
shaving cream, rub it on my face, put on his jacket, and tie his
really nice ties in horrible knots.
Since my dad was someone i only saw
on weekends it was my mom’s
boyfriend that i borrowed clothes from the most. we dressed in his
suits and posed like mobsters with dark sunglasses for my mom.
Then came the long process of growing
up. i didn’t fully come
out until college and gender queerness was something I admitted to
myself a lot later (probably having something to do with pressure
from my mom and family not to become “too” masculine
or butch).
With all of the postmodernist talk
of ties being clichés and
so overdone by female-bodied people to express masculinity, I actually
didn’t put on another tie until this year. All i know is that
it felt good. Somehow for me, a tie is the most symbolic expression
of masculine identity. to now feel comfortable enough to wear a tie
at certain fancy engagements is an affirmation of my gender identity
to myself.
i
22 years old,
yeah you can use my name in the response, i
identify as queer/gender queer, latina
&&&\\\
I was seventeen when I first encountered ‘the necktie.’ It
happened on the night of my prom. I was getting ready at my best
friend’s house. I was as psyched about the dance as my Jersey-girl
girlfriend. She went nuts looking for a dress. I shed 20 pound to
fit into the used Calvin Klein tux I bought for 10$. I even got a
cute little red tie to finish off the ensemble. When I first looked
at it, the slim strip of silk was the picture of innocence; it lay
limp over my arm and made no sudden moves. What could possible prevent
me from tying it on? I’m a guy after all. It couldn’t
be that difficult.
I went to Barnes & Noble’s and got a few of ‘What every young
man should know?’ books. After spending five hours squeezed into a corner,
I thought I had a fairly good idea on what to do with the tie. Under and over
and through; nothing difficult about that. The next evening, full of optimism
and self-assuredness, I put on the tux. All in all, I was feeling very manly,
until the tie came into the picture.
Under and over and through. I ended
up choking myself. The untangling took up five full minutes.
I tried again. This time the knot was nice and tight, and
stayed somewhere around my solar plexus. The third attempt ended up twisted,
and the fourth ended up not tying at all. By then, time was running out and I
was freaking out. I was starting to feel like this was another marker of my ‘not-quite’ manhood.
Linda, my best friend, had already done her hair, nails, and makeup and sat laughing
her ass off at me while I fumbled with the tie. I was ready to cry with frustration.
Then Linda’s father took the red monstrosity from my hands and tied it,
loosely around his own neck. He slipped it over my head and tightened it. Without
saying a word, he produced a pin and attached the tie to my shirt. It made me
feel like a little boy being prepared for his first photo with the grown ups.
Then again, when I was little enough for that, my biological father was fixing
the ruffles in the dress I was forced to wear. This time, twelve years later,
someone else’s father was doing it right. It only took a decade and loss
of bio-family. Linda’s dad hadn’t said a word throughout. He just
straightened me out and sent me into the courtyard for pre-prom pictures.
I haven’t worn a tie since and still don’t know how to tie it. I
think the art of wrestling a tie onto one’s neck and not dying in the process
needs to be passed down from father to son. I’ve already put in the request
in with my biological father. I figure the day he teaches me, I’ll know
he’s accepted me being who I am. Until then, I’m sticking with clip-ons.
&&& \\\
yeah i would watch my dad thru his routine everyday for work. he wears a suit
everyday and is all
business. i would watch this whole
process and then when he’d leave i’d
play with his ties.
i feel physically a bit choked by the tie and the top button being buttoned.
mentally, i feel more
masculine; i feel more like a man than a boi, and I feel handsome instead of
cute. i feel like i
become more classically butch, whatever
that means. i’m more likely to
behave like a gentleman or something.
Saul
&&& \\\
I was actually in my early 20’s
when my mother taught me how to tie a tie. At the time she taught
me, I identified as gay. She knew this and had no problem
with teaching me how to tie a tie, perhaps because it was required for work.
(I worked in a restaurant and everyone wore one - it was part of the uniform.)
I enjoy wearing a tie when I feel the occasion calls for it. I feel very manly
and butch when I dress up in a shirt with a tie.
FtM, 30, queer and/or straight
&&& \\\
because i was such a strange and pissed-off thing, i was always being shuttled
between my two divorced parents and in truly terrible times, i was sent to my
grandmother. my grandfather died when i was 11, and when i was 12, my gram saw
me going through his closet, and showing a special interest in his ties and suit
jackets. apparently, she often knotted his ties for him, most especially in his
later years, so she was expert at it. she stood behind me and positioned both
of us in front of a mirror, and showed me a few times how it was done.
there is something quite nice about a double-windsor knot...how i feel when i
wear a tie seems to depend on where i am... on the train during rush hour, surrounded
by many men in many suits and ties, i feel very small and nervous- sure that
i will be spotted as an imposter. on the street, at work, or in a club, i just
feel real damn sharp.
erin/arin, 28, ‘full-time passer’ or
maybe f2m
&&& \\\
It took me a while to wear ties, simply
because I wasn’t trying to go out
if it wasn’t tied
properly....it wasn’t until
a friend tied it for me that i realized what a huge turn on it
is having a
woman do it for you....i stood paralyzed
cus she was a friend...a straight chick...she
didn’t realize what she was doing had such a strong effect on me.
even though i’ve since learned...after many hours in front of the mirror
practicing...i always ask, “do you know how to tie a tie?” and stand
there with my pelvis tilted forward..hard. sooo hot...its like foreplay.
29 but i like to say i’m 42
&&& \\\
I’m not sure how I first learned how to tie a tie--it was just intuition
for me, maybe it’s leftover information from going to summer camp. Then,
I started looking around and noticed that genetic men were wearing ties that
seemed more elaborately tied or knotted. Several years ago, I had a friend who
was a faggy white butch and she loved wearing bow ties and I asked her how she
learned how to tie one. She said she learned by looking at the website of the
men’s warehouse. So I went online and found out not only how to tie a bowtie
but also a Windsor and half-windsor knot.
Sometimes I hate wearing ties, but
in the last couple years I have worn them frequently when I assist
at these personal training and development seminars
because a lot of people who go there are str8 and they have asked me to wear
a tie to “clarify” my gender since I don’t pass fully as male.
ftm, Korean American,
&&& \\\
i learned to tie a tie when i was in 2nd grade, from my dad--we both stood in
front of the mirror and tied ties. i tied the ties for the boys on field trip
days growing up. i learned all the other tie
knots while working in the mens dept at J.Crew. i currently own 11 ties, running
the queer rainbow. i LOVE ties.
kat, 22 Text |
Ian
Lundy was born and raised in a little town called Fort