A Quest For Androgynous Style

Written By Griffin Willner

Photos by Aleks Carney

When I was in middle school, I had shoulder length hair. My light brown locks dangled in waves behind my ears and draped down my neck. It tickled the collar of my T-shirts that read “Let’s Get Weird” and “Angry Birds for Life” as if to say, “I’m only ten and I’ve already defied the constraints of the gender binary.” Still, my hair remained the topic of attention whenever I attempted to make friends with my male peers. Often, new faces would mistake me for a little girl, or my classmates would question why I, a boy, could possibly look like a little girl. Other than my hair, I presented in a masculine way, or as masculine as a little boy can be without being socially isolated. Despite the ridicule, I loved my hair. I loved brushing it for unusual amounts of time. I loved that my mother thought I looked like a prepubescent Deadhead. If it had not been for my fears about being a social pariah after coming out as gay in 8th grade, and if I had not over corrected by cutting my hair, I wonder how much I would have allowed my gender expression to develop.

While I cannot say I love every Emerson College policy, I have always praised the community that has been bred. The students lining Boylston Street are never afraid to experiment with their style, or with their gender expression. Peers climb up the treacherous Walker building stairs in heels and long gowns alongside students wearing cargo pants matched with blouses. Men, women, and gender nonconforming students alike have the ability to wear whatever they want, and I have never been so inspired. Amidst this wave of experimentation, I have allowed myself to dip my toe into the gender fluid.

My sophomore year, I started using “he/they” pronouns; I did not make any formal announcement nor did I replace my entire closet. Instead, I got tiny gold earrings and told myself that I would keep an open mind to new clothing items. Not much changed until I attended a gala where I finally wore a friend’s loose, black skirt. It flowed around my legs freely like the waves that once sprouted atop my head. In addition, I wore a white floral top, fancy fall boots titled The Jack in Eden by Taft, a maroon knit blazer, and a gold necklace with a pearl on the end. It was possibly the most genderless outfit I had ever worn in public.

After the event, I felt a sense of unease. Men passed in groups, pointing and laughing at me like I knew they would. I escaped to my friend’s apartment where she was having a costume party. I thought about changing into something less taboo, perhaps a costume for the party, but I caught my gaze in the mirror. I looked at how the skirt hugged my waist uncomfortably, and how my nipples were showing. I pictured the bullies from my memories and the men who had just laughed at me, my chest burning like the fires of Hell, and I closed my eyes.

“I’m wearing this,” I told my friend.

Sometimes, it feels like I do not fit into any gender boxes. It is as if I was treated like “the gay” for so long, a part of the girls but also not quite a woman, that I was socially castrated or unsexed by my own queerness. I feel a resentment toward the masculinity that tormented me, and I feel shame toward my inner femininity. Seeing pictures of my hair before eighth grade, or of my recent more genderqueer look, brings boiling traumas to the forefront of my stomach. Yet, I remember moments from the gala. I am standing in front of a stage doing turns in my skirt and blazer, and the room fades away as I am absorbed by my silks. I loved my long hair, I love my skirt, and I am tired of fighting with a brain and a society preprogrammed to enact gendered fashion. Although I have not figured out my identity entirely, I am committed to pushing my style to its limits. I envision a world in which all of us can surf through various clothing sections. I cannot say I know exactly how an outfit can be androgynous, but I do know that whether we are cisgender, nonbinary, or transgender, all of us should be able to dress how we want without fear.