Weddings don’t seem to be so bad anymore

Brief aside: Due to mental health concerns, I am largely avoiding the news. I intend to keep blagging but the content over the next little while, best guess a few weeks, will be either personal, humorous, or adorably clumsy animal .gifs.

Weddings used to be mine fields for gender dysphoria. I hated them. The closest I came to liking them was at a Latinx wedding, because they played cha-cha-cha and samba during the reception instead of pop music.

I hate pop music, too.

Anyway, dysphoria, weddings. Awful thing The First: Forcing me into a men’s suit. I’m barely five feet tall and a ~115 pounds. There is not an adult man suit made on this planet that will fit me. These ill-fitting suits gave me plenty of reminders that something was wrong–though my last wedding attended prior to transitioning was still years from actually coming to terms with my gender. I kept looking at the women, thinking I was attracted to them (which was only occasionally the case), but most of the oggling was actually, “what would I wear to a wedding, given the choice? Her top plus her shoes with something different for the legs.” But men’s suits? Might as well ask me to wear an angry boa constrictor.

Now I have fun with weddings. I try to do something that’s still punk, even though I’m going formal. Think LBD’s with knee-high gladiator heels, or dress shirt and lady vest with shiny spandex pants and polished boots. Rainbow accessories are a must–any Queers suffering at a straight wedding ought to find refuge with me. I’m on the lookout for a rainbow underbust belt. Smoky cat’s eye eye-shadow is a must–can’t forget our busy evening of smouldering at straight people.

Awful thing The Second: What is with all the gender segregated traditions?

I mean I know the answer to that (patriarchy), but still.

It’s their special* big day but I’m cringing with 90% of the ceremony. These things still bother me immensely, even if people no longer look at me like I have a second head when I do the “women’s” things. I’m still reminded of when they brought potent and lasting discomfort. Now I get invited to bachelorettes and bridal showers and that’s validating of my identity.

Awful thing The Third: Children. Children are particularly triggering for my dysphoria. While I doubt I would’ve appreciated a girlhood stuffed in frilly dresses, the glib little fuckers are reminders of lost time. Instead of socializing, I’m naval gazing–hasn’t being trans made me a better person? Hasn’t it assisted my observations of society? Most likely, to both questions. But wouldn’t it also be so nice to not have to deal with shit? I mean, more shit than usual?

These were questions I asked early on in my transition, when I still resented the stubble that stubbornly persists (that particular demon still rears its head now and then). I’ll have to think on it some more to figure out why I didn’t care this time. Children still bothered me, but it was because they were shrill, shrieking humans-in-progress, and not because they were (probably) cis.

Don’t get me wrong. I still dislike weddings, particularly hetero Christian weddings, but at least I’m not feeling like I’ve stapled someone else’s skin to myself.



  1. miserablegitsays says

    Screw weddings, generally they are horrible things. Of my closest friends the idiots who got married are now divorced of their first partners.
    As a far wiser colleague said all weddings are is an expensive emotional party. And if I want a party then I PARTY