In the introduction of her book, Female Masculinity, Judith Halberstam explains what she refers to as "the bathroom problem" (20), essentially the difficulty that people of ambiguous genders (butch women, transgender individuals, drag kings/queens, etc.) face when they try to use public restrooms. Halberstam recounts her own experiences having security called on her while trying to use the women's room, as well as those of Leslie Feinberg in Stone Butch Blues and the character Remedios in Nice Rodriguez's "Every Full Moon." Usually these people, women in each cases that Halberstam highlights, are either confronted by other women in the restroom or by security guards, forcing them into the uncomfortable situation of having to prove their woman-ness.
This reading got me thinking about locker rooms, and how such gender-specific spaces can lead to additional problems. No, I'm not going to go off on how much the above situations could be worsened in the context of a locker room. I could, because I imagine these scenarios are much less pleasant, if that's at all possible, with nudity involved.
I could especially because, while some facilities include"family" bathrooms*, there aren't any "family" locker rooms that provide single-occupancy changing facilities. True, there are individual, draped showers and changing rooms within the men's and women's locker rooms, but one must travel through a locker room, past the naked people, to reach them. The "family" changing room, at least at my local YMCA, is multi-family oriented, which means that anyone can walk in on you at any point and really offers zero privacy. I'm not entirely sure what their points are, to be perfectly honest.
At any rate, I'm not going to pursue any of those lines of inquiry at this particular time, as I am more interested in an issue that I feel troubles me more personally. Instead, I am going to go consider the awkwardness of same-sex sexual attraction in the locker room.
(At this point, and for the sake of avoiding awkwardness, I advice my dearest mother (aka mi mamacita fantástica) to discontinue her perusal of my always riveting text and instead go buy herself a lovely double latte. Cheers.)
Below is an excerpt from my novel for National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo) last year, entitled Dedication.
“So, tell me about yourself. Any terrible disappointments? Daddy rape you? Mommy hit you?”
“No, nothing like that.” I blushed lightly, and tried to come up with something slightly unpleasant and far less private than what she was assuredly asking for. Of course there was an obvious thing I might've said.
I’d grown up almost when things turned bad. I was probably fifteen, radiant perhaps, and young and awakening, when everything turned sour quite suddenly.
I’d begun training at the local gym to try to thin out my wide latina thighs and rear-end a little bit, hoping to look at least something like the girls my age that somehow made it onto television shows and into magazines. Every morning I went running at my gym until I thought for sure my muscles would burst out of my legs and abandon their sadistic mistress, and later made sure to take a shower before school.
Of course, showers tend to be where these sorts of things happen, these sudden inspirations. One of the other women cleaning herself must have been a trainer herself or something, or at least someone who exercised a rather lot, for she had toned her body so that it was as firm and shapely as a sculpture. Her skin was as dark and shined beautifully beneath the water, which must have been cold too chill the heat of her exercise away, for her nipples were wonderfully erect, like a pair of Hershey’s kisses. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy as the water washed over her, pouring from her forehead and catching at her crotch before dripping into the drain. Her legs were parted ever so slightly, probably for balance in the slippery shower room, and she leaned back against the wall for support. Her face wore an enormous smile, and she sighed contentedly from time to time.
I just stood and stared, and I knew. I could feel myself suddenly come to womanhood in that moment, and I didn’t even try to fight the way I felt, however wrong it might be with my parents or God or whomever (5).
The trouble is, apart from a few cheap thrills, which, honestly, if you don't know, feel really cheap, it can be awfully awkward to have to avert your eyes from every nude person you come across when in the locker room. I must continuously avoid catching the merest glimpse of a naked lady, one to whom I am attracted or not, for fear of falling into self-loathing as an unpleasant after effect.
And, I am no prude. I enjoy pornography and erotica and "adult" materials immensely. Looking at a beautiful naked woman who has not undressed herself for your pleasure (or money, I suppose) is entirely different, however, for she is simply, in this context, going about her business cleaning herself. She is meant to feel safe in the company of woman, and I feel myself coming to shame for betraying her trust. Then, I feel like a pervert.
Now, this just isn't fair.
I really shouldn't feel like a pervert, right? It isn't my fault that I'm attracted to her and that I haven't been successful in my continuous efforts to avoid looking at her. I feel awful for feeling perverted, because the further implication is that homosexuality is perverted, which, though I do not believe when considering the sexuality of others, I always worry about falling into believing when considering myself.
It is hard enough being a lesbian and a feminist! I find myself reading about the "male gaze" and worrying that I am contributing to the subjugation of women simply by agreeing with the heterosexual male sexual attractedness to women. Here, I think, is the difficult issue, and I hope to find a scholar far cleverer than myself who has tackled it in the near future.
*Note: Apparently, the UW Seattle's Q Center has a unisex bathroom campus map available! Now, I haven't visited these restrooms... or at least haven't knowingly visited any of them, but the next time I go to campus, you can bet your butter I will investigate whether these restrooms are actually "unisex" or secretly "family" bathrooms. Anyway, in the meanwhile, I will provide you with the link: Unisex Bathrooms!
Works Cited
Halberstam, Judith. "An Introduction to Female Masculinity: Masculinity without Men." Female Masculinity. Durham and London: Duke U P, 1998. 1-43.
hooks, bell. Reel to Real: Race, Sex, and Class at the Movies. New York and London: Routledge, 1996.
Martin, Amanda. Dedication. Unpublished.
P.S. I will take you to court so fast you lose your socks if you try to steal my sexual awakening short autobio piece. Just saying...
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