If we consult Webster’s College Edition of 1983, the dictionary gives two definitions.
The first definition is purely grammatical.
Gender is a system in certain languages of classifying nouns and, the dictionary asserts, for the most part has nothing to do with “male” or “female”—never mind that in French, all long, cylindrical and/or pointed objects are masculine.
The second definition is as follows verbatim: “[Colloq.] sex.”
The problem with this definition is that it makes the assumption that a person’s gender identity is equated with having certain genetalia. Biology does not determine destiny. There are men with vaginas, women with penises, and people all over the gender spectrum with every which reproductive organ, a lot of whom don’t feel a need to obtain surgery to change their bodies. Your genetalia do not automatically determine your gender, and not everyone feels a need to expunge from their bodies organs traditionally associated with another gender.
In her memoir Gender Outlaw, Kate Bornstein writes of her own surgery, “I didn’t hate my penis because I was a woman; I hated it because [in the world’s eyes] it made me a man.”
Another problem with a definition of gender as “sex” lies in the first definition the same dictionary gives to “sex”: 1. Either of two divisions, male or female.
A definition of gender as “sex” makes a further assumption that there are only two possible genders: male and female (or man and woman, if you prefer).
However, not everyone fits into this neat binary system. Writer Kate Bornstein advocates an end to calling gender “sex” altogether in Gender Outlaw and writes, “Don’t call it ‘biological sex’ or social gender. Don’t call it ‘sex’ at all --- sex is fucking; gender is everything else.”
A lot of people (myself included) don’t identify as either gender of the dominant binary system. Some of us call ourselves androgynous or genderqueer; others simply stand under the transgender* umbrella or make up new terms for our genders.
I call myself gender-indifferent because I am not concerned with presenting myself as a gender, and I am far more concerned with presenting myself as a person. I wear board shorts because I like them, not to present myself as a man; I wear fitted jeans because I like them, not to present myself as a woman.
A person’s gender is built on presentation. If your actions and behaviors have said to the world “I am a woman” and you agree, you have successfully presented yourself as a woman. If your actions and behaviors have said to the world “I am a man” and you agree, you have successfully presented yourself as man.
The same is true for all other genders, although it’s considerably more difficult to keep most people from wondering, “What’s in that person’s pants?” (As if it mattered.)
For those of us who don’t bother presenting ourselves as a gender, we have a voice in American musician Patti Smith: “As far as I’m concerned, being any gender is a drag.”
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