Alright, so I don’t appear quite that femme in public. Yet.

Oof. Thankfully it was after class, but some of my students and I got talking, and I mentioned, for instance, how I wouldn’t send my students to read my blog or anything—I’m working on tenure, one of the reasons I keep my identity a secret. I also don’t list my college’s name anywhere or anything like that. It’s a separate thing.

But that example was enough for them to want to know more. What’s your blog? What’s the address? Um, no. No, I won’t give you that. Not during class, not after class. Maybe after the term is over, if we meet outside of the school, we can talk about it.

There were four of them total, and I know two of the four pretty well, so I was able to briefly mention that my blog is on gender identity and then move on. Granted, I was wearing my purse at the time, so that much was probably obvious.

Then again, in the hallway even after that, I was talking with one of them, an older student. She’s about five years older than me, in fact, and somehow we got to talking about the comments people make. I quipped that I get yelled at out truck windows and the like plenty. Her response was to ask if it was all because I’m a dude with long hair.

Yeah. Sure. That’s it.

Nothing to do with clothing or makeup or accessories. J even comments that my movements are rather femme. But for a student, for now? Yeah. We’ll go with that it’s all because I’m a dude with long hair.

I’m internally revolting at being called a dude.

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