I want to notice the ones who go unnoticed.
Three days ago, a human, with lips like Saturn’s rings, taught me how to tie a perfectly eloquent double windsor knot on a necktie. The following day, I sunk my legs inside black pants; covered my torso in button-down striped shirt; put on my favorite vest; then, grabbed hold of striped red tie and began my first solo attempt.
For me, neckties replace necklaces. (The Payless version of) combat boots or converse replace high heels or fancy female shoes that make a clicking sound when making contact with the ground.
As I huddle onto the 2 or 5 train for an hour in the morning, I am able to notice the various creatures sharing my morning commute.
I am confident in this moment of tie-bearing. And I wonder how many of us with disorganized scowls so early in the morning feel like we are dressing in the way we truly want to be….
* * *
At a poetry reading featuring transfeminists, the room is full with blurred genders. I hone my mathematics skills as I count the partially-shaved heads, three-month-old buzz cuts, faux hawks (not as many as once before), and one redhead with wide-angled ears, small lips and a remarkable double-windsor.
There are also humans with long hair, some in dresses, and I wonder if they feel as noticed as the others. Or, are we really noticing each other or just comparing our levels of queerness in competitive glances.
My queer rhetoric is spotty, full of several holes, still being stitched and fondled into something more substantial or visible. It is often during these days when my body feels like a warzone (translation: menstruation) that I am angered by my parts. I want to rebel against the hushed red discharge.
Maybe I want someone to call me sir during this time to combat the
flagrant fragrant woman in me.
Maybe I just want someone to go up to me and tell me how remarkable my tie is and follow that up by saying:
You are handsome…like a double windsor.