Embracing Two-Spiritedness : The Fuck Me Pumps

This post is in response to an article I read in the Gay Spiritual Visions pamphlet:

Talking with Dandelion helped me understand that drag is a way that a man can honor the feminine in himself and, from
a magical perspective, honor the sacred feminine. I saw him expressing the caring/mother side of femininity. This impressed me greatly. He was not just aware that he had feminine aspects; he was embracing it and showing the world.

-Stephen “The Judgment of Drag Queens” (pg. 11):

Dear Stephen,

The entire article hit home with me, but more so because I remember in the fall of 2007, after trying drag for a couple of times with some high heeled boots, I remember drunkenly crying to my friend that I’m not a trannie. Perhaps the appropriate word for what Patrique does is transvestitism. Think Eddie Izzard. He’s heterosexual, but dabbles in the arts of wearing womens clothing. Don’t worry, I’m a card carrying member of The Gays.

I created my alter ego of Patrique based on the feminine and masculine aspects within me. I consider this alter ego(and writers name) not bound to only male or female, but embracing the Native American concept of two spirit.

More so, the reason this article stuck out is because I went to a friend’s birthday party last night. It was the first time I had been out in a couple of weeks, and usually  in social situations I’m stricken with social anxiety. I painted my toenails and wore some black open toed pumps. The Fuck Me Pumps. It was important for me because I realized one of the reasons I like pumps is because I’m short. I’m only 5′5, and wearing heels puts me at eye level with most people. Putting on heels helps to take away my own social anxiety, not only because of the height difference but because of esteem issues.

Admittedly I’m a bit neurotic, and prone to thinking everyone is looking at me when I’m in a social situation, like at a party. Putting on the heels not only gives me the added height but also diffusing those neurotic narcissistic tendencies. It is a way for me to take control of the situation; if I think everyone is looking at me, at least I can direct the attention. There’s inherent psychological issues at play there (the quote from Roxie in Chicago about most performers never feeling loved enough as a child comes to mind.) My dear friends Chris and Lola MacLean even gave me the blessing to wear heels to their wedding, especially considering I was a groomsman. For a while we debated on groomsman, bridesman, but I digress. And choose the side of the groom.

I’ve learned to recognize my own fears based on how I project my fears onto others. Drag queens are a case in point, because growing up I didn’t like drag queens either. Over time, I’ve realized it’s an inner dialogue with myself of “why do they get to do that and I don’t?” And then the realization hit me with the first pair of heeled boots, that I can do what they do if I want to. Over time, the reasons for wearing heels has gone from wanting to draw attention to myself, to something I do because it makes me comfortable. I’m not required to justify my reasons, and they are allowed to change over time.

That fall of 2007, I had gotten over my fear and anger towards men in drag, and why they could do it and I couldn’t. Instead, the anger was channeled towards those who don’t repsect the feminine ideal. Camp drag, to me, simply isn’t appealling. To me, it is like a white person putting on black face. Unless done for satire, like Robert Downey Jr in Tropic Thunder. I can respect camp drag when it has a purpose, such as raising awareness for different causes.

With my own alter ego of Patrique, I’ve no desire to become a campy character. Then again, as I age this may change. Instead, I model my affliction for wearing heels and corset, the occasional gloss, and whatever accoutrements as a representation of two-spiritedness: embracing both sides of masculinity and femininity, and respects them both in how I dress. My reasons are usually practical: painting my toenails because they look like crap, carrying a small clutch because I’m horrible with money, hating having a million things in my pockets and need something to hold my phone, loose change, and a pen or pencil for writing when the spirit hits me. The idea of the corset comes from developing a bit of gynecomastia, due to hormonal imbalances. I don’t have full gynecomastia, but my nipples are large. Sometimes I’m embarrassed. All these little perceived imperfections I try and deal with in a logical and sane way that releases my neurotic tendencies.

I am comfortable with the nurturer within me as well as the leader. The hunter and the gatherer. The god and goddess within. And besides, my legs look damn fine. We will see how the corset goes when I eventually get there. As for the party, I was proud of myself because I finally left the house after holing myself up for two plus weeks. And I was proud because I didn’t need to drink.  I was mindful of the situation and present in the moment. Putting on the heels gave me a boost of confidence and I was able to be more assertive, like how Beyonce converts to Sasha Fierce whenever she is performing. But I’ll address multiple egos in another letter.