#sasha just...went it alone from the start. just because. impulsive woman.

[bananonbinary]

every time i see archivist sasha im just ???

i love her but she died first. that's kinda her defining character trait. partially due to bad luck, yes, but also because she is bad at being in a horror movie. this is a constant thread throughout her very short time.

she saw michael and went "ooh im gonna go talk to THAT guy alone in a cemetary without even leaving a note!" she heard about prentiss and went "i mean, i could probably handle it." and then she sees a strange figure in artifact storage, somewhere she knows FIRSTHAND is full of things that want to eat her, and her instinct is to go towards it. to find out more about it.

she would have died the first time elias tried to mark her. she's just too damn curious.

[thecinephale]

Magic Mike XXL: Masculinity Worth Appreciating

I saw the first Magic Mike with my sister the summer before I left for college. I remember this day the way I remember just about everyday I’ve spent alone with my sister. I remember the day we spent visiting her favorite “spots” right before I started high school. I remember when we got into a hip NYC club because she looked like her even though I looked like me. I remember the difficult lunch we had my first visit back after coming out as trans. I spent most of my life with my sister, usually our parents were there or nearby. But once she learned to drive, the days alone, I remember all of those. This day, in June, in 2012, we were seeing Magic Mike.

There were two men in the theatre, sheepish looking boyfriends whose body language and facial expressions tried to make clear that they were just being good sports. Otherwise it was all women, ages ranging, ready to express their sexuality in public, an experience rarely allowed. My sister commented several times how weird it was to be seeing this with her little brother. I deflected with discussion about Steven Soderbergh and his varied filmography, abuzz with the comfort and confusion I’d always feel when in majority-women spaces.

The movie was fine. Soderbergh knows how to shoot and edit, Channing Tatum knows how to dance, and Matthew McConaughey knows how to chew scenery. But in making two films about the sex industry, Soderbergh failed to understand the difference between what men and women audiences are regularly given. It’s subversive to send a bunch of horny guys into The Girlfriend Experience wanting to see Sasha Grey fuck and then giving them a cold film about economics. But doing the same to a bunch of horny women wanting to see Channing and the gang is just… disappointing. 

Still there were enough abs to keep the audience relatively happy, and I left the theatre with the excited feeling that I’d gotten away with something. The same feeling I always had when I’d hang out with my sister and her friends, the same feeling I’d have any time I managed to be around groups of girls, conversations, car rides, karaoke rooms. While I never felt fully relaxed, I did feel more comfortable. It was as much about being near women as it was about being away from men.

***

We talk a lot about trans women’s relationship towards femininity. Every corny movie with a trans femme youth has her trying on makeup, heels, painting her nails. My experience was certainly filled with a lifelong admiration towards girls and women that fluctuated between envy and lust, admiration and resentment. I obsessively loved women and then turned on them when I felt dissatisfied. I convinced myself that relationships needed to be romantic, because I confused the deep desire to consume their bodies, their fashion, their entire being as a sexual impulse rather than one of imitation. I ruined so many friendships this way.

But what we talk about less is how much of my life was spent with masculinity, immersed in it, confused by it, desperate to understand how to embody it. I know some trans women have clarity from a young age that they are girls and it’s just a matter of others accepting it. But that was not my experience. My discomfort with boyhood and attraction to girlhood never seemed like something I could embrace. Instead I felt a pressure and desire to adjust those attractions, to be a boy and then a man to the best of my ability.

I’m fortunate to have a father who is sensitive and kind. I’m also fortunate to have a father who coached my baseball and soccer teams throughout most of my childhood. Sports became something that was undeniably masculine but that I also loved. I may have watched my sister’s dance classes with envy, but I also found genuine pleasure in being on the field, being physical and focused and competitive. It helped that my dad always prioritized sportsmanship, team spirit, and fun over winning. The league recognized this and rewarded him with the absolute worst players they could find. Our team of misfits may have frustrated me at times, but it also allowed me to think of sports as an exercise in empathy rather than a terrifying world of standards and punishments. I wonder now how many other boys on those teams were queer. I know at least one.

My positive experience with sports allowed me to navigate my early childhood fairly unscathed. I was bullied incessantly by other boys (and even some other girls) probably picking up on something about me. And my “crushes” (as I’d wrongly call them) on girls were intense to the point of all-consuming obsession. But my immense discomfort towards masculinity didn’t really start until middle school, until puberty.

I couldn’t figure out what masculinity even was. I knew certain expectations placed on me and felt like they were all terrible. I was supposed to objectify women. That was the most obvious. The grosser I could get when talking about the girls I “liked” the more I’d be accepted. I was also supposed to be aggressive. Physically. I was not supposed to cry. Or show any emotion. It wasn’t enough that I liked sports. I was supposed to only like sports. If someone was my friend that meant they made fun of me in front of our other friends and the proper response was to make fun of them back. Or hit them. 

Some of this is just middle school. But a lot of it carried over into high school and beyond. My new friends cared more about theatre than sports, but if you’ve ever watched two 17-year-old boys fight over who gets what part in Julius Caesar you’d realize it’s all the same. *** The summer before I came out, the greatest sequel of all time graced our movie screens: Magic Mike XXL. 

This masterpiece of masculinity is a modern-day Old Hollywood musical. Blah blah La La Land blah blah. Go watch On the Town and it becomes clear those musicals are about 1) hot guys, 2) tight pants, 3) great dancing. XXL is pure, sex-positive joy from beginning to end. It abandons the thematic and narrative overwroughtness of the original and makes a new statement: Celebrating female sexuality and non-toxic masculinity is what’s truly radical.

As a lesbian, I’ll leave discussions of the former to others (now that The Toast is gone I’m not sure where Roxane Gay’s review went, it’s really worth hunting down). But as a trans woman, who spent my whole life trying to understand masculinity, this movie was a goddamn revelation. The way the men celebrate women is lovely and sexy and new, but the way they celebrate each other is what really stood out to me.

The men in Magic Mike XXL are masculine. They embody so many of those basic, oversimplified middle school traits I listed above. And yet. It looks good on them. They’re physical, they rag on each other, they trade crude remarks about women. But they also support each other. They discuss their goals and varied interests. They talk out conflicts. Their discussion of women is crude but not objectifying. And they’re comfortable enough in their sexuality and gender to participate in a drag show. Watching XXL, I didn’t feel any closer to masculinity, but for the first time I found it something worth aspiring to. Social pressure was no longer the only thing pushing me towards it, and, as a result, it soon became clear I was never meant to achieve it.

Since coming out, I’ve had the good fortune of befriending some trans men and non-binary individuals who align with certain elements of masculinity and manhood. In these people I tend to see this same sort of Magic Mike XXL version of masculinity. I see it in my dad. I see it in a few cis male friends. I spent my life hating masculinity, but now I see its potential.

***

Last week I went to Thirst Aid Kit’s screening of Magic Mike XXL at the Alamo Drafthouse. Thirst Aid Kit is a podcast hosted by Bim Adewunmi and Nichole Perkins and is really a must-listen if you’re a person who enjoys lusting after men (and if you aren’t it’s still a good time). They provided fake money to throw at the screen and bingo cards with squares like “Mike grabs his crotch.” Cocktails were served throughout and we were encouraged to hoot, wallop, and moan as we saw fit. 

It’s been about six years since I sat in that regular movie theatre with my sister cherishing what felt like girl time. And here I was, again in a majority-women space, watching Channing Tatum grind. This time I felt comfortable, and also, finally, relaxed.

As a trans person, I’ve been forced to examine my gender, to wrestle with masculinity and femininity and ultimately decide what elements of both appeal to me and who I personally am. In a time when cis men are feeling increasingly confused about their place in the world, I wonder what might happen if they also had to ponder their identity. I wonder what might happen if they had to reconsider their own definitions of masculinity. I wonder what an all cis straight male screening of Magic Mike XXL might look like and what it might achieve.

Some need to thirst. Others need to learn. This movie does it all. <3