by Sam Goodman
Photography by Jessica O’Donoghue
She is the Sublime. Incorporeal, the primordial energy, She defies mind, body, and spirit. She knows and sees that which we cannot. Keeper of wisdom, prophet of posterity, She is Woman, the omnipotent spirit of She.
And I am Jacob, climbing the ladder between earth and heaven, a humble worshiper of all that is holy.
. . .
After coming out of the closet at 15, I was adopted into a community of like-minded queer people who spent their final years of adolescence being emotionally honest, sexually expressive, outright clowns. This small circle consisted of a variety of me and various queer women with whom I developed a strong bond. They represented safety, strength, and courage in a world entirely confusing for gay people who were coming of age.
I let these women be my guiding light through an otherwise daunting and uninviting community. As we traversed this unfamiliar territory, we slowly uncovered artifacts of queer history that began to form our identities.
. . .
I know queerness because She taught it to me. Lepore, Venus, Divine, clerics of the queer commandments.
She, Queen of the Club, instructed on shocking glamour and the freedom inherent in radical beauty.
She, from the House of Xtravaganza, preached that nerve isn’t a suggestion, it’s a tool for survival.
She, The Notorious Beauty, patron of filth, pinnacle of depravity, and paragon of authenticity, illuminated the raw nature of the underbelly.
. . .
My virgin queer eyes marveled at these women, posters on the wall. They were everything I wanted to be: real, unapologetic, bold. And yet, my attempt at defining their essence is entirely insufficient. Their aura, indescribable, unnamable, and enigmatic, is, in many ways, godly. But, this sanctity can only be defined through the lack thereof; the divine feminine aura can only be identified due to its absence.
This absence is evident, for example, during most interactions I’ve had with gay men counterparts. I’ve found it difficult to connect with and find my place beside men, despite common queerness, due to the inherent lack of indescribable female energy.
. . .
She opened the gates to Eden and I was fashioned from her rib. This one shall be called Man because from Woman he was taken.
. . .
I continue to surround myself with queer women, marveling at their ability to display a feminine aura I will never truly understand. I have not lived as a woman, I have not walked in those shoes, and I can’t help but admire their quiet strength.
They threw me in platform boots, a rusty-red eye, and coffee lip liner and pushed me onto the proverbial stage, encouraging me to not only come into my own but to own every bit of me. Everything about me I was told was slightly odd or considerably disturbing was celebrated by the queer women in my life.
And in times that called for it, these women were, and continue to be, enduring, fierce, and protective.
. . .
She is my Rock, my Fortress, the foundation beneath my feet.
She is the Absolute above, provides manna to test my faith. I follow as she envelopes me in her Glory. She shields me from the red hot sun and cools the scorching sand beneath my feet.
. . .
However, the admiration and appreciation I have for the queer women in my life is not something I recognize in most gay men I meet. The gay community, dominated by these men, has been historically unkind to women. As mentioned in Lesbophobia: Gay Men and Misogyny, the 1995 pamphlet by writer Megan Radclyffe, many early lesbian activists left the Gay Liberation Front in the early ‘70s as a result of the misogynistic behavior of gay men. 1 Early gay rights movements, though led by lesbians and trans women, were dominated by gay men who pursued sexual liberation at the expense of a gender revolution.
Lesbians and trans women continue to be excluded from pride celebrations, gay bars and clubs, and other queer spaces that are controlled by men who would rather fill those spaces with their male counterparts.
As queer and trans women continue to defy traditional gender norms and standard expectations of sexuality, they fall victim to intracommunity transmisogyny that seems to be excused because it’s being performed by other queer people. The portrayal of the queer community as inclusive and accepting allows for a shocking amount of complacency in addressing the toxic culture surrounding gay perceptions of feminity, womanhood, and female sexuality.
Having formed my identity through the lens of queer womanhood, I am now able to better understand the complex nature of my own community. My relationships with queer women have shown me the widespread, pervasive sexism and transphobia that LGBTQ+ spaces are not immune from. I understand my position as a non-female queer person and recognize how much I owe to the queer women both in my life and in the world around me. Without these women, I would be missing an essential part of my queer being that only materialized because of the unnamable, undefinable, enigmatic female spirit.
. . .
Protector of her children, She blesses the land and promises fruit, dew, and sunlight. Beloved, builder of ancient mountains and eternal hills, She is the moon and the tide, the crown and the head, the beast and the wild. She is Woman.
ENDNOTES
1 Radclyffe, Megan. Lesbophobia: Gay Men and Misogyny. London, Continuum International Publishing Group, Ltd., 1995.