I briefly saw an advertisement for one of those ultimate fighting matches on TV today. Â Just a flash of naked male torsos, heavy muscles and swagger. Â I was left with an after taste of envy. Â There is a part of me that wants to swagger like that, to carry those muscles with that confidence, to walk into a ring and go mano-a-mano to show what you’re made of.
I was envious of what I imagined was a solid confidence about their place in the world. Â Possibly a very sexist, cis-centric view of the world, without the complexities of gender identity and activism and concern about oppression and privilege.
And yeah, I envied that, too.
I don’t know who I’d be if I’d been born with the male sex package. Â It’s hard to imagine being a full-on swaggering cis-male without a care in the world for the unearned privilege I had. Â Maybe I wouldn’t be that way, maybe I’d be as complex a person as I am now, just in a different kind of body.
So, for a few moments, I envied the kind of unconscious power those guys on the screen wield. Â The confidence in hard earned muscle and technique. Â The knowledge that they can navigate the world without worrying that someone will call them out for using the wrong restroom, or pretending to be a man or wearing the wrong clothes.
Of course, I’m over simplifying, but that’s what looks attractive when my life seems overly complex.
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