My Body is a Revolution

As a lesbian identified woman of trans history, my criteria for attraction/attractiveness already differ slightly from those of most of the hetero/cisexual public. That said, my wife was shocked when, during a conversation last week about "getting into better shape", I declared that I didn't want to completely get rid of my belly. The truth of the matter is, I like having a belly. I enjoy being "fat". It makes me feel feminine and in charge of my own image because, with the revolutionary act of simply accepting my body as it is, I've declared- both to myself and to the world, that the media will never dictate to me what I should look like, nor what I should find aesthetically or even sexually attractive. My body is a revolutionary act because, I declare ownership of it and responsibility for it every day. And to those who would cite the fact that I was born biologically male, rendering me incapable of understanding the angst and social pressure brought to bare on girls to conform to media imposed strictures of acceptability, I say this: I am a woman. I'm a woman who until only recently was perceived as, and expected to behave as a man, simply because, externally, I didn't fit anyone's concept of what a woman should be. Believe me, I understand the pressures of society to conform, and admittedly, I embrace some of them: I take hormones to grow my breasts. I still shave daily (because as yet, I cannot afford laser depilation) and wear makeup. I paint my nails, and do my best to maintain some semblance of a manicure which isn't easy, considering that I've got dry nails that crack and I'm a klutz. I do all these things and more, because they help me feel more in touch with my femininity, as well as helping me "pass" in the world, but mostly I do them because I like to. It's as simple as that. They simply feel right, like they're a part of me, and if tomorrow, Vogue Magazine came out in favor of absolute androgyny, and women everywhere began foregoing their lipstick and makeup for a K.D. Lang circa 1991 inspired look, I'd walk out my front door in my size 26 pencil skirt, blood red lipstick and matching nails, and- as much as I'd enjoy checking out all the hot androgynous women, I'd thank the universe for the fact that I am who I am: a fat, femme dyke who has, after years of struggling with identity and body dysphoria issues, finally come to love herself, exactly as she is.