Women in Clothes

by Sheila Heti

  SHEILA: And your last name, Jacques, was that also chosen?

  JULIET: Well, pronounce it “Jakes,” but that’s a pen name. I only use it for my writing and my online presence. It’s my grandmother’s maiden name. Her birth name was Millicent Hilda Jacques. She hated how aristocratic it sounded. So she married my granddad, whose surname was Buckell, and she took the first name Betty.

  SHEILA: Betty Buckell?

  JULIET: Yes, she took this very unassuming name. She was from an aristocratic family, and somebody a generation or two above blew all the money through gambling or drink or bad business decisions, I don’t know what exactly. So she became this lower-middle-class working woman, and ended up taking this name to match, and two generations later I’ve taken her original maiden name. (laughs) I’m as petit bourgeois as she was, and thanks to her, I’ve given myself a much more. . . .

  SHEILA: . . . aristocratic?

  JULIET: Worldly-sounding name.

  SHEILA: What was the name you were given, if you want to say?

  JULIET: I’d rather not.

  SHEILA: Okay. I don’t need to know your name, but I’m curious about why you choose not to tell people.

  JULIET: There’s a long history of the media and just people in everyday life having this kind of prurient interest in transgender and transsexual people’s old names, which, you know, clearly serves to kind of undermine them. Also, the name carries a lot of very difficult associations for me. I really hate hearing it.

  SHEILA: Do you think people want to know trans people’s old names in order to, like, resurrect that other person or something?

  JULIET: Yeah. Or because they don’t feel your identity is valid. You know, they just won’t accept it, and having that old name makes it easier for them to be like, Well, no, you’re not Juliet, you’re that person, which obviously is the opposite of how I feel.

  SHEILA: Right. Knowing their old name . . . that is actually a lot of power.

  JULIET: People often ask me which point in the transition felt like the biggest rupture in my life, and they often assume it was the surgery, but no. The sex reassignment surgery was quite near the end of the process. I already felt a lot more female, my mannerisms had changed, the way I dressed had changed, my social role had really changed. The biggest rupture was changing my name.

  SHEILA: Do you think it’s a good thing to do? I mean, obviously in your situation it’s a lot more necessary, but for a woman changing her name to a different woman’s name. . . .

  JULIET: I don’t see why not. But changing your first name is a socially difficult thing to do, and there’s this custom of your parents giving you your first name, so to change it feels kind of like a rejection of them. When I wrote to my parents, coming out as transsexual and telling them I was Juliet, I did say, “Look, I’m so sorry to have to do this, but I hope you can understand.” And in the end they did, and the first time my parents called me Juliet was a really, really big moment. For a long time they just called me J, and they hit on Jules after a while and that was okay—I understand why it was so difficult for them. But the first time my dad called me Juliet, after a year or eighteen months, it was a really incredible moment. More than anything, it felt like things were starting to work again between us, after this really, really difficult negotiation of who I was and who they wanted me to be. That was really special, it was really important.

  •

  JULIET: For a long time, I felt sort of caught somewhere between male and female, and to be honest, I still do. So I had these three identities. One of them was the young, sort of teenage male me, all punk bands and football and, you know, stand-up comedy, and I was quite Bolshy and angry—

  SHEILA: Quite what?

  JULIET: Bolshy. It’s short for Bolshevik, actually. (laughs) You know, quite politically motivated with a very strong sense of injustice. Then I had this kind of degendered identity, which was my initials and my surname, and I was writing on literature and film and music and things. That was my transitional identity between the male one and the female one. Then I came up with this name Juliet Jacques, and I had this image of myself as somebody who would write about my gender identity and feminism and sex and sexuality, as well as all the things I’d been interested in before, and in this process of integrating all those sides of my person, the female identity ended up strongest. It took a long time. When I started living as female, I just thought: Can I still go to football matches, can I still dress in a certain way, can I still behave in a certain way, what’s socially acceptable for me to talk about, which of these gestures are appropriate or not appropriate? And I’d learned a body language and a way of talking to help me pass as male when I needed to, and then I had to unlearn that. Then convincing somebody that actually I was female was quite difficult.

  SHEILA: Right. So, like, hand gestures . . . Would you even say you gesture differently now?

  JULIET: I’m not sure. I think I probably do. I had some speech and language therapy, and the premise behind it in Britain is that women are socially policed to behave with a lot more restraint, so we learn different ways of sneezing. And I sneeze now in this way where I try not to sneeze loudly, where when I was living as a male, I didn’t do that.

  SHEILA: So, as a feminist, why did you choose to be that kind of conventionally socialized woman?

  JULIET: Yeah, well, I chose to explore the possibility of being it—then broke back out of it again. A bit like Picasso—everyone always says that he could paint as he did because he’d learned how to paint classically. (laughs) I think lots of women are taught those things—either in their schools or in their families or just by people in the street or by aggressive men or whatever. Why shouldn’t I know who the entire Norwich City team was from twenty years ago, or talk about things in an authoritative way or sneeze loudly if I need to? But because I’d spent a lot of my mid-twenties reading feminist literature and engaged with those ideas, and then this weird thing of taking on what I was told in this speech and language therapy, or that people on the street would tell me, or that friends would tell me—about how I comported myself—I began not only instinctively thinking, This is bullshit, but also having this quite developed theoretical base for thinking, No, this is bullshit.

  SHEILA: Right. It’s complicated because if you want to pass, you have to adopt some of those mannerisms.

  JULIET: Exactly. And I would get beaten up if I didn’t. The first summer that I lived as a woman was 2009—and it was quite a hot summer, and I don’t like the summer anyway, I get depressed in hot weather, it really floors me—my body language was quite depressed, and I was nervous and scared all the time, because this was an incredibly vulnerable time: you’ve just come out, you’re worried about your friends and family rejecting you, things being a lot harder at your job, maybe even losing it, and people beating you up. And a lot of the time I would get the clothing codes wrong. I hadn’t started the hormone therapy, so my hair was thinner, and my face was more male and my skin tone was harsher, all these physical signifiers of maleness. But also not feeling comfortable in my own skin or my own clothes. So I’d walk around town wearing quite a lot of makeup and stuff because I’d been told it would help me pass. But then, of course, it would attract a lot of attention. There were a few times when groups of young men would pick up on how I looked, and just humiliate me in the street, yell and laugh and point at me and stuff—throw things every now and again. And I felt completely defenseless, and it made me really angry and really sad, and I didn’t have any outlet for it, so I got more depressed and the body language would get more defeated, which just made it worse. I was so glad when the winter came around, because I could just wrap myself in hats, which hid my hairline, and big coats, which made my body shape less obvious, and I never really got hassled in the winter, it was always in the summer. And it was partly because I didn’t know how to dress for the summer, and partly because it just makes you more conspicuous.

  SHEILA: Yeah. Most women probably get hassled more in the summ
er because of all the flesh.

  JULIET: Well, exactly, and lots of men see summer as a real treat, because they get to see things they wouldn’t normally. With the football fans I used to talk to on the message boards, when I was in my mid-twenties and was living as male, I’d go on about how much I hated the summer, and a lot of the guys I used to talk to would be like, “But women in short skirts!”—or “birds in short skirts” would be the term they used. It was interesting to get this insight into straight sexism, because that was always one of the best things about summer for these guys, “birds in short skirts.” The second summer was a bit easier, but not that much easier, but then by the third summer I sort of worked out what would attract scrutiny and what wouldn’t, and spent the whole summer wearing cotton trousers that weren’t too hot. I realized that if I wasn’t showing off my legs, actually people looked at me a lot less.

  SHEILA: You don’t wear much makeup now.

  JULIET: No, I try not to be over-the-top. For anyone who presents as female in our society, your appearance gets scrutinized at a really unbearable level, and for trans women that’s the truth to a huge degree. It’s a double bind: you get attacked if you’re not feminine enough, because you’re not trying to pass, or because you’re not really committed to this whole thing.

  SHEILA: Attacked by other trans people?

  JULIET: Other trans people, men, feminists, other women, whoever. This stuff seems to cut across gender categories. So you get attacked for not being feminine enough—like if I went out with my friends and dressed or acted in a way they thought was too male, they would tell me. But if I was overly feminine, I got attacked for reiterating gender stereotypes and being socially conservative.

  SHEILA: Do you have the sense, walking through the streets as a woman, versus when you walked through the streets as a man, that it’s different?

  JULIET: Oh god, absolutely. I hardly ever got street harassment as a man. The first year I lived in London, when I moved in with my friend Helen, she was like, “Never walk down this street”—which is a shortcut to our house—“at night.” And there’s a part of me, the sort of pretransitional part of me, and I guess the feminist part as well, that just said, That’s bullshit. Why shouldn’t I? Then one night I thought someone was gonna rape me, actually. This guy came on to me, and grabbed me and kissed me, and told me his name. I’d met so many people in London recently that he was playing on whether or not I’d recognize him. He said, “I’m Gino,” and I said, “I don’t think I know you.” And of course, rather than just walk on, I dithered, and he grabbed me and kissed me and said, “Where are you going?” and I said, “I’m going home.” And he heard a male voice and said, “Look, are you a man or a girl?” and I just flicked my hand at him and walked off, and luckily he didn’t follow me home, but I was absolutely terrified. This kind of social space opens up where I’m kind of below male or female, and it’s absolutely terrifying. If you’re being read as a man, and another man is annoyed with you, he’s probably gonna fight you. And you can be prepared for that—like my tactic would be to run away. And if you’re being treated as a woman, there might be a modicum of respect for you. But if they’re treating you as below either of those things, then that’s terrifying—all bets are off.

  •

  JULIET: A real challenge for trans women is the social stereotype that we dress like our grandmothers or something, that we dress well behind our times. In the beginning, I was trying not to fall into that, and trying to find a way of dressing as a woman in her twenties that felt natural and not contrived, and also individualistic and right for me. It was really difficult, and I made loads of mistakes, obviously.

  SHEILA: What were some of the mistakes?

  JULIET: When I was twenty-two, I wore a dress with a floral print to a nightclub, and somebody told me, “You dress like my mum,” and I was really upset by that. When I started transitioning, I wore this really, really short dress to work one day, and this woman came up to me and said, “Look, if you were on my team, I’d have sent you home.” And I felt awful about that, and it was really early on, and I felt so insecure. I was terrified of getting it wrong. I was always wearing black, things that weren’t very colorful or didn’t have a lot of personality. But I had a few friends whose style I liked, so I asked them to come shopping with me. I would keep picking things out, and they would say, “No, that’s too dowdy,” or “It’s too young,” or “It’s too conservative,” or “It’s over-the-top.” It was like dressing by consensus. (laughs) My friend Laura, who I used to work with in a jewelry shop—when I told her I was transitioning, she got really excited and she started offering to give me loads of old clothes. When she took me shopping, I turned up in a pair of shoes that were falling to pieces and a horrible bag I’d bought from a charity shop, and she took one look at me and said, “Right, the first thing we’re doing is getting rid of the bag and the shoes.” Basically she just took ownership of it, it was like a project for her. Which I was quite happy with. She turned clothes shopping from this terrifying ordeal into something life-affirming and fun. We bought a whole new wardrobe, and we symbolically threw away the bag and the shoes at the end. (laughs) It just felt amazing.

  SHEILA: What are some of your favorite pieces that you own?

  JULIET: I have this great gray dress that I love wearing in winter, it’s long-sleeved, V-necked—not a particularly exciting piece of clothing, but something you can have good fun accessorizing. I have no idea where it came from, it just sort of appeared in my wardrobe. I don’t know if I took it by mistake from someone that I shouldn’t have. There’s that and one other piece of clothing that I’ve got, which is this sort of transparent dress, quite long, and it’s got this kind of silver pattern on it, and there’s sort of metal attached to the dress. And I don’t know where that one came from, either. These are my two favorite items of clothing! That I didn’t buy, no one gave me, I don’t know where they’re from!

  SHEILA: (laughs) The closet genie!

  JULIET: Yeah! It’s baffling. (laughs)

  SHEILA: I feel like that about some of my clothes, but I’ve been acquiring a woman’s wardrobe my entire life. Within the past five years, to have two items turn up mysteriously, that’s amazing.

  JULIET: That never happens to me with men’s clothes! Not once. You know, I wouldn’t open my chest of drawers and be like, “Oh, I’ve got a new T-shirt, I wonder where that’s from.” So yeah, I don’t know, it’s this mystery, isn’t it?

  SHEILA: (laughs) Yeah. When do you feel most attractive?

  JULIET: Oh god, good question. That’s been a big problem for me, to be honest. Gender dysphoria and sexual attraction, they’re really difficult things to navigate. So when do I feel the most attractive? In the evening, definitely. I prefer there to not be too much light. I feel more attractive in the dark. (laughs) Last year this woman I’d only just met took an interest in me really quickly, and she said, “Look, tomorrow, I’d love to give you a makeover and take some photos.” She was a singer and an amateur makeup artist, and she took some pictures of me, and they’re my favorite pictures of me. It was when I saw the photos, actually, that I probably felt the most attractive. Something else I did quite early on—some female friends of mine invited me to a clothes swap. I said, “Look, I don’t really have anything to give away,” and they were like, “No, fine, it’s cool,” so I went and joined in with everyone—dressing up in different things, trying things on, discarding things. Nobody had a problem with me being there at all. I felt totally accepted as one of the women there, and that was one of the earliest moments where I thought, Okay, this is gonna work. This is gonna be all right.

  CONVERSATION Four women at a clothing swap.

  CHRISTINE MUHLKE: I love this, but I just don’t wear it. HEIDI JULAVITS: Let me see. Whoa! It’s not you. LEANNE SHAPTON: That’s a little big on you. CHRISTINE: Big coats are in for fall. LEANNE: These are the things I take out every year and I’m like. . . . HEIDI: You wonder about them. LEANNE: Who wants a d
rink and pizza? HEIDI: Here are the things that I really want somebody to want, but don’t feel pressure at all. CHRISTINE: Heidi, those boots are wicked! And they’re not you? HEIDI: You don’t even know—I stalked these things for so fucking long. CHRISTINE: I remember you stalking them. HEIDI: I sent the link to you, I sent the link to everybody. I finally found them, I bought them—they just don’t fit me. EVERYONE: Aww. HEIDI: Because of my bunions. CHRISTINE: What is a bunion? HEIDI: It’s this. (shows a bunion) CHRISTINE: Who has slightly smaller feet? LEANNE: Maybe Gaby? CHRISTINE: Maybe Gaby. HEIDI: It’s such a shame. KERRY DIAMOND: I think you should cut the toe open. HEIDI: It’s not even the toe! I don’t know what it is about these things that aren’t quite right, but . . . (Attention shifts.) CHRISTINE: Oo, that’s pretty. HEIDI: That is pretty. KERRY: I kind of brought more designer stuff. LEANNE: (Pulling out of her own pile.) This is what I chose for you, Kerry, and I think you should experiment with it, because I was like, “Who in the group is basically gonna look beautiful in this?” It’s trousers and a top. HEIDI: It’s trousers?! LEANNE: Yes, it’s a pantsuit. And I just think you’d look great. KERRY: I’ll take ’em. LEANNE: See, the pants, they’re not pleated. It’s a little bit like Mia in The Great Gatsby. CHRISTINE: Ooo. (Pizza break.) LEANNE: You’ve got some good stuff, Christine, look at how pretty this is! I feel like I’ve seen you in this. HEIDI: That’s so you, why are you getting rid of it!? CHRISTINE: I just don’t wear it anymore. And I have it in brown. (New item.) HEIDI: Wow. CHRISTINE: Heidi, teach in that. HEIDI: Oh my god, that is insane. CHRISTINE: It’s Bob Mackie from the Leona Helmsley auction. Kerry, would you just do me . . . will you try on the Bob Mackie? KERRY: I’m highly confident I won’t be taking it. CHRISTINE: It has covered buttons! KERRY: It looks like it would be a little tiny on me, but it’s really cute and sexy. HEIDI: Oh my god! But you have the stature to pull it off. It’s crazy. It’s so crazy! KERRY: I’m so not taking it. LEANNE: Kerry, please? KERRY: No. (New item.) HEIDI: I say too short. LEANNE: You do? HEIDI: I say too short! (New item.) LEANNE: I think we should each go through our things and present them. Like, “Here’s the thing, here’s who I think should have it,” you know? I could start with these shoes. HEIDI: Okay, present your shoes. LEANNE: I traded these with Louisa for some clogs, and I don’t, I can’t, wear them. CHRISTINE: Heidi. Heidi’s the clog mistress. HEIDI: I’m cloggy. KERRY: Those are pretty. LEANNE: eBay purchase. KERRY: I can’t do a wedge. I don’t know why. (Heidi tries on a pair of boots with difficulty.) LEANNE: You could cut the shoe in the front, but not the back, because in back it would . . . don’t you think? Or on the side? HEIDI: Oh maybe like a zip? Or a magnet? KERRY: Or what about a sock? HEIDI: A sock. It could slide right on with a sock. LEANNE: I think cutting maybe a snip in the front would make it fit. KERRY: I would try a sock first, before you do any boot cutting. HEIDI: Boot episiotomy! KERRY: Someone e-mailed me today and was like, “I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re probably packing,” and I was like, Psh, I’ll be packing at midnight. CHRISTINE: When do you guys go to Berlin? KERRY: Tomorrow. CHRISTINE: Oh my gosh. HEIDI: I’m so so so tired of packing that I’m just like, You know what? We’ll wake up in the morning and something will go in a suitcase and hopefully the children will have pants. (New item.) KERRY: Those are great. HEIDI: I would never wear them. CHRISTINE: You need a green trench coat with them. HEIDI: I would never wear them. KERRY: Why? I’m telling you, they scream Berlin! They’re weirdly comfortable. I’ve worn them since, like, 1999. HEIDI: Yeah, it’s not— KERRY: I’m telling you, you’ll get to Berlin and you’ll be like, “Damn, I should have brought those boots.” HEIDI: I don’t know. How much do you walk there? KERRY: Like in New York. HEIDI: All right, I’m gonna keep them on for a while. Ech, I have one bunion rubbing. (New item.) CHRISTINE: Oo I like it! HEIDI: No. The lederhosen and the bunny ears are just too much. (New item.) KERRY: I also brought these little shoes that are amazing but don’t fit me. HEIDI: Oh my god. LEANNE: Those are gorgeous. HEIDI: They’re beautiful. They’re insane. LEANNE: They’re incredible. I think they might fit you, Christine. HEIDI: But she’s got bunions. I’ve got bunions, we’ve all got bunions. (New item.) KERRY: Here’s some Céline jeans that I wanted so badly and I thought they looked great in the dressing room, but I’ve just never liked how they looked. LEANNE: I have a pile of weird jeans. KERRY: I think in my head I’ve always wanted to be that seventies girl with the big jeans, but I just don’t have the body shape for them. CHRISTINE: These are like . . . below my crack line! KERRY: I know, they’re low-rise. (New item.) LEANNE: My boobs just do not, they’re not agreeing, you know what I mean? HEIDI: Your boobs are not agreeing with what? LEANNE: With anything. HEIDI: You don’t think they’re agreeing with that dress? (Later.) HEIDI: Anyway, what I learned from looking at these old photographs is that all these things I thought had happened because I had kids had almost always been there. I’m not joking, all this stuff I had blamed on my children, it was like, Oh, I always had that vein. Even when I was twenty.