TRASH GENDER

Embodied Account

“Will (my partner) waits with me in the stairwell by the stage while the act before me is on. They assist me in taping the balloons to my chest, and taping together several accidental rips in my paper trousers. We are situated in the corner of the stairwell, between the garden, the lou, and the bar. Pub goers walk by us, looks of intrigue and comments like ‘ I do not know what this is, but I love it’ are tossed around. I am dressed from head to ankle in an outfit constructed of trash. Grey paper trousers, seemed with white thread down the outside of my legs, TransTape patches several rips made while attempting to tie my shoes independently. The TransTape that patches my garment together and binds my tits to my chest is patterned with a black and white print that mirrors an assemblance to tribal tattoos and lace. Keiran, my youngest sibling picked it out for us to share. A bright blue bin liner, sewn to hold the structure of a poncho covers my chest. I have 2 balloons taped to my already bound chest, one blue and the other pink. I wear elbow length red satin gloves. The only makeup I wear is silver eyeshadow that shades my upper and lower eyelids, connecting both sides via the bridge of my nose. The style resembles that eye mask of a superhero concealing his identity. 

I feel excited, and slightly detached. Like I know what is about to happen, yet I have no control over the happenings immediately before me. In this way I am committed and excited for the journey of the performance to sweep me up. The act before me finishes and Shepherd’s Bush starts to introduce me. She has no idea the chaos I am able to bring to the stage. I wave at her through the window that divides the stairwell and stage space. She motions for me to come out into the pub area. There are several people blocking my entrance from the stairwell. Will opens the door for me, and I bluntly say ‘please move so I can get through’. I step through the door and give the audience a cheeky wave, while peeking out from under the pink and white striped Oliver Bonas paper bag that covers my head and face. Both Shepherd’s and Will are there to help me carve out space for myself. The energy of the packed pub in front of me hits me like bright headlights on a dark and vacant country road. It’s much busier, rowdier than the last few events I’ve attended myself. A majority of the crowd is non-queer presenting. They are loud, in a way that both disrupts and shows genuine interest in the TRANS Day of Visibility Drag and Cabaret Show they’ve stumbled upon. I am bashful, but I play it up for show. 

My music starts. The big band burlesque music cues me into movement, into action. Time is suddenly quick and slow simultaneously. There is an urgency of all the eyes upon me, and the ridiculous act I have planned, but the passing moments feel like they are longer lasting than they possibly could be. The track shifts from big band to the ‘rip it’ scene from Diary of a Mad Black Woman where 2 angry women tear apart another’s closet as a medium for their rage. I take my satin gloved hands to the bag on my head, feeling the edges of it. I attempted to grab the top corners of the bag and rip it apart but my grip is compromised by the texture of my gloves. Instead my hands wrap around the opening of the bag around my neck, and pull it apart, ripping it into pieces and tossing it aside. The blue and green hood that covers my head and neck is revealed, my face is visible. I find the waistline of my paper trousers and rip them off in a single swing. Underneath I am wearing zebra print and pink boxer briefs that Will has lent me. I’ve sewn a denim pocket to the crotch. I continue to rip the trousers apart into smaller pieces, again the task made trickier by my satin compromised grip. I step forward towards the audience as I rip the paper apart, spreading the mess of my outer layer. The sound of Madea’s voice continues above me. I try to fill the space with the seemingly simple action of ripping. 

The burlesque music returns with several large swells. I take this as my cued to pick up right where I left off. I know the next object of my attention is to take off my gloves with 2 semi-choreographed moves stolen from classic burlesque. I feel rushed. I feel revealed already. Naked amongst a sea of tasks. I bite and pull on one finger at a time to gradually remove the glove from my hand. I toss the glove back. I take the other off, however I can’t remember how. Perhaps with my other hand? I know sloppily swung in around and to the stage behind me. And again. I immediately felt rushed in attention, not sure where to put my energy or focus. I am searching for distraction, and a dull sense of embarrassment becomes apparent to me. I dance around and eventually “Push It” takes over the sound space. I dance more, attempting to get in touch with the exhibitionist parts of my sexuality. The embarrassment sharpens. I tiptoed around. I push my balloon tits into a pillar on the side of the stage. Anyone and everyone around me is a blurr. I tip toe into the audience, and shake my balloon tits into the face and chest of an audience member. She shakes her tits back. I back away and reposition myself on the ‘stage’. In this place I ground my feet into the ground and take a deep breath as I wrap my arms tightly around my chest, squeezing the balloons. I go again, trying different angles and using my legs and weight to my advantage. The effort of this is delightful. I feel grounded in myself, finally confident in these short minutes of exposure. The effort and motion protects and threatens my tits at the same time. I am physically closed and hidden from view, positioned as fully in control of the representational balloons. I know that I will win against the balloons. I hear words and shouts of encouragement from the audience in front of me. ‘You can do it.’ ‘Keep Going’. As the music finishes, I know it’s time. I squeeze as before but emphasis my fingers to make each balloon pop, one at a time. There is a moment of relief, both in that I popped the balloons and that I finished the performance. I survived. I flex my arms in victory. I can’t help but smile. I am proud of myself. I look down at the mess before me, the limp rubber tapped to my chest and the remnants of my shell around me.”