At some point in many people’s working lives, they hold jobs at which they must wear a uniform. I’ve had several such jobs over the years. Technically, I had a “uniform” as a fire warden. but that was nothing more than a dress shirt with some patches on the shoulder and a name badge. If I had to wear it for some reason, I usually paired it with my best pair of Nomex® pants that didn’t have any fire damage. But the kind of uniform I’m talking about is the shirt and pants someone must wear to work at a fast food chain, a copy shop, a delivery company, etc. I had a uniform as a waiter. It was a tux shirt and black pants. I had three of each. They never quite fit properly and always managed to smell of food, no matter how many times I washed them. And I hated wearing them. But wearing the uniform was mandatory if I wanted to keep the job.
On Friday I had to run to the bank. I stopped at the gas station on my way home since one never knows when there will be another spike in prices. I looked over to see a young woman wearing a sundress struggling with the gas pump. I thought it odd that she had chosen to wear a sundress on a day that was cold, windy, and pouring cats and dogs. I was debating whether or not to offer to help and risk being accused of “mansplaining.” But then I drove past her and realized “she” was not a woman, but a guy with about two days’ growth of beard. I kept driving. You may call me a sexist or “phobe” if you wish, but I think that at the very least a man, no matter what he calls himself, should be able to pump his own gas. Women are also perfectly capable of pumping gas and, to be honest, gas pumps are not that hard to figure out.
What struck me was that he looked absolutely miserable. It may have had something to do with the fact that he was wearing a sundress during a downpour. Maybe the trans community should start holding seminars for all of these newly-minted women on how to dress for the weather. But more than that, he had the look of a man who knew that he was making a terrible mistake by wearing clothes that weren’t his and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. It looked like he just wanted to put on a pair of pants. But he had to wear the uniform.
During the last presidential election, my wife and I were in Salt Lake for the symphony. We went a little early to get a bite to eat and do some window shopping at places where we couldn’t afford to purchase anything. The Utah Democrat Party was holding its nominating convention that same day. As we were going down the escalator at a mall, we passed a boy in his teens. He was wearing a blue dress and holding a blue parasol. He had also covered his face in blue paint and had festooned his chest and waist with various stickers and buttons from the candidates. He looked like a walking Democrat mailer that had been designed by a four-year-old. We locked eyes for a moment. There was no way I could have missed him. I don’t know what expression I was wearing but he didn’t give me an angry or defiant look. If anything, he looked embarrassed. Almost as if he realized that he was going to have to walk around like that all day. We didn’t exchange any words, just glances.
It makes me wonder how many people in the trans movement or some other radical effort are there because they are true believers or because they are going along with the narrative to be socially acceptable. How many second thoughts are bouncing around inside of left-wing heads right now? How many people are wearing the dress or waving the flag simply because it is too dangerous not to do so? How many middle, high school, and college kids are changing their pronouns not because they want to, but because they think they have no other choice? How many parents are enthusiastically embracing the idea that their child needs to identify as a boy, girl, or non-binary cinderblock (block/blockself) while secretly dying on the inside?
Related: Megyn Kelly Has an Epiphany on ‘Preferred Pronouns’
Decades ago, as a kid, I was at the library, leafing through a book about the Second World War. I happened upon a photo of French citizens lining the avenues of occupied Paris as the Nazis paraded through the streets. They were all holding Nazi flags and they all looked broken, defeated, and humiliated. Not one looked even remotely happy to be there. But they had to wave the flag or pay the price. I have never been able to find that photo again but I think of it often these days. I wonder how many people are closeted cis folx but are afraid to admit it? Apparently, “straight” is on the way to becoming the new queer.
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