Advertisement
Advertisement
In Somali culture, hyper-masculinity is the most desired attribute in men. Femininity signifies softness, a lightness of touch: qualities which are aggressively pressed onto young girls and women. When a woman lacks (or repudiates) feminine traits it is considered an act of mild social resistance. This precept applies equally to men who are not overtly masculine, but the stakes are considerably amplified. If a Somali man is considered feminine he is deemed weak, helpless, pitiful: The underlying message being that femininity is inherently inferior to masculinity.Variants of this thinking extend across most cultures, belief systems, races, and sexualities: Western gay culture is as obsessed with exaggerated masculine traits as the patriarchs of Somali clans. Femininity is predominantly perceived as an unappealing quality, a canceling-out of hyper-valorized masculine traits, with effemiphobia reaching its natural end-point on the online gay dating circuit with the infamous "No fems" or "be straight-acting" tags that pop up on most profiles.Western gay culture is as obsessed with exaggerated masculine traits as the patriarchs of Somali clans.
Advertisement
Advertisement
The American writer Dan Savage—who co-created the "It Gets Better Campaign" to tackle the issue of suicides among gay teenagers who were being bullied because of their sexual orientation— put it succinctly: "It's often the effeminate boys and the masculine girls, the ones who violate gender norms and expectations, who get bullied."I certainly felt this way as I was growing up. I was constantly bullied at school for the fact that I was a distinctly feminine gay guy. It was only a decade later, after I had finished school and was living on my own, when I realized that there was a tremendous sense of beauty and pride in valuing my identity. I had cultivated this sense of pride by forging meaningful friendships and relationships with people who genuinely cared about me and appreciated me for who I was, as opposed to who I could be.I contemplated these issues as I toiled with carrying my dress to the photographer's studio. The outfit was heavier than I expected and I was sweating by the time I arrived. After I mopped myself down and gathered myself together, the makeup artist helped me get into the dress. As she laced my corset I thought how strange it was that I, an African man living in the 21st century, would willingly strap myself into the kind of constricting garments that European women had fought so hard to resist 100 years ago.I remained ambivalent until my makeup was done, until I glanced in the mirror and saw something I had never seen within myself before: a sense of poise and daring. I had, at last, morphed from a shy, timid young man into someone who was unafraid to take risks. I stood before the camera and gazed directly at the lens. There was no need for validation. The photographer didn't have to give me directions. I knew what I was doing. I struck confident pose after pose, proud of the fact that there was a hard-won sense of power in my femininity.Pick up Diriye's book of short stories on LGBT Somalians here.It was only a decade later, after I had finished school and was living on my own, when I realized there was a tremendous sense of beauty and pride in valuing my identity.