Gender Dysphoria and Zoom Have Too Much in Common
Tags: Identity, Queer, LGBTQ, Transgender, Digital Life

I’m a sophomore in college. I’ve lived, breathed, worked, slept, and cried Zoom since March — for the past ten months if you’re counting (but who wants to do that at this point?). I’m also trans. Hi. I’m Oak. They/he. Pleased to meet you. (Curtsies in queer.)

I’ve experienced a fair amount of gender dysphoria and gender anxiety. I’m one year removed from the closet as of last month, and I recently noticed a parallel in my quarantined, newly-home-from-college life.

Zoom and gender dysphoria leave me feeling equally shitty.

That may be the most 2020 sentence ever written, but bear with me. Now, I’m not sure if Zoom and gender dysphoria are the same thing (highly unlikely) or if they simply exacerbate the same problems (far more likely), but they are throwing the same self-conceited rocks at my mental health window.

I’ve got four brief points lined up to prove that Zoom and gender dysphoria are cut from the same pair of the devil’s cargo shorts.

Before diving in, Zoom refers to the video conferencing platform that has been shoved down most of our throats since the pandemic started. Most of what I say here can easily apply to other virtual meeting sites (Meet Now, Cisco WebEx, Google Hangouts, etc.). Gender dysphoria refers to the negative feelings that come from one’s assigned sex not lining up with their gender. Gender anxiety refers to any feelings of anxiousness that come from not being cis.

1. Preparing for Meetings

I pride myself on my fashion sense. It is the most easily accessible way for me to express my gender — and to make sure that I’m “passing” if I need to be. My aesthetic output is minimalist meets earth tones with a finishing coat of nerd. Think of the coolest queer English professor from your university. That’s what I strive for, afro included.

Am I sitting “appropriately” for the gendering I want to receive?

Without fail, I will always log into my private Zoom room a few minutes early to double-check my look before joining a meeting or class. Is my afro parted in a “masc enough” way? Are my name and pronouns updated? Is my binder showing? Am I sitting “appropriately” for the gendering I want to receive? Is my background clear (or full) of queer identifiers? Is my outfit going to out me in an unsafe virtual space? Is my voice ready to act deeper than it is?

Photo by Yogendra Singh on Unsplash

The amount of energy I spend scrutinizing and critiquing myself before logging onto a Zoom call is concerning, and it usually leads me to feel a bit dysphoric. Thankfully, there are fewer “red flags” now that I’m two months post top surgery and six months on T, but the gender dysphoria has subsided, not necessarily gone away for good.

2. Attending Meetings

Once I’ve joined the meeting, I’m greeted with the realization that I have to spend the next hour or so staring at myself and twenty other squares. I don’t know about you, but, when I’m out in the real world, I generally don’t hold up a mirror to check myself out mid-conversation. That Zoom feature weirds me out, but I’m not self-assured enough to turn off my self-view, so I’m stuck with it for now. Better the devil you know…

The person I saw was great, but she wasn’t me.

Being forced to stare at myself and to know that others are looking back at me (in a way that I was blissfully unaware of when the outside world existed) is intimidating. Looking at myself in the mirror wasn’t something I enjoyed for a long time. The person I saw was great, but she wasn’t me. Having that virtual mirror there for an hour straight is less daunting than it used to be, but it isn’t my favorite Zoom feature by any means.

3. Using the Chat

The Zoom chat stresses me out. Back when my in-person classes were allowed to take place, people could pass notes or text each other. I’ve known very few people who could successfully hide these acts. Nine times out of ten, the teacher would either intercept the note or confiscate the phone.

Zoom doesn’t work this way. Meeting-goers are free to message back and forth without any fear of punishment, especially now that hosts are blocked from viewing private chats.

I wouldn’t put it past some of the people in my classes to make tranny/attack helicopter/he-she jokes behind my back.

This may be based in my own insecurities, not necessarily in the potential for phobias, -ists, and -isms, but I’m concerned that people may be talking badly about me or others in the private chat. I know that I frequently exist in spaces where I’m the only person with my pronouns listed on the screen, the only Brown person, or the only out trans person, and I don’t always feel welcome. I wouldn’t put it past some of the people in my classes to make tranny/attack helicopter/he-she jokes behind my back. There is gender anxiety to be found here.

4. Overall Dysfunctionality

My gender dysphoria attacks out of the blue. It may come from the way I’m sitting, the way my pants hit my hips, the way I’m walking, my speaking cadence, my physical build, or it can come from an external source. Going out into the world as a trans or gender non-conforming person sends out an invitation for harassment, violence, and/or uncomfortable questions that none of us bought the stamps for. Living our lives can be unpredictable and will usually involve frequent moments of awkwardness and discomfort that none of us want.

Going out into the world as a trans or gender non-conforming person sends out an invitation for harassment, violence, and/or uncomfortable questions that none of us purchased the stamps for.

Photo by Barkhayot Juraev on Unsplash

Zoom works the same way. The lagging, the volume issues, the utter inability of the green square to do its job, the long time spent in waiting rooms, and people being booted from meetings. It all comes out of nowhere, and none of us (sane ones) asked to be in the middle of a pandemic relying on Zoom for everything from work to classes to basic human interaction.

Thankfully, we aren’t stuck with full-blown gender dysphoria the way we’re stuck with Zoom and its counterparts for the time being. This quarantine can be an opportunity to explore what sparks our gender euphoria. Whether that means ordering a few outfits, creating Pinterest boards full of inspiring LGBTQ+ figures, buying a pair of breast forms or a binder, joining virtual queer support groups, or something else, we have options to tackle one of these beasts.

And, if your virtual queer support group meets on Zoom, that is the essence of irony, and you deserve to have a good, hearty laugh about it.

Oak

December 2020