Genderfluid Quotes

Do you prefer him or her? Either one's cool-I'm genderfluid.

People are complicated. And messy. Seems too convenient that we’d all fit inside some multiple-choice question.

So can I ask…?” I waved my hands vaguely. I didn’t have the words. “How it does work?” She smirked. “As long as you don’t ask me to represent every gender-fluid person for you, okay? I’m not an ambassador. I’m not a teacher or a poster child. I’m just”—she mimicked my hand-waving—“me. Trying to be me as best I can.

Not a boy or a girl, not any binary, rigid definition of a person. Just my everything.

Yes, she was an orphan, a sister, a pirate, a girl, and also a boy. But more importantly, she was a person who sought power to protect those she loved. Including herself. Or himself. Both were equally true to her. Neither told the whole story.

Understanding rustled through me, soft as leaves. It wasn’t quite the same, but I’d often felt I didn’t fit inside the boundaries of the word girl. It reminded me of a country I could happily visit, but the longer I stayed, the more I knew I couldn’t live there all the time. There were moments when I sorely wished to be free of the confines of this body, the expectations it seemed to carry.

I know that I’ve already said that God is a trans woman, so I think it’s worth clarifying: when God isn’t busy being a woman, she can also take the form of a gay man, trans dude, or butch lesbian. God’s genderfluid like that, praise be unto Her/Him/Them!

At some point during my research, I came across the term "gender fluid." Reading those words was a revelation. It was like someone tore a layer of gauze off the mirror, and I could see myself clearly for the first time. There was a name for what I was. It was a thing. Gender fluid. Sitting there in front of my computer--like I am right now--I knew I would never be the same. I could never go back to seeing it the old way; I could never go back to not knowing what I was. But did that glorious moment of revelation really change anything? I don't know. Sometimes, I don't think so. I may have a name for what I am now--but I'm just as confused and out of place as I was before. And if today is any indication, I'm still playing out that scene in the toy store--trying to pick the thing that will cause the least amount of drama. And not having much success.

Also, I kept thinking about Alex Fierro. You know, maybe just a little. Alex was a force of nature, like the snow thunder. She struck when she felt like it, depending on temperature differentials and storm patterns I couldn't possibly predict. She shook my foundations in a way that was powerful but also weirdly soft and constrained, veiled in blizzard. I couldn't assign any motives to her. She just did what she wanted. At least, that's how it felt to me.

But in fanfiction anything was fair game. If we could turn protagonists into vampires, bounty hunters, or elves, we could sure as heck turn them homosexual, bisexual, asexual or any ot he wonderful, beautiful in-betweens. Characters slid all over the rainbow. And through fanfiction I learned about identities like transgendered, genderfluid, and demisexual.

There were days I felt like a girl and days I felt like a boy, and those days wouldn't always correspond with the body I was in. I still believed everyone when they said I had to be one or the other. Nobody was telling me a different story, and I was too young to think for myself. I had yet to learn that when it came to gender, I was both and neither.

They burned down the market on the day Vivek Oji died.

My mother said the bizarre name Raccoona had surely been inspired, at least on a subliminal level, by the masks raccoons don't wear but simply have - the ones given them by nature..... [S]he pointed out that Le Guin had suspected all along that Raccoona and Tiptree were two authors that came from the same source, but in a letter to Alice she wrote that she preferred Tiptree to Raccoona: 'Raccoona, I think, has less control, thus less wit and power.' Le Guin, Mother said, had understood something deep. 'When you take on a male persona, something happens.' When I asked her what that was, she sat back in her chair, waved her arm, and smiled. 'You get to be the father.

When the two become the one And the inside outside, the outside in So that the male be not male nor the female female Then will you see me.

I walked into a hipster coffee shop and asked for a cup of 'gender fluid'. The cashier just pointed to the barista.

Cruz nodded. “In case you’re wondering, I have a dick.” That earned a sudden, single bark of laughter from Shade, which in turn raised a disturbing red-and-white smile from Cruz. “Is that a permanent condition?” Shade asked. Cruz shrugged. “I don’t have a short answer.” “Give me the long one. I’ll tell you if I get bored.” She flopped onto her bed. “Okay. Well . . . you know it’s all on a spectrum, right? I mean, there are people—most people—who are born either M or F and are perfectly fine with that. And some people are born with one body but a completely different mind, you know? They know from, like, toddler age that they are in the wrong body. Me, I’m . . . more kind of neither. Or both. Or something.” “You’re e), all of the above. You’re multiple choice, but on a true-false test.” That earned another blood-smeared grin from Cruz. “Can I use that line?” “I understand spectra, and I even get that sexuality and gender are different things,” Shade said, sitting up.

Even at such a tender age, I knew that life is lived in leftovers, account ledgers, and timetables rather than in the Platonic sphere of perfect theory. I couldn't float sylphlike around Love Hall in the flowing robes of indeterminacy for the rest of my life, however much I wished there to be no change. I had to accept my responsibilities and, at least in the eyes of the world and at least for the time being, nail my colors to a mast. Unless I wished to appear a strange wonder for the rest of time, caked in circus makeup covering the truth inches beneath, the mast would be male.

All over the world in many cultures you’ll find gender non-conforming people – those who are traditionally third gender or gender-fluid or even agender. In some of these cultures, they are not only recognized, but also revered and honored, or treated as spiritual beings. In Hawaii, one can find the mahu, those who are biologically male or female, but having a gender identity between or encompassing both masculine and feminine, and whose social role is sacred. Some Native American people are two-spirit, while South Asia has their third gender called the hijra. Other cultures recognizing a third gender are Nigeria (yan daudu) , Samoa (fa’afafine), Thailand (kathoey), Mexico (muxe), and Tonga (fakaleiti). In yet other cultures, it is socially acceptable that some third genders are those who were assigned male, but live and behave as feminine and those who were born assigned female but live and behave as masculine.

Ben shook his head. Sitting down he asked, “So, you are Marty, right?” He got an incredulous look in response along with a cautious, “Yeah.” “You look way different dressed like that and without any make up on and stuff. Like a pretty guy almost, no offense.” Marty widened her eyes incredulously. “Umm...I have a confession here I obviously need to make. We're in public, so don't you dare punch me, or try to jump me later. I got witnesses who'll be able to verify I was here with you and that you threatened me.” Ben's brows furrowed. “What? Why would I do that?” “Hello, my name is Marty.” Marty extended her hand across the table. “I'm a guy.

Can’t stand what the youth are allowed to become these days. Coddled babies, all of them, with no trace of skin, no toughness left. There’s something wrong about all of it. Something about the ever-present phone glow on their faces, or the too-fast way they tap their phones, their gender-fluid fashion choices, their hyper-PC gentle way of being while lacking all social graces and old-world manners and politeness.

I’m a boy, Tone. My body is a male body and that’s okay. It’s more than being femme, though. I’m a boy with a lot of feminine traits, both in how I feel from day to day and how I like to dress, to present myself. I’m a boy and a girl both, in different ways. Some people call it gender-fluid.

If I can be any gender I want to be, can I also be any race I want to be? Can I be a white guy today and a black woman tomorrow? Or is that racist?

And then I found out that gender can have fluidity , which is quite different from ambiguity. If ambiguity is a refusal to fall within a prescribed gender code, then fluidity is the refusal to remain one gender or another. Gender fluidity is the ability to freely and knowingly become one or many of a limitless number of genders, for any length of time, at any rate of change. Gender fluidity recognizes no borders or rules of gender.

Maybe it was because of Fang’s genderfluidity that compartmentalisation of her Vigilante self came so easily to her.

The ultimate purpose of the struggle for gender fluidity and equality ought to be to turn gender irrelevant in society, not to obsess over it for eternity.

A gender is like a language. You learn to speak one since the moment you’re born, so you never even notice its complexities, its weird rules and nonsensical exceptions. You don’t pay attention to how it works, you just use it every day. In every interaction. Even silently, in your head, when you’re alone. Everything is instinct. I imagine that being genderfluid is like learning a second language, or a third or a fourth or a fifth, and then speaking a hybrid pidgin version of all these different tongues, depending on which one has the best words to express how you feel.

In the spread of gender-identity ideology, developments in academia played a crucial role. This is not the place for an extended critique of the thinking that evolved on American campuses out of the 1960s French philosophy and literary criticism into gender studies, queer theory, critical race theory and the like. I will merely focus on what some have dubbed 'applied postmodernism' and the form of activism, known as 'social justice', that seeks to remake humanity along ideological lines. And I will lay out the key elements that have enable transsexuality, once understood as a rare anomaly, to be converted into an all-encompassing theory of sex and gender, and body and mind. Within applied postmodernism, objectivity is essentially impossible. Logic and reason are not ideals to be striven for, but attempts to shore up privilege. Language is taken to shape reality, not describe it. Oppression is brought into existence by discourse. Equality is no longer achieved by replacing unjust laws and practices with new ones that give everyone the chance to thrive, but by individuals defining their own identities, and 'troubling' or 'queering' the definitions of oppressed groups. A dualistic ideology can easily be accommodated within such a framework. Being a man or woman – or indeed non-binary or gender-fluid - becomes a matter of finding your own gender identity and revealing it to the world by the medium of preferred pronouns. It is a feeble form of dualism to be sure: the grandeur of Descartes' 'I think, therefore I am' replaced by 'they/them' on a pronoun badge.

The old Hoover Building had housed the Federal Bureau of Investigation before the Split, but the FBI was long gone. The People’s Bureau of Investigation now occupied that building and several others in the area, forming a huge complex dedicated to the dark work of internal security. The name “Hoover” had been scrubbed from the building and whitewashed from history when the People’s Republic had first arisen, but later came back when J. Edgar had been embraced as a pioneering example of resistance and the face of the toll oppression had taken upon gender-fluid individuals in the hateful old United States. His statue, in a flattering cocktail dress and a pair of strappy heels, graced the central foyer of the recently added annex.

masculinity is aromatic and may be derived from flattening or freshly-shaved haircut. it is sexy in the way that it touches and the way that it questions and the way that it challenges who can house it.

masculinity is double-jointed and vegetarian. masculinity is sleep-deprived and well-traveled and an immigrant and a soldier

if breasts were detachable, would you leave them behind

If the rise in gender dysphoria is due to social acceptance, where are the hordes of eager, newly identified trans, nonbinary, gender-fluid adults in their thirties, forties, fifties, sixties, and seventies? Why do we see only teens and young adults coming out with their friends after binging on social media?

Our ideas of gender and sex being opposites does not fit the overlapping complexity of gender or sex. Is a beach part of the land or the sea? It has aspects of both, and tides that flow between two states. Some genderfluid people experience something very similar and can only say with certainty where they are right now, knowing that tomorrow they may feel very differently.

I want to be as laid-back about gender as they are. But I'm not laid-back at all, thanks to Dad. I'm Ashley or I'm Asher and that's that. While I'm switching, for that week or so, everything feels gross and inside out and bass-ackward until I can settle into what I'm switching to. That 'identify as airport' thing Dad said was icky, but it also hit a nail on the head. I hate being in between. It's like when a lousy radio DJ doesn't know how to fade one song into another. That few seconds when both songs are playing but the beats aren't blending and you're like, Oh my god, go back to DJ school.

Hate to be the one to break this to you, nature boy, but hardly anything is real," I laugh. "Gender, the idea that there are two shores directly across from each other. The lake has a ton of hidden shores, but you don't know that if you're stuck standing on the land.

Agender Pride Day,” “International Asexuality Day,” “Bisexual Awareness Week,” “Genderfluid Visibility Week,” “Drag Day,” “Intersex Day of Remembrance,” “Non-Binary People’s Day,” “Trans Awareness Month,” “Pansexual & Panromantic Awareness Day,” and “Pride Month” all mark our calendars with cult celebrations.