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Paechter, Carrie F.

Masculine femininities/feminine masculinities: power,

identities and gender

You may cite this version as: Paechter, Carrie F.. 2006. Masculine
femininities/feminine masculinities: power, identities and gender. Gender and
Education, 18(3), pp. 253-263. ISSN 09540253 [Article] : Goldsmiths
Research Online.

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Masculine femininities/feminine masculinities: power,

identities and gender

Carrie Paechter
Educational Studies
Goldsmiths College
London SE14 6NW UK
[email protected]

Paper published in Gender and Education 18 (3). pp. 253 263.

ISSN 09540253

Abstract

This paper is basically about terminology. In it I discuss the terms

‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ and how they relate to being male and being

female.

My theme arises from an increasing difficulty that I am finding in

understanding how individual identities relate to dominant constructions of

masculinity and femininity. Christine Skelton and Becky Francis (2002) argue

that we should not be afraid to name certain behaviours as masculine even

when they are performed by girls. After a discussion of the problems of

defining both ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’, and a consideration of the power

1
relations between these terms, I go on to consider the concept of ‘female

masculinity’ (Halberstam (1998). I argue that this formulation is problematic,

due to its dependence on a main term whose definition is unclear. Finally, I

argue that we need to distinguish ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ from

‘masculinities’ and ‘femininities’.

Introduction

This paper is about the terminology of gender and its implications. It is about

how the language we use for gender both seduces and restricts us; about how

we become caught in particular gender discourses that may have greater

seductive force than explanatory usefulness. It is about the effects of the

grammar of some of the phrases we use, and about the power relations

embedded in different constructions. To address these issues, I am going to

examine some specific configurations of words and ideas around masculinity

and femininity, maleness and femaleness, and consider whether they draw us

into discourses that are less than helpful both for our theoretical thinking and

for how people live and understand their lives.

To start with an anecdote: Recently I was asked to write a book chapter

on femininities in schooling. I have been writing a lot in the past few years

about masculinities and femininities, so being asked to do this is not

particularly surprising, nor was I puzzled about what I was being expected to

2
do. When we talk about ‘femininities in schooling’ what we mean, and take

each other to mean, is those ways of ‘doing girl’ (West & Zimmerman, 1987)

that are particularly related to or found in school contexts. So I have produced

an account that, after some caveats which basically confirm this underlying

assumption, discusses a range of ways in which girls construct and enact

collective femininity and their individual femininities. I have not discussed

feminine boys, although I (forthcoming b) and the people who commissioned

the chapter have separately argued (Skelton & Francis, 2002) that there are

some ways of doing boy that are undeniably feminine. So why do these not

count as femininities, or as forms of femininity?

In our everyday speech and in our writing we slide constantly between

uses and understandings of words such as masculinity, femininity, masculine,

feminine. Some of this is conscious; we know that these are slippery terms

and to some extent have to live with that. At other times I think we just

become seduced by the ‘obviousness’ of a particular term or its use in a

specific context, so that we fail to perceive the problems it brings in its wake.

In this paper, therefore, part of what I want to consider is whether it makes

sense to talk of ‘masculine femininities’ or ‘feminine masculinities’, and if not,

why not. I am also wondering what the status of ‘male’ and ‘female’ are in

relation to all this, and where the body fits in. Much of my discussion,

however, will be terminological, and some of it will focus quite precisely on

3
the grammar of the phrases we use, trying to unpick what they mean to us

and if they really have the explanatory power that they seem to promise.

Power, language and the problem of definitions

This problem of shifting definitions is exacerbated by our inability to define

either masculinity or femininity except in relation to each other and to men

and women. Connell (1995: 71) argues that

‘Masculinity’, to the extent that the term can be briefly

defined at all, is simultaneously a place in gender relations,

the practices through which men and women engage that

place in gender, and the effects of these practices in bodily

experiences, personality and culture.

What this means is that in practice masculinity becomes ‘what men and boys

do’, and femininity the Other of that. This would not be such a problem if we

actually had a clear picture of what men and boys do do, but we do not, and,

indeed, cannot; men and boys, and what they do, are many and varied

(Connell, 1995). Thorne (1993) notes that in the literature on boys there is a

‘”Big Man bias” akin to the skew in anthropological research that equates

male elites with men in general’ (98); this means that we end up attributing to

‘masculinity’ ways of being that are found in dominant male groups in

particular social circumstances. As a result of the increased awareness of this,

many theorists refer instead to ‘hegemonic’ or ‘dominant’ and ‘subordinated’

4
masculinities, recognising that in any social grouping there are a number of

masculinities, with intersecting power relations.

Connnell (1995) defines hegemonic masculinity as

The configuration of gender practice which embodies the

currently accepted answer to the problem of the legitimation

of patriarchy, which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the

dominant position of men and the subordination of women

(77)

While noting that ‘the number of men rigorously practicing the hegemonic

pattern in its entirety may be quite small’ (79), he argues for the salience of

these dominant forms of masculinity in providing a much wider group with a

‘patriarchal dividend’, in terms of the overall subordination of women.

Hegemonic masculinity thus confers considerable power, vis à vis women,

not just on the hegemonically masculine but on all men, while at the same

time standing as an ideal type against which various ways of ‘doing man’ can

be constructed and performed.

What this does not allow for, as Connell himself seems to admit at

some points in his argument, is ‘the usage in which we call some women

‘masculine’ and some men ‘feminine’, or some actions and attitudes

‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’, regardless of who displays them’ (69). This seems to

me to lead to a situation in which masculinity in general remains a somewhat

out of focus concept, but ‘hegemonic masculinity’ becomes some sort of ideal
5
typical construction of what men do that may not fit what is found

empirically, but does relate quite closely to collective ideas about men in any

particular society. Once we start also talking about ‘subordinated

masculinities’, we then seem to have a situation in which the various

masculinities have reverted to being ‘how men are empirically found to

behave’ but are then classified according to the closeness of their relationship

to a particular hegemonic masculinity.

We have a similar problem with femininity, but here the situation is

more complex. As I argued earlier, in ‘common sense’ sociology speak,

femininity or femininities are seen as ways of ‘doing girl or woman’, and can

thus be discovered empirically in any social group. At the same time, there is

an understanding of ‘femininity’ which in some ways parallels hegemonic

masculinity, but in others is more a mirror image of hypermasculinity:

emphasised femininity (Connell, 1987), or femininity as supergirly. Butler

(2004), for example, talks of drag queens who could ‘do femininity much

better than I ever could, ever wanted to, ever would…Femininity, which I

understood never to have belonged to me anyway, was clearly belonging

elsewhere’ (213). Here, ‘doing femininity well’ seems to mean enacting a

hyperfemininity that many women, possibly the majority, do not themselves

perform, at least much of the time. Indeed, it seems to denote a form of

dramaturgical, glamourised femininity that bears little relation to those

activities conventionally given over to women, such as cleaning houses, doing

6
laundry or caring for children. This is reflected in comments in the popular

media made by women whose lives are mainly focused around such tasks;

they complain that, partly because of the practical clothing required, they no

longer feel feminine. Hyperfemininity in this form is idle, or at least leisured,

operating outside the practicalities of the lives even of those women in

traditional heterosexual family relationships.

There is a key difference here between hegemonic masculinity and this

extreme, but still in some ways ideal typical, femininity. Even though there

are many ways of being male that are not what ‘Big Men’ do, there are still big

men to study, and much of what they do, often by virtue of their dominance,

constitutes hegemonic masculinity within a particular community. It is not

possible to discover the features of local parallel hegemonic femininities in the

same way, because there are not ‘Big Women’ in the same way; indeed, it is

arguable that, because of this, we cannot really talk of ‘hegemonic femininity’

at all (Connell, 1987). Femininities are not constructed in the ways

masculinities are; they do not confer cultural power, nor are they able to

guarantee patriarchy. They are, instead, constructed as a variety of negations

of the masculine, with the hyperfemininity exemplified by Butler’s drag

queens being one of the most extreme and overt examples of this.

This is because masculinity and femininity are not just constructed in

relation to each other; their relation is dualistic. A dualistic relation is one in

which the subordinate term is negated, rather than the two sides being in
7
equal balance. Femininity is, thus, defined as a lack, an absence of masculinity

(Kessler & McKenna, 1978). There can be no hegemonic femininity, because

being in a hegemonic position is also about being in a position of power; it is

about being able to construct the world for oneself and others so that one’s

power is unchallenged and taken (more or less) for granted as part of the

order of things. Hyperfemininity, on the other hand, is a powerless position,

one that is defined by the absence of the power inherent not just in hegemonic

masculinity, but, by virtue of the patriarchal dividend and the dualistic

construction of masculinity and femininity, all masculinities.

A result of this is that there are different power relations inherent in

how individuals relate to hegemonic masculinities and hyper or even

normative femininities. Distancing oneself from hegemonic or

hypermasculinity is about giving up power, symbolically, if not in practice.

Redman (1996) points out that ‘there is no self evident reason why boys and

men should want to give up any of the power that their social position

affords’ (170), and it is notable that is largely those men who have other

sources of hegemonic power, through their race and class positions, who are

able overtly to distance themselves from some hegemonic masculine forms

(though of course they still benefit from the patriarchal dividend).

This public renunciation of particular forms of masculine power is not,

therefore, a complete abandonment of dominance in interpersonal relations.

Such positioning, especially when set against wider power relations, may
8
indeed confer considerable advantage in interpersonal relations with women.

Connell (1995) recognises the complexities of this situation when he points

out that though the choice to separate from hegemonic masculinities ‘is likely

to be difficult’ (132), it can be enacted in remarkably hegemonic ways. He

says, for example, of one of his informants, who ‘gave up a successful career

and pressured lifestyle at the age of thirty’ (131), that his

renunciation of his masculine career was a highly masculine

act. Among other things, he did not tell his wife about it until

after he had bought their farm. Renunciation can be

conducted as an act of individual willpower, and this

presupposes the masculine ego that the act is intended to

deny. (132).

The manner of this renunciation transforms it into a symbolically powerful

repudiation of power. Giving up masculinity can thus be personally

empowering; maybe it is not so difficult or contradictory to ‘empower men to

disempower themselves’ (Redman, 1996).

Distancing oneself from stereotypical femininity, on the other hand, is

a claiming of power. Whether from a feminist standpoint, or through the

personal rejection of the feminine declared by tomboy girls (Reay, 2001) and

butch women (Halberstam, 1998), to oppose stereotypical or normalised

feminine positioning is to reject the disempowerment that comes with it. For

extreme tomboys, rejection of the feminine goes along with identification with
9
boys, with the adoption of a form of hegemonic masculinity and a claiming of

a share of male power through acting as an honorary boy. For butch women,

or at least for butch lesbians, the situation is possibly more complicated;

Butler (2004) points out that the butch community cannot really be seen as

antifeminine, as many butches ‘are deeply, if not fatally, attracted to the

feminine, and, in this sense, love the feminine’ (197). They do not want to be

it, however. It is also unclear what form of ‘the feminine’ Butler means here.

She is talking very specifically of desire, and of desire as constructing gender

binaries. This seems to exclude much of what is stereotypically considered to

be feminine. Such desire is surely of limited forms of femininity such as those

parodied and performed by drag queens. While much of dominant

masculinity positions the men who personify it as sexually desirable, its

opposite, the nurturing, home focused, childbearing woman, is outside of sex,

beyond the desire of both men and butch lesbians.

It is also the case that butch, like masculinity in males, requires the

feminine as its Other. Without femininity, masculinity makes no sense;

without the rejection of femininity, butch is simply another way of ‘doing

woman’; it loses its transgressive and oppositional quality. It is interesting

that both butch women (Lee, 2001) and extreme tomboys emphasise their

difference from other girls and women. As one of Reay’s (2001) respondents

remarks: ‘Girls are crap, all the girls in this class act all stupid and girlie’ (161);

she distinguishes herself from them through the repudiation of girlhood.

10
While this feeling of difference may reflect lived experience, it is also a power

claiming positioning that is reminiscent of the Othering of girls by young

boys attempting to dominate through identification with adult males and the

exclusion of females. The dualistic relation between masculinity and

femininity, whether claimed by males or females, positions both extreme and

normative femininity as without power, and, indeed, as pathological.

Halberstam (1998), for example, argues that ‘It seems to me that at least early

on in life, girls should avoid femininity’ (268 9), suggesting that they would

be much healthier if they embraced masculinity. Renouncing femininity thus

becomes an act of renouncing powerlessness, of claiming power for oneself.

Female masculinity

This brings us to a concept that is growing in frequency of use, that of ‘female

masculinity’, popularised in particular by Judith Halberstam’s book of that

name (Halberstam, 1998). While I entirely agree with both Butler and

Halberstam that ‘masculinity must not and cannot and should not reduce

down to the male body and its effects’ (Halberstam, 1998: 2), I have a number

of concerns specifically about this term, which I am now going to explore. I

am particularly interested in the grammar of ‘female masculinity’ as a

descriptive phrase, and in what it allows to slip into discourse unchallenged.

It seems to me that the term is not as unproblematic as it first appears, nor as

11
liberatory as Halberstam would have us believe, and that there are other,

rather more unwelcome, implications of its use.

Some of the difficulties I have with Halberstam’s work arise from her

very clear positioning within cultural studies. She explicitly rejects social

science methodology as a ‘project of surveying people and expecting to

squeeze truth from raw data’ (10). Where she does refer to work within social

science (Halberstam, 1999), it is to a limited range of survey based

psychological papers, not to that found in sociology, much of which, in

contrast, does not involve large scale surveys at all. Consequently, she has

been unable to benefit from the contested and problematic but nevertheless

sophisticated and insightful discussions that have taken place within

sociology within the past fifty years, around issues such as the relationship

between sex and gender and gender and embodiment. Halberstam talks

entirely about ‘gender’, doing this in a way in which slides between how an

individual understands him or herself and how he or she is perceived by

others. She focuses repeatedly on outward appearance, rather than the self

perception of the individual, treating gender as fundamentally about how one

is recognised by others, as opposed to who one experiences oneself, including

one’s embodied self, to be. For example, she asks, about women who are

challenged as potential impostors in women’s public lavatories,

So what gender are the hundreds of female born people who

are consistently not read as female in the women’s room?

12
 And because so many women clearly fail the women’s room

test, why have we not begun to count and name the genders

that are clearly emerging at this time? (27)

Halberstam argues that such unwelcome challenges occur both because ‘as a

society we are committed to maintaining a binary gender system’ (27) and

because the fluidity of the definitions of male and female allow for

considerable variation. While I agree with her about the first of these

explanations, it seems to me that the second is not the problem that

Halberstam wants to make of it. Indeed, the increasing breadth of what is

considered in Western society to be an acceptable performance of male or

female gender seems to me to be of general benefit; it makes the problematic

bathroom encounters such as Halberstam describes less, rather than more

likely, while broadening everyone’s possible behavioural repertoire.

Furthermore, Kessler and McKenna’s (1978) classic study suggests that ‘male’

and ‘female’ are examples of what is referred to in philosophy as a ‘cluster

concept’: one that is not amenable to straightforward definition but is

recognised through a cluster of attributes, some of which are more salient

than others, but which may not all be present. The gender binary, in

consequence, only operates at the level of the label. There are only two labels,

but what they denote will vary considerably between situations, and will

frequently overlap.

13
 There is also a long history within social science of treating gender as

something that is an internal understanding of oneself, a claimed identity,

rather than focused around how one is recognised by others. This both fits

empirical findings and the experiences of many for whom the relationship

between gender and embodiment is non straightforward. The Intersex Society

of North America, for example, is emphatic that intersex children should be

assigned a gender despite their sometimes ambiguous bodies, because ‘we are

trying to make the world a safe place for intersex kids, and we don’t think

labelling them with a gender category that in essence doesn’t exist would help

them.’(Intersex Society of North America, 1995 2005). While considering that

such assignments may be preliminary, and that surgery to construct genitals

‘appropriate’ to the label should not take place, they argue that gender is a

matter of the individual’s identity, not biology or others’ perceptions.

Similarly, Whittle (2000), a transsexual activist and academic, defines gender

identity as answering the question: ‘Am I a man or a woman or something

else entirely?’ (7). Gender is thus centrally concerned with who one considers

oneself to be, not how one appears to others.

This approach, which treats gender identity as something internal, that

only the individual can attest to (Kessler & McKenna, 1978), while

problematic in its separation of mind and body (Paechter, forthcoming b), is

useful in other ways. In particular, it provides something relatively solid and

unchanging onto which we can hang descriptors. Stoller (1968), one of the
14
earliest writers in this field, regarded the individual as being male or female,

with the degree of masculinity or femininity that a person ‘has’ being

variable. This view seems to have been shared by other writers up until about

the mid 1990s. A man could therefore be predominantly masculine,

predominantly feminine, or as was also suggested, androgynous (Bem, 1993),

with a more or less equal mixture. We might therefore talk of a masculine

woman or a feminine man, and here the woman or man is the main term,

with ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’ as the qualifier. What this qualifier might

denote is not always defined, and varies not just between writers but between

cultures, but it is a qualifier of something that is basically fixed, the person as

man or woman. In these discourses, therefore, maleness or femaleness,

however defined, has been that which is qualified by various degrees of

masculinity and femininity. This is important because, despite difficulties in

gender attribution, gender identity is something that we all seem to have. In

most cases it is also something fairly definite and constant over time (even for

those who change gender during their lives this is not a day to day or

situationally adjusted matter), and is related (in conformity or otherwise) to

our bodies and how we experience them. Consequently, while my sense of

how feminine I am, and the femininity or otherwise of my behaviour, change

according to time, place and circumstances, my sense of myself as female does

not.

15
 Halberstam’s (1998) formulation of ‘female masculinity’, however,

turns this on its head, treating ‘female’ as the qualifier and ‘masculinity’ as the

seemingly more solid noun. Halberstam is in many ways a persuasive writer,

able to use examples that ‘hook into’ the experiences of many masculine

women, with the result that this formulation has been accepted apparently

without examination. She herself writes that ‘there is something all too

obvious about the term “female masculinity”’ (Halberstam, 1998: xi), and it

seems to me that this ‘obviousness’ has meant that it has not really been

subjected to critical scrutiny. The key issue for me here is that instead of the

gender identity term, ‘male’ or ‘female’ being central, it is now what might be

called the ‘gender role’ term that is dominant, with identity as a qualifier. This

has a number of implications.

The first is that we move from comparatively solid ground to a space

which is constantly shifting. Most of us, even if we disagree about definitions,

and even if this knowledge is at odds with our outward appearance, know if

we are men or women (or something else). Thus to say someone is a

‘masculine woman’ is to qualify (in ways that may be up for discussion)

someone’s womanhood, something that is usually fairly solid and constant

over time. To change things round and talk instead of ‘female masculinity’

does something else entirely. For a start, there is only a broad agreement (if

that) about what masculinity is (Connell, 1995), particularly if, as Halberstam

overtly and correctly wishes, you decouple it from maleness. Now while it is
16
probably a good idea to think about what masculinity might be if it were not

simply taken as that behaviour generally attributed to males, to do this while

also treating it as a noun leaves us, it seems to me, hanging in the void; it

suggests that masculinity is something clear that we can grab onto and apply

qualifiers to, while simultaneously removing the basis of this supposed

clarity.

In configuring her object of enquiry as ‘female masculinity’ rather than

‘masculine femaleness’, Halberstam treats ‘masculinity’ as something fixed.

While at some points in her book she stresses the multiplicity of masculinities,

the use of the singular in the title suggests that there is only one female

masculinity, and the attributes she gives it are those which are usually

associated with dominant males. For example, she argues that

If masculinity were a kind of default category for children,

surely we would have more girls running around and playing

sports and experimenting with chemistry sets and building

things and fixing things and learning about finances and so

on. (269).

This is surely a list of things that are associated with ideal typical (and rather

middle class) Western male childhoods. At the same time the idea of

masculinity as a ‘default category’ has echoes of the schema that Kessler and

McKenna (1978) found empirically to underpin Western gender attributions:

See someone as female only when you cannot see them as male (158, italics in
17
original). Halberstam thus moves from a position in which she is attempting

to ‘make masculinity safe for women and girls’ (268) to which she promotes it

as the best thing for girls’ physical and mental health, against a portrait of

femininity as both uniform and highly problematic.

Using ‘masculinity’ as a noun suggest that there is a thing that is being

named, that masculinity is something definite. But masculinity, particularly

when disassociated from maleness, is rather more complex and shifting than

that. Despite her repeated assertions that female masculinity is somehow

different, more liberating, giving rise to possibilities outside of gender

boundaries, her descriptions of masculinity, male or female, are highly

stereotypical accounts of the sort of things that ‘Big Men’ are found to do.

Female masculinity, for Halberstam, seems only to be concerned with the

appropriation of dominant forms of masculinity; she does not seem to

consider that some women might identify positively with a range of

subordinate masculinities.

Furthermore, Halberstam herself seems to be unaware of the

grammatical and sociological implications of her preferred formulation, and

at times uses ‘female masculinity’ and ‘masculine women’ as if they refer to

the same thing. They do not, however, in important respects, and these

differences are central to how we understand ourselves and the sorts of

people we can be. A discourse in which ‘man’, ‘woman’, and, if an individual

wants it, ‘intersex’ (or something else entirely) is the noun, the solid term,
18
with ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’ as qualifiers, is one that allows for variety

and variation, over time, place, social circumstances, and biography. It allows

for girls and young women to behave in masculine ways, without having this

as their central defining quality. Similarly, boys and men can be and act as

feminine, without having to see femininity as central to their being. This is

surely a more flexible and equitable way for us to understand gender, one

which treats masculinities and femininities as truly multiple, and as ways of

‘being a man or woman, boy or girl’, rather than central to our whole

existence. It allows identity to be related to, among other things, masculinities

and femininities, but treats these only as aspects of identity, and does not

insist that it depends on them entirely, with one’s sense of oneself as male or

female as somehow secondary.

Conclusion

But if there is a masculinity at work in butch desire, that is, if

that is the name through which that desire comes to make

sense, then why shy away from the fact that there may be

ways that masculinity emerges in women, and that feminine

and masculine do not belong to differently sexed bodies?

Why shouldn’t it be that we are at an edge of sexual

difference for which the language of sexual difference might

not suffice, and that this follows, in a way, from an

19
 understanding of the body as constituted by, and

constituting, multiple forces? (Butler, 2004: 197 8)

It seems to me that two things result from this discussion. The first is, that we

are unlikely to be able to move away from having two main genders, in the

sense that each one of us knows whether we are male or female, or, less

frequently, something different or in between. The second, is that knowing

that someone is male or female says very little about how their masculinity or

femininity is constructed. While most, though not all, of us are men in male

bodies and women in female bodies, how we understand ourselves as

masculine and feminine varies according to time, place and circumstances.

In order to understand the implications of this we may have to

distinguish between ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ as ideal typical forms that

are connected with a local hegemonic masculinity and either its Other or

something that is related to it in a more equal way, and ‘masculinities’ and

‘femininities’ as actual ways that real people construct and understand

themselves in terms of how they ‘do’ boy/man or girl/woman (Paechter,

forthcoming a). This would mean that any individual’s personal set of

masculinities or femininities (assuming that we all have several at our

disposal) would consist of attributes that would have varying relationships to

masculinity or femininity as ideal types, and which would be related to

identity and embodiment in multiple ways. This would make it much harder

to classify ourselves and others into normative boxes. For example, I am not a
20
masculine woman, in as much as I do not perform an overtly masculine

bodily style or self presentation. However, the various femininities I construct

and enact in different circumstances all involve significant masculine

attributes (such as my combative style of argument) alongside more feminine

ones (such as my major role in the care of the children I have with my male

partner, and my interest in embroidery). These do not make me masculine or

feminine; they are part of what it is to be the person who is me, enacting and

constructing varying personal femininities in relation to times, places and

circumstances.

This approach may also help us to shift femininity from its position as

the negated Other of hegemonic masculinity, to break through the dualistic

relation and have a more equal construction. Once we understand that not all

masculinities are entirely masculine, or femininities feminine, we may be able

to think of ourselves as humans who construct our identities in various ways,

some of which are related to ideal typical forms of masculinity and

femininity, and some of which are not. Butler argues that

It seems to me that the future symbolic will be one in which

femininity has multiple possibilities, where it is…released

from the demand to be one thing, or to comply with a

singular norm, the norm devised for it by phallogocentric

means. (Butler, 2004: 196 7)

21
If Butler is correct, this will also be the case for masculinities, which equally

need to escape the dominance of a phallogocentric worldview. That said, it

seems likely that we would need to stick with the idea that for the most part

there will be two genders, as this seems to be deeply ingrained in most

societies. However, at the same time we would have to understand being

male or female (or something else entirely) as simply how an individual

classifies her or himself, and that this has little bearing on how that person

then proceeds to construct her or his femininity or masculinity. In doing this,

we will free ourselves, both as researchers and as individuals, from binary

conceptions of masculinity and femininity that constrain both what we can

think and who we can be.

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