Or does being gay make you dye your hair?
In the years before the pandemic, I’ve pretty much had the same haircut, with the exception of a bob in tenth grade. During the pandemic, my hair did not stay past my shoulders for long. I’ve also dyed the underlayer four times, and I tried, albeit not successfully, a mullet.
Now, did changing my hair make me any more queer? Perhaps not. But expression of identity is most often seen through hair, clothing, and less normative aspects like piercings and tattoos. And I was sure as hell not going to continue walking the ol’ straight cis path if that wasn't who I was.
With the pandemic bringing stay-at-home orders and isolation, people around the world began reverting to hobbies they enjoyed in their childhood and adolescence and began experimenting with their appearance and identity. Something about the collective trauma that was caused by the pandemic made people explore different ways of thinking and being. Or at least, that’s how it seemed on social media, where everyone was dying their hair, revamping their wardrobe, and looking at the ways gender and sexuality created a person.
Behind this exploration was privilege: some people were likely comfortable financially and could change their hair and clothes. Others may have been affected by ADHD-related impulsive spending or would cope with trauma by using money or the act of changing an aspect of their self.
This exploration would always start on the Internet. In the AFK world, as Legacy Russell calls it in her book Glitch Feminism, people are bogged down by the eyes of the all-seeing white heteropatriarchy. People demand of the digital space safety for innovation and non-performance of gender. The idea of “glitch-as-error” could instead be used as a “call to action … breaking free of an understanding of gender as something stationary,” Russell asserts.
❝Welcome to the world of U. You may not be able to start over in the real world, but you can start over in the world of U.❞ — Belle (2022)
Glitch feminism challenges the binary, and functions to experiment with a spectrum of identities. There is no longer man or woman. Not even woman or nonbinary. Mare Leon refers to this in their article “I’m Leaving The Binary, But I’m Keeping Black Womanhood”: “I am still nonbinary even though I recognize, understand, and have shared experiences with Black women.”
The Internet was my education and a starting place for me to start anew. Memories of my dad saying, “Gay people just don’t exist in Vietnam” contradicted Tumblr blogposts and TikToks of sapphics in history and in modern day everywhere. (And my dad no longer thinks that way, thank God). It was a purposeful avoidance of conservative ideals, and a desire to support the innocent deviant that influenced my search and consumption of alternative thought.
[photo from CNN; Vietnam's first gay pride parade took place in Hanoi 2012]
There were a multitude of informative TikToks about pronouns, gender, and sex posted during the last two years, and it 100% changed my perspective on my identity and my gender expression. However, I was never in a group of like-minded and/or queer individuals, and it definitely shows in the parts of me that are muted and the parts that think twice before doing anything worth talking about.
I might’ve decided to change my preferred pronouns on Instagram and in my Zoom name, but in the AFK world, I hadn’t asked any of the people I knew to refer to me with they/them pronouns. I didn’t want to give them the choice of saying “she” or “they” and them choosing to say “she” every. damn. time.
I wonder what taking glitch feminism to the AFK world would look like for me. Having an intensive conversation about my pronouns without feeling gaslighted? Checking ‘Other’ on government forms and surveys? All I know is that the glitch could be a helpful tool if only I had the confidence to pursue it.