WARNING: This video contains nudity from 2:35 - 3:05.

A performance that I did in my Theories of Representation class, done in front of 45ish people.

When I was born, they held me up and said “Congratulations, it's a girl!” and every day since then I've been learning what that diagnosis meant. My fantastic parents let me be whoever I wanted to be.
I took my Barbie dolls and my monster trucks and they all played together in the fantasy world I created in my head,
and that was okay.
I wore overalls and pants and skirts and dresses and running shoes and fancy shoes
and, really, whatever was comfortable that day,
I didn't really care all that much.
Regardless of the freedom of my youth
I was not safe from what was to come in the future.
Television ads, music lyrics, peer influences, and social pressures
all bombarded me with standards to which someone identified as “girl” was supposed to live.
I didn't like to wear dresses,
I didn't like to wear makeup,
and I really wasn't a fan of these overgrown glands protruding from my chest.
I didn't like how I was supposed to be pretty all the time,
because like hell am I pretty all the time.
I didn't like how I was told to show off what I had
when I really wasn't comfortable having it in the first place.
I wished, I wished so hard that I could re-write my own definition of “girl”,
one that was personal to me that didn't require any living up to.
It didn't require me to fit myself into a certain mould to be understood.
I could just be and not have to think about it too much.
Then, I met Andrew.
I didn't know he was there at first,
but when I started to learn more and more about him I realized he had been there the whole time, coaxing me over to the idea that I didn't have to be my diagnosis.
After living my life trying to unsuccessfully avoid all the standards attached to “girl”,
I started to think about my notions of “girl”.
Why do I think that girls wear dresses and make-up and look pretty all the time?
Why did I let these idea be the boss of me?
Why did I let them dictate my life?
I realized that this whole concept of gender was so overcomplicated.
Really, if you think about it, we're all the same.
Two eyes, two ears, a mouth, a nose, arms, legs, hands, feet, hair, feelings, beliefs, values, interests, blood, bones, veins, hearts.
And why, if I want to sometimes wear pants and have a beard and not have to deal with breasts make me a boy?
And why, when I wear dresses and makeup and low cut tops that show off my breasts does that make me a girl?
And why, when I wear this hat, does it make me not give a fuck about any of that?
When I wear this hat, I am Julia and I am Andrew.
But none of that really matters because I'm just me.
And that's all I ever need to be.

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