I’ve always thought it odd that trans* profiles and personal webpages constantly allude to their featured subject as being “classy.” While it’s an entirely abstract notion that doesn’t satisfy the least skeptical of us, it does accentuate and imply – thricefold- the presence of a silent majority who possess a shortage of this coveted trait. Are there really that many trans-folks who are not classy, that one can distinguish oneself from the pack merely with an unproven announcement? More importantly, does “classiness” really matter? I’ve always thought it was a neurosis belonging to the bourgeoisie who try to put as much distance as possible from that other abstract word: trashiness.

However you want to look at it, the only people who benefit are those of us who could care less about such concerns. To gain a full comprehension of the gesamkunstwerk that is the experience of living, one has to approach the subject from every possible angle, listen to every voice equally convinced that somewhere there is a diamond to be mined from the rough.

Here’s an example on the fluidity of labels: On Christmas, I offered to take friends to the other “bad” part of town where unregistered mini-trailers set up home. (The first bad part of town has its center at my address, since my driveway alone stirs within the sublime depths of branded pride an unmatched anxiety.) Despite my opinion that the decorative colored lights on these compact homes were quite adorable and charming, the offer was immediately met with a wince and shudder, followed by a resounding “No THANK YOU!” At the same time however, everyone would happily gallivant through the estate section of town to admire monotoned decorations that underwaged hired hands have been contracted to put up while the owners were out sipping latté at the local upscale mall.

My contention is this: It takes infinitely more drive to overcome the inertia of living in small modest quarters and get up to make the best of what one has. Such devil-may-care, joie de vivre certainly suits what I have long regarded as a trump card to class: style.

Everyone hides their prejudiced views like the plague, but taste consumers stomp around beating their chests, announcing proudly and triumphantly that they are, indeed, snobs. I never quite understood that. I remain entirely unimpressed by classy people and would assume that only dreadful bores who are so bankcrupt in imagination have to protest this much.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 15th, 2007 at 9:36 pm and is filed under Transgender. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.