ME AND
BOBBI© by George
Wilkerson
When All Else Fails
Ed. Note: Bobbi/George is sharing an internal conversation with us, and in effect, outing herself to the world. We think you'll find her (and his) point of view interesting. [Bobbi/George is also the manager of Bobbi Jo's Trading Post , a shopping web site where TG sisters can trade or sell clothing and accessories.]
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Sometimes I don't realize she's there--not consciously, anyway--so I'm a bit
startled when she yells at me. I have to stop for a moment and reorient
myself. "What? What did you say?"
"I didn't say anything," she says.
"You thought and I thought with you. And I don't like what you were thinking."
I scan my memory, but it's empty. "I...I don't recall thinking anything."
"You laughed," she says, scornfully.
"Oh...you mean at the television."
"At the guy in the dress," she says.
"Uh...yes. Well..."
Bobbi |
"Sometimes you're a guy in a dress," she says. "Sometimes you're me. Am I funny?"
I shrug. "No...not to me. But maybe to someone else."
"Has anyone else ever laughed at me?"
I shake my head. "I don't think so," I say. "Not to our face, anyway."
"So why was it funny when Jack Lemmon did it, or Howard Stern, or Milton Berle...?"
She's making me think. I've reminded myself often that thinking just clogs up this whole thing. I shouldn't think about it, but...
"Well?"
"You're so impatient."
"I'm offended...and I want an explanation."
"I'm working on it."
Bobbi grabs the remote, turns off the television, and gets in my face now; literally. "I have an even better question. It's the same coin, the flip side. Why is it NOT funny when women dress as men? Why wasn't Yentl a
comedy?"
I sigh and lean back. "You know. this is the kind of conversation I'd rather not have," I say. "But I'll give it my best shot. Then you'll leave me alone, OK?"
She laughs. "I never leave you..." she says. "Especially alone."
"Yes...well, I suppose that's true." I try to grab the remote, but she pulls my hand back.
"Your best shot," she says. "You have my undivided attention."
"OK. Here's what I think. Do you remember what Jerry Seinfeld said in that Esquire interview where he states the ten rules of comedy?"
She shakes her head.
I have to snort and smirk at that. "Of course you do. How could I remember
something and you not remember it?"
"Humor me," she says.
George |
"OK...well, rule number 10 was: "If all else fails, put a guy in a dress."
"Because that always gets a laugh."
"Exactly. And I think it has to do with exaggeration. Comedy uses exaggeration to get laughs, like the clown's big feet. It's funny because it's out of proportion. And the same is true of a guy in a dress."
"But some guys..."
"Don't look like guys. They're NOT out of proportion. They look like women. And if that's the case, it's not funny. But when it's clearly a guy in a dress--broad shoulders, hairy, bowed legs, a mustache--then it's funny.
Milton Berle never tried to "pass." Neither did Jack Lemmon. Not really. Even when they were supposed to be trying, we knew they weren't making it, and we knew they didn't want to make it. They simply couldn't pull it
off, couldn't walk in heels, couldn't keep their bra on straight."
"And women...?"
"With women it goes the other way. If a woman puts on men's clothes and she's not trying to pass as a male, nothing gets exaggerated. If anything, it's the opposite. The clothing that's tailored for the broader features hangs on her and she retains her feminine form. So she's simply a girl in a guy's shirt or a man's suit. And if she's attractive, we haven't detracted from that."
"And if she's a lesbian?"
She can still be attractive. It's when a guy dresses as a girl and he's an attractive girl, that something entirely different happens."
"Like...?"
"Men are threatened by it. It challenges the straight male's notion that there's something inherently unattractive about another man. If he finds this man/woman attractive, then maybe....."
I can feel Bobbi backing off. "It's a double-standard," she says.
I nod. "Absolutely...and I'm not really sure it will ever equal out, at least not in our lifetime."
"So what should we do...or what CAN we do?" she asks. "If the obvious man in a dress is funny, should we be defensive? Or if the good looking woman is, in reality, a man in a dress, should we applaud it?"
I grab the remote back. "What we have here, my dear," I say as I restore the movie I was watching, " is what's called a conundrum."
Bobbi ponders the comment. "Ah...well," she says, as we lean back in each others arms, "at least we're practicing safe sex."
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