I am Not My Vagina

The Vagina Monologues is being performed on campus again (they seem to do this every semester), and so every day on my way to classes I am barraged by women standing in booths, yelling at me and my fellow classmates things like "love your vaginas" or "save the vaginas", referring to low self esteem and violence against women I presume. While I understand that the performance is meant to help women learn to love their bodies and to help them feel a sense of empowerment, I cannot help but feel ire towards these women. My intense feelings of frustration and anger towards their message can be best summarized in one phrase, stated so bluntly in the title of this post:

I am not my vagina.

No one is. To say that the one thing that identifies and unifies women is our genitalia is not only short sighted, but misogynistic as well. Yes, I just called the feminists in charge of The Vagina Monologues misogynists, and I feel I have a good reason. Not only are they completely ignoring the narratives of women without vaginas and the men who are born with them, but they are telling their audiences that the only real things that matter are what is between our legs. It is bad enough that society tries to define me by their rigid roles of gender, the last thing I need is for these alleged feminists to help them along. I may be lucky in that I identify as the gender I was assigned, but as any trans person could attest to, the presence of my vagina has little or nothing to do with my identification as a woman. Its presence may assist the cis-centric public in their supposed need to validate my chosen identity, but it has no sway in how I see myself. If I woke up tomorrow with a penis and a y chromosome, I would still see myself as a woman, and more importantly, I would still see myself as me. To claim that we as humans are so limited in our self expression that we have to tie all sense of identity to our genitalia is shameful, and I hope that no one feels that their gender is all that defines them.

To then argue that my vagina automatically gives me a shared commonality with all other vagina possessors is a fallacy of the most ghastly kind. I am more than my gender. While you may look at me and rightly assume my female status by my feminine attributes, those who care to know me can attest that I am so much more than that. I may be a vagina possessing woman, but I am also a bookworm. A crocheter. A sci fi fan. A thrift store bargain lover. An ice cream aficionado. An assault survivor. A vegetarian. A pirate supporter in the epic Pirate v Ninja debate. A Hindu. A viral video lover. A devourer of thai food. A believer of ghosts. A sudoku champion. A statue collector. A listener of blues and big band music. A blogger. A Californian. A foreign movie watcher. A webcomic reader. An occasional drinker of Southern Comfort. An environmentalist. A best friend. A realistic optimist. A pro-choicer. A smart blonde. A future teacher. A nerd. A reader of romance novels. And so much more.

None of these things require or in the slightest way involve my possession of a vagina. So please, people of The Vagina Monologues, stop assuming that my vagina is my one defining quality. I don't have to love my vagina to love who I am.

And for the record, my vagina does not sing, or wear hats, or feel emotions or speak or feel the need to be celebrated. It is not the Bermuda Triangle. It is not a flower. It is just a minor part of my body, and it will never be the one thing that defines me as who I am.

I am not my vagina