I was silent as this piece was discussed. My peers considered the dress and accompanying photographs thoughtfully, all the while debating what I was trying to say with it. Many ideas were thrown around.
"It's about the trials and tribulations of womanhood and her experiences with it." "No, I think she's discussing abuse." "Is it about a woman's sexuality, and the taboo surrounding it?" "But her neck is covered in ink, she must have considered that... I think it's about lasting trauma."
Soon the dialogue died down and they looked at me expectantly. I stood up.
"I was misgendered 32 times in the last ten minutes alone."
It's not an uncommon occurrence. I'm non-binary, I use neutral they/them pronouns, and I make that known. Every single person in that room had been aware of my gender. But, nonetheless, it tends to slip people's minds. To them, I look like I should be a girl, and so I am one, and they treat me as such. Cisnormativity is a powerful thing, after all. The dress symbolizes this. It weighs heavy on me, the assumptions drag me down, choke me, and suffocate me. Even after I take it off, the marks it leaves are still there.
This dress was created to make the viewer aware of their own assumptions of other people's genders and identities, and how their subsequent actions can be damaging- even if seemingly harmless.
