Baseball & Unicorns
My childhood bedroom was covered with baseball. Baseball sheets, posters of baseball players, little league trophies (which were my brother’s, definitely not mine). My personal baseball career only lasted for a year, consisting mostly of cartwheels in the outfield or inspecting blades of grass. I was mainly an innocent bystander to my sports-obsessed twelve year old big brother. Don’t get me wrong, I was fine with the room design choices. I just covered my top bunk oasis with twenty five of my favorite stuffed animals and minded my own business.
Many of us don’t even realize it to its full extent, but our society latches onto gender the moment the baby’s genitals are announced. We then make sure the baby looks like a mini version of a stereotypical cis man or woman to make sure no one is confused. As written in “Beyond The Gender Binary,” activist, poet, and author Alok Vaid-Menon states, “we live in a society that presumes everyone as heterosexual and binary gendered before giving them a chance to come into themselves.” I’ll admit that society has evolved to support queer people and their journey more as they learn more about themselves and grow up, which is great progress. Unfortunately, that “journey” is the quest to unlearn those conditions set for us and find a more specific, genuine experience. So many people say we don’t want to smother kids with gender and sexuality, yet that’s exactly what we do already and have been doing for centuries. It’s just in the way that makes us comfortable and fits the narrative set up for us. It appeases our dire need to categorize humans in every way possible, from fashion trends to relationship dynamics to design.
For some reason, this industry seems obsessed with the gender binary. Maybe coming from a theater background where things tend to be much more fluid and progressive, I’m more sensitive to and aware of these ideas. But if you pay attention, you’ll notice that the gendering of inanimate objects, shapes, colors, and styles is truly everywhere. It’s in the design meeting where Rachel describes her husband’s “man cave” where Brett can watch the game with the guys and drink whiskey. It’s in yet another primary bathroom design with an extra vanity of white marble and gold accents solely meant for Rachel to do her makeup before her wine night with the girls. I get it. I’m guilty of it too. It makes it easy, keeps us comfortable, and aligns with everything we’ve been socialized to think. But in the last couple years, especially since working at a residential design firm made up of mainly upper class, blonde, straight, white women (which many of the contractors comedically mixed up), I can’t help but question it.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a little girl's room with rainbow wallpaper and a polka dot comforter. I’d be lying if I said her little brother’s truck-themed room with a racetrack rug wasn’t adorable (both of which were designed for an actual client). This isn’t to say each respective child didn’t love those choices, but I think it’s important to wonder why. And to ask why we would be uncomfortable swapping those designs between them. However gender inclusive we may think we are, we give meaning to everything for no reason and project “boy” versus “girl” onto children every day.
When I started at the design firm a couple of years ago, I wasn’t sure what the dress code was, as there was only one other man working there at the time and our styles didn’t exactly overlap. It felt like wearing something other than a collared shirt, dress pants, and a nice dress shoe would seem unprofessional. I was wary of the fact that my nose and ears were pierced. When I wanted to have my nails painted, I asked pretty much every coworker if they thought it would be an issue with the gal who paid my salary. But then it hit me. I had seen nose piercings and/or painted nails on almost all of my female coworkers. So why was there something in me that questioned it for myself just because I identify as a cis man?
At one point, our company started getting more themed merch, which was quite fun and festive. We were given water bottles with our names, cute throw blankets with our logo, and the next day, I walked in to see the ladies wearing adorable branded sherpa jackets. I went to grab mine from the bottom of the box, only to find two gray Under Armour quarter zips. Turned out the sherpa jackets were for the girls and the sporty jackets were for the “boys” (two adult men). It stumps me to this day how we were able to associate femininity with a fabric resembling a sheep.
As I develop my own brand and style, I make sure to be very intentional about the language I use, but of course it’s not always easy. Like I mentioned last week, I’ve been working on the Air Force pool room where I involved the magical Noir paint, incorporating dark leathers, rich woods, and moody colors. I include three words to describe the essence of the room on the mood board in every design presentation and, when putting that room together, I fought desperately to avoid the word “masculine.” But for some reason, I was struggling to avoid it. Looking for inspiration, I ultimately gave up and searched “masculine game room.” It annoyed me, but it worked. I found my inspiration photos. Why did we decide that leathers, metals, and dark woods were meant for men? What about women who love a moody design? More importantly, why are we excluding so many others from the conversation? I’ve heard through the grapevine that people of all genders like design.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been able to process this much more, both in design and in my overall experience as a queer human. I’m grateful to have a supportive and loving family who let me french braid my Barbie head’s hair and wear my sister’s Belle costume around the house, especially when so many queer people don’t have that luxury. But even so, an underlying feeling that my room still needed baseballs held on tight, even after my brother and I stopped sharing a room. The feeling that I can play with my sister’s American Girl Dolls, but nobody at St. Michael’s could know. That even when I eventually redecorated my room, I made it dog-themed, something more interesting to me but still safe and “gender neutral”. Even if I wanted a room to match my obsession with my Little Ponies, it would feel wrong. It would be a stress that a ten year old shouldn’t have to carry.
Shoving these design styles into made up and pointless categories limits us so deeply. These boxes restrict creativity, a frustrating predicament in such an artistic field. They invalidate so many experiences and exclude so many people, especially those who aren’t cis and/or straight. It made me flinch every time I heard a designer describe a style as masculine or feminine. It took everything to keep these reactions to myself. But there was a deep protectiveness over the sanctity of inclusion and creativity that is so often ignored and disrespected. There was something in me dying to defend the boy in the baseball room, cuddled in the cartoon car comforter, holding his toy unicorn.