My friend Jill is sitting behind
me at a library table as the sun gets
closer to setting in the distance, just
past the lake, surrounded by a haze
of trees that serve as a reminder that
we are in the middle of nowhere.
We’re supposed to be reading
something for class, and I remark
that the author has continually
connected the idea of femininity
with the ability to give birth. That
is not how I’ve ever experienced
femininity, I tell Jill. When she
asks me how I have experienced
femininity, I’m forced to answer.
I came out as queer when I was
13. My friends were coming out
as trans at the same time. I have
thought about my gender just as
long as I knew I had a choice in the
matter. I knew gender identity was
fluid, I knew I didn’t have to choose,
and yet even now, when I fill out
my gender identity on a Google
form or have to write it on a name
tag, I always write, “she/her.” And
I always come back to the place
where I started: I am a girl. I am a
woman. I always will be.
But Jill doesn’t accept that
answer. She wants to know why I’m
so confident that I’m a woman. So I
gave it to her. I tell her it is a lot of
little things that accumulate into
one big thing.
My confidence in my femininity
comes from the feeling I get when
my nails are long and painted
pink, when I can drum them on
the countertops. It comes from the
way I feel when I’m dancing to The
Beatles or Halsey or Hozier. From
the way green looks against my olive
skin and the sultry way my breasts
move with my torso when I’m
walking, running, dancing, talking.
It comes from the way I feel when
my shoulders are slumped up to my
ears, and the way my hair tickles the
space between my shoulder blades
when I’m in a bikini, specifically my
favorite orange one.
It comes from my masculinity,
too, the way I look in muscle tank
tops and the way I feel when I flex
my arms, when I chest bump my
friends or when I got my wolf-cut.
From the way I look at other people
who identify as women and feel this
tug between our two hearts like a
string. From the way I stare at them
and think Wow, women are just so
beautiful.
I tell Jill most of this, and ask if
this is a good answer. She tells me
it is very poetic, and that I should
write that down. And so I do.
***
The above piece was a journal
entry I wrote in late August,
following
a
very
provocative
interaction that happened during
my time at the University of
Michigan
Biological
Station
(UMBS) — a University-operated
research and teaching facility,
located
in
Pellston,
northern
Michigan, available to all U-M
students and to researchers across
the country. I was taking an English
class out there, and as you can tell, I
fashioned myself quite the poet.
During my time at the Bio
Station, or Bug Camp, or “the
Station,” or UMBS, or whatever
you’d like to call it, I thought a lot
about femininity. A little bit because
of the environment and a little bit
because of texts we were reading —
specifically Robin Wall Kimmerer’s
“Braiding Sweetgrass,” a book
about science and native ways of
thinking that touches on ideas and
concepts of femininity. Primarily,
however, it was because femininity
was a central idea of my final
project, which examined how we
might expand both femininity and
gender expression at the station.
On the day I presented this
project, I stood in front of my peers
and professors and talked about how
the history of the Bio Station and
the culture that was subsequently
cultivated there created what I had
concluded through interviews and
qualitative research was a “male-
dominated” space.
This
was
strange,
because
the Bio Station, according to
unpublished
data
collected
by
UMBS researchers, featured more
and more women and gender-
nonconforming people on campus.
The data showed that since 2017,
most terms at UMBS have included
more women-identifying people
than men-identifying people on
campus, and since 2019 there
has been at least one gender-
nonconforming person on campus
per semester.
These
statistics
led
me
to
a very important question: If
demographics
were
changing,
why did the space still feel male
dominated?
A couple of things contributed
to this. First, the history of the
University site — at UMBS in
the ’40s and ’50s, there were two
distinct sections of camp whose
names are still used on campus
to refer to the various sections
of
campus:
“Ladysville”
and
“Mansville.” “Ladysville” consisted
of the cabins formally understood
to be the “women’s cabins,” and
“Mansville” referred to the former
“men’s cabins.” The two sections
stand on opposite sides of camp,
and while people of all genders now
occupy cabins beside each other, the
names persist.
I found the current dichotomy
problematic for two reasons: One,
it is wholly exclusive of those who
don’t fall into either category, and
two, Ladysville is significantly
smaller than Mansville. I also found
that in the earlier days of camp,
women generally did not occupy
faculty roles, primarily serving as
kitchen or cleaning staff. The only
woman on faculty in those early
days was the “Dean of Women,”
in charge of the affairs of female
students.
And then there were irrefutable
points that I found on campus while
I was staying there. The fact that
there was no building on UMBS’s
campus named after a woman or
a gender-nonconforming person,
at least not one that I could find.
Many were named after men. My
classroom specifically was named
“Hungerford” after a prominent
male scientist, which was the
similar case for other buildings
on campus, like “Creaser” and
“Nichols.”
Then there was the fact that
feminine hygiene products and
traditional
tools
of
feminine
expression, such as skirts, dresses,
make-up or other products, were
left off of the packing list that was
sent to me.
The crux of my final conclusion
was this: The station’s history, in
combination with lasting gender
norms, demonstrated to students
that
femininity
and
gender
expression don’t have a sizable
place on UMBS’s campus. Yet there
was still a dominating sense of
masculinity on campus, even if it
wasn’t statistically demonstrated.
A fellow Bio Station student
said in one of our classes that
demographic or cultural change
alone often doesn’t matter when a
space is trying to be more inclusive
of traditionally underrepresented
groups. Only when we combine
both demographic and cultural
reform can we create an inclusive,
welcoming
environment
for
those who have not found those
environments
everywhere.
By
identifying
moments
of
male
dominance,
the
UMBS
could
shift its culture, and create an
environment that communicates
that people of all gender identities
have a space on campus.
Staring out at a crystal blue lake,
underneath a cool gray sky, I smiled
as I finished my presentation with a
small but warm round of applause.
I felt good about myself. I felt like
I had made a real change, like the
people that were sitting in front
of me were hearing me, not just
listening.
And then I packed up all my
things from the station and went
home.
A week later it was Welcome
Week in Ann Arbor, and I was
sitting on a roof underneath a deep,
starry sky, and I got to thinking
about UMBS again. Multiple nights
while I was at camp, my roommate,
Sabrina, and I ventured outdoors
in our pajamas. Sometimes with
friends, often alone, we walked the
dirt roads that made up the camp,
sat by the lake and stared up at the
stars. I thought it was simply insane
just how dark the stars were out
there, in Pellston, and just how light
they were here, with all of the lights
from the many frat houses and
house parties bleeding out into the
darkness.
My love affair with white
coats began when I was a
teenager. I was obsessed with
medical dramas like “Grey’s
Anatomy” and “Untold Stories
of the E.R.” Although “Grey’s
Anatomy”
was
a
fictional
dream world of high-powered
careers and attractive doctors,
I couldn’t help but long for
the glamorous life of surgeons
portrayed on the screen. The
blue scrubs, driven women and
intense surgeries were enough
to make me consider medicine
as a career path.
At the time, I was a 17-year-
old soon-to-be college student,
grasping for anything that made
me feel like I had a concrete
plan for my future. So, in high
school,
I
accompanied
my
interest in the medical field
with a course load dominated by
STEM classes and the biological
sciences,
later
applying
to
schools as a pre-med major
to fulfill my younger dreams.
What I didn’t know then was
that my path into studying
medicine would be brought to
a halt; the COVID-19 pandemic
created a new kind of medical
drama that fractured dreams of
my own.
As cases grew and panic
rose, hospitals and medical
offices altered their practices of
standard care. I witnessed this
firsthand when working at the
front desk at a doctor’s office —
we used plexiglass to separate
ourselves from patients and
were required to wear masks
for the entirety of each shift,
which was typically not an
expectation
for
front
desk
personnel before March 2020.
While these protective barriers
may become unnecessary in the
future, masks are an essential
accessory in most healthcare
professions.
As a person who experiences
degenerative
hearing
loss,
masks eliminate one of my
most valuable tools: lip reading.
Although I managed to work
with patients as a receptionist
for three summers, I struggled
exponentially as my hearing
worsened over that time —
making
safe
communication
with
patients
in
my
last
months at the front desk nearly
impossible. I soon realized that
if I wished to pursue a career as
a doctor or surgeon, I needed to
sacrifice my familiar lifestyle.
In my professional future, I
would require accommodations,
like a personal sign language
translator,
to
allow
me
to
converse
with
patients
and
other professionals in hospital
settings. While inconvenient,
it’s not impossible. However, the
realization pushed me to adjust
my expectations of the future
and question my priorities as a
student. My dream of becoming
a doctor was in its final season
(unlike
the
never-ending
“Grey’s
Anatomy”
series),
creating a new academic reality
that is anything but isolated.
College
(in
the
most
philosophical and cliché sense)
is a journey of self-discovery and
individuality — a journey that is
subject to change that may or
may not be within one’s control.
Like most freshmen, I explored
a variety of subjects in the
first semester of my freshman
year: language, foreign studies,
writing, English literature and,
of course, biology.
The pre-med identity I once
envisioned for myself no longer
fit the person I was becoming
— the wide breadth of classes
I was taking provided that
much-needed affirmation. The
forever-changing reality of my
hearing loss was an element
of my life I had difficulty
accepting.
However, amid my budding
adulthood as a college student,
I’ve taken on the philosophy
that my hearing loss can be
part of me without becoming
the
defining
factor
of
my
personality.
Accepting
my
condition as an element of
my identity allowed me to
more deeply explore my long-
standing passion for writing
and literature.
Now, as a former pre-med
student turned English and
economics major, I have a
unique understanding of the
notorious,
indecisive
college
student.
In
my
personal
experience, my external and
internal identities are closely
intertwined with my preferred
major. My fondness for English
is undoubtedly a derivative of
my learning style — visual and
textual information rather than
auditory
presentation.
And
my willingness to learn about
economics likely stems from my
father’s professional interest in
finance. Yet, the two subjects
also cater to my personality
as someone who longs for a
creative outlet but also values
logic and reasoning.
And while it’s true that many
of us are in constant limbo when
facing career-related decisions,
some
undergraduates
have
continued to pursue the dreams
they
chose
for
themselves
as high school students. I
decided to search out these
undergraduates, to hear more
about how they clasped onto the
teenage ambitions I grew out of
years ago.
Business sophomore Dominic
Lucido described the childhood
experiences that led to him
pursuing
an
undergraduate
business degree.
“Growing up, I was always
around business,” Lucido said.
“My dad owns a small real estate
company, and my mom is in
advertising and sales. So, from
a young age, I was ingrained in
a business mentality, and I feel
like that’s what originally set
me on a path to the Ross School
of Business.”
When coming to campus,
Lucido
was
surrounded
by
other like-minded students. He
described how his expectations
and
professional
aspirations
soon aligned.
“Seeing my interest extend
beyond my own goals and
desires assured me that business
was the right path,” Lucido said.
“It would, one day, allow me to
make a positive impact, bigger
than myself.”
Though Lucido was secure in
his passion for business, he still
faced moments of doubt that
made him question his place
at the Business School, and
consequently, his identity as a
student.
“As a junior and senior in
high school, it feels like you’re
pigeonholed
into
narrowing
down one career path or major
early on,” Lucido explained.
“They want you to have it
all figured out before you’re
even there. I realized that
you can’t spend your whole
college experience with your
head down, worrying about
your grades and future. It’s
important to meet other people
and have new experiences.”
Engineering
sophomore
Susan
Xi,
a
biomedical
engineering
student
at
the
University of Michigan, has also
experienced moments within
her discipline that challenged
her
understanding
of
her
identity.
As a kid, Xi always enjoyed
her math and science classes.
From a young age, she knew she
wanted to study engineering,
along with other courses in
STEM subjects. As a freshman,
she was curious about the
different
career
possibilities
a degree from the school of
engineering could offer.
“Coming
into
college,
I
thought I was going to pursue a
Ph.D., staying within academia
and doing research,” Xi said.
“That’s what my parents did,
and what I always planned
to do. But after looking into
different
opportunities
and
clubs, I realized that there
was a lot of industry work out
there that would better suit my
interests.”
Once Xi learned more about
her
passions
and
alternate
career paths, she could see
herself potentially veering from
her original plans and exploring
other options within biomedical
engineering.
“I kind of want to look into
the business side of biomedical
engineering,” Xi said. “There
is a lot of start-up culture in
this industry, and I want to
learn a little more about that
… But in terms of my passions,
biology,
tissue
engineering
and regenerative medicine are
definitely my focus.”
***
From leaving home for the
first time to making it out of
freshman year alive, we’ve all
experienced different moments
of
assurance,
curiosity
and
doubt during this monumental
time
in
our
personal
and
professional
lives.
Changing
identities affect our passions,
and passion is essential to
understanding
our
evolving
identities.
I know my fellow “Grey’s
Anatomy” fans were pulling
their hair out each time Dr. Ben
Warren (Dr. Bailey’s husband)
changed
his
career
from
anesthesiologist
to
surgeon
to
firefighter.
But
there’s
something to be said about this
fictional character’s bravery. I
encourage each of us to be brave
in this life and honor the newest
versions of ourselves.
Statement Columnist Reese
Martin
can
be
reached
at
rkmartin@umich.edu.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
6 — Wednesday, September 21, 2022
S T A T E M E N T
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
RILEY HODDER
Statement Correspondent
Tales from the Biological Station: Femininity and gender
expression
A major mistake
REESE MARTIN
Statement Columnist
Design by Francie Ahrens
Design by Meghana Tummala