"When did you become a girl?"

“So when did you become a girl?” He asked. Not, “when did you become a woman”. Not “you grew up a lot”. Not “you look great these days”. I played dumb, asking him what he meant, even though I knew. He astutely noted, “You have big boobs lol”. 

When did I become a girl? For him, a girl was defined as one with big boobs. I didn’t quite get what that meant for me when he knew me, back in my Sophomore year of high school, before my set came in. At that point was I androgynous? Boyish? Invisible? Apparently I wasn’t a girl, not until I had assets he thought were within his realm of sexual possibility. Thank goodness he took ample notice of my breasts! Otherwise, I may’ve never been a girl. Phew, I was really tired of having no concept of my gender identity until he re-entered my life. 

The conversation denigrated from there. He began to hit on me voraciously via text, and at the time I played along enough not to alienate him, but I set firm and clear lines (as casually as possible so his ego would not be hurt). He told me my chest was distracting. I told him that’s why I buttoned my shirt back up over my bikini at lunch, especially since I wasn’t trying to hook up with anyone. He said he never mentioned anything about trying to hook up with me. Whoops, my newly-acquired “girl” brain must have been confused. 

I acknowledged that it’s good to be clear about intentions and boundaries if there’s any uncertainty in the air – yes, this was before Robin Thicke expressed his wisdom and experience with blurred lines.

His response? “Idk if I completely believe you though”. I made clear, again, that I just wanted to get to know him because I like getting to know people. I didn’t tell him this aspect, but there was added, humanistic intrigue in connecting with someone whom I never actually befriended or knew in high school except in passing. He indicated that he understood. 

Later that week, we tried to hang out again. After a few hours and a few missed texts, he finally replied that he was “drunk and horny lol”. I replied that, in that case, it was a good thing I didn’t come over. He said, “You know you wanna hook up”. I reminded him that I was not after that and asked him, “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I just want to get to know you as a friend?”

“Because I’m hot”… Yes, that’s how it happened. I retorted, “And that’s the only reason I could possibly want to spend time with you?”

That ended the communication though there may have been a passive aggressive status update on his facebook page the next day about people being “Debbie downers” and trying to be psychologists. Maybe he was right. I sure am analyzing it years later, and here are the things that really blow my feminist mind. 

I’m astounded:

1)      That I am not even female until I have a sexuality that can please a man
2)      That my gender identity is determined by others – I might have mistakenly misidentified as a “false positive” years before I had boobs
3)      That once I am determined to be a girl by a man, that I must be magnetized to the raw sex-appeal of said man (even if I barely know him)
4)      That when I state my intentions clearly, multiple times, I am either playing a game (afterall, I am apparently a girl, and we do that kind of thing) or I don’t know what I want (because I couldn’t possibly not want him)
5)      That Robin Thicke did not consult with this man before writing his song, or worse 
6)      That maybe this pattern of thought and belief is only an exaggerated version of the norm

For the record, I have always been a girl. A better question is “When did you become a woman?”, and here’s my answer. I have considered myself a woman on multiple levels at different times in my life, but never so much as in this period in my life, wherein I am claiming my womanhood with pride and gratitude. I hope that continues to grow as I become more rooted in my identity as a woman and as an individual human being.