Somehow I thought this super small earring could take away my masculinity

A few months ago, I was casually scrolling through my instagram feed when I came across a picture that Owen Patrick Joyner (an actor) posted. For a brief second, I thought I noticed a cartilage piercing, but it could have just been the lighting. From what it looked like, the piercing seemed cool, but was it really there? Were piercings all of a sudden cool? For the next ten minutes, I went through his other instagram pictures, looking for a sign of the piercing’s existence, but couldn’t find any hard evidence until my dear friend Doctor Google confirmed it. Owen had a piercing. And it looked cool. And I think I wanted one. But it was always something I thought wasn’t for me.

The idea of getting a piercing, however, lingered in my brain. Two weeks later I was walking through Berkeley with my partner, Savyon, and our friend, Max, when I casually asked “Do you think I would look good with a piercing?” signaling to the top part of my ear. Max immediately responded, “Yes. Let’s do it. I’ll get one now if you get one. Let’s do it today.” Spoiler alert: I didn’t get a piercing that day. I panicked! It was too much too fast, and I hadn’t gone through the emotional process of deciding that I would get it despite the less than favorable feedback I assumed I’d receive. So, I said not yet, but maybe soon. And sure enough, by the time Savyon and I had gotten home just a few hours later, I realized the piercing would happen one way or another, and I wished I had gotten it. Within seconds of vocalizing my disappointment in not spontaneously getting the piercing, Savyon had it planned, “Tomorrow. 11:30. We’re going.” It was settled - I was getting a piercing. But on which ear?

In those 16 hours before getting my piercing, I ended up discussing it with two different friends, asking both on which ear they thought the piercing looked better. Purely an aesthetic question. And both responded with some version of, “Well which ear is the ‘gay ear’?” As if that would be the deciding factor. The infamous “gay ear,” whose existence I discovered in middle school through my straight male friends and the queer representation in media. I thought by 2021 I had long left behind such a notion, but sure enough, here I was actually spending considerable time googling which ear was the “gay ear,” needing definitive proof before I committed to a piercing.

From my extensive internet searching, the overwhelming response can be summarized by the following virtual interaction:

“What does it mean if a guy has a piercing on his right ear?”

“It means he wanted an earring.”

Yes. Obviously. But still, which ear is it? I couldn’t help but minimize any similar response as merely a progressive person who believes the existence of the ear is stupid so better to deny its existence altogether. I needed a definitive answer because I couldn’t (and can’t) help but feel everything I do is analyzed and critiqued as a representation of my identity and my place within the group titled “men.”

At first, I was thinking about how a huge part of this socialization stems from internalized homophobia - that somehow my rights within the “men” group is tied to my expression of sexuality - which is probably why I can be consciously comfortable with my sexuality while feeling discomfort in things that would be stereotypically “gay.” Which is ironic because I’m pretty comfortable with not being straight. So why was I so nervous about what my ear would be signifying? Oh no, my ear piercing is hinting to the world exactly what I’ve been telling them anyway.

Probably because I, as a man, regardless of my sexuality, was socialized to think about how everything I do - how I act, what I wear, how I speak - is reflective of my manhood. We live in a society that wrongfully values masculinity over femininity which caused me to feel that any expression of femininity lowers my overall worth in society. But this messaging is also not always clear

A soccer player wears shorts too short to even be considered boxer-briefs, and it's hot. I wore them to a friend’s house in high school and they were showy, feminine. The same is true for Jewelry, hair, fashion. I look at male celebrities wearing bright blue tuxedoes with four necklaces and no shirt and society eats it up - they’re sex symbols. But for some reason, the only way I can retain my masculinity is to wear pre-approved outfits that range from blue to black to grey. Can’t be too fitted. Can’t have anything too bold. And though I am trying to unlearn this false construct that masculinity is inherently more valuable than femininity, and part of my journey is internalizing that expressing femininity doesn’t change my overall value, oftentimes there are moments that make that harder.

Sometimes it is blatant, but other times, it’s subtle. And not perpetuated only by men. Both of the friends who commented on the “gay ear” are bay area straight cis-women. Trying to discuss breaking down these stereotypes of masculinity is difficult - because even people who feel strongly about the effects the patriarchy has had on society inadvertently act in ways that perpetuate this hierarchy of men based on their “level” of masculinity. I have friends who want to date men in touch with their emotions, who are vulnerable, who don’t have this constant need to “provide” for a woman when the woman can provide for themselves. But these friends have also broken up with men who were quick to share emotions and cried during movies simply because they weren’t attracted to traits they labeled as feminine. And there’s nothing wrong with that, attraction is complicated and personal, but, also, to what extent is it a personal preference versus something that’s been trained over time? To what extent has society been trained to be attracted to a certain type of masculinity? As a man, I’ve struggled my entire life with conflicting messages from society. How can I be in touch with my emotions, be sensitive, wear clothing as a form of self expression, but in a “Manly Way'' [use lower voice and flex my arms here].

In 6th grade, I had this beautiful, silver, Jewish star with a nice silver chain. But by 8th grade, all I would wear was a chain, dog-tag style, with a platinum pendant. Sleek. Simple. “Manly.” And when I lost that necklace, I spent months looking for the exact same one again, because that one had been socially approved. God forbid I find something more feminine. What would I be telling the world?! For some reason, my brain believed it would mean announcing that I liked more feminine things, which, in the hierarchy of patriarchy, would (wrongfully) devalue me. And even to this day, I have never been able to get that out of my head. As much as I want to, I can’t get comfortable in a necklace.

And I have countless examples of moments where I was stuck overthinking the social ramifications of my self expression simply because they could have been perceived as less masculine: when I dyed my hair, when I wore some pants that were a little bit tighter (ok, they were much tighter), when I wore a shirt with color! Time and time again, I think of myself as finally being secure in who I am and comfortable with self expression, and then suddenly I’m faced with the realization that I’m not. Simply because I feel the world puts such a strong emphasis on interpreting what I do.

My friend Aliza once told me: people get anxious when things stray from the norm so they feel a need to assign a reason for this difference. It’s why everyone wearing a speedo growing up had to be European. Jews who had tattoos had to be non-religious. Guys who had platonic female friends had to be gay. For a group of guys, there always has to be a reason why someone does something different.

Which is why a celebrity and a friend are different. I remember the first time one of my close guy friends wore a pair of ripped jeans, I thought to myself, is this a thing that we do? Is this a thing that I can do? I looked around to see how other people were responding; letting this friend test the waters. Only once he had cleared the way, I felt comfortable enough to try it.

Upon reflection, it’s interesting that the celebrity that got me to consider an earring is a straight cis-male, but plays a gay character on a tv show. In his personal life, he talks about dating women, but receives questions about his sexuality that he never really responds to. His sexuality remains ambiguous. But then again, it’s not that interesting, because that’s kind of how I see my identity. Again, I needed to see someone “like me” to clear the way for me. But I wish I didn’t.

It’s impossible for me to ignore the role that my Jewish education had in drilling in me the existence of gender and gender roles. The Torah discussed very explicitly these concepts - difference in commandments for men and women, women’s involvement with purity, etc. But also, through the general value that states men shouldn’t do things that are women’s things I know that’s vague, so here’s an example: the Torah says men shouldn’t wear women’s garments or do anything to their bodies that women do to beautify themselves, such as put on makeup, or shave their bodies or pubic areas.

Firstly, this drills in me the concept that hairy bodies are masculine. And as a person who has never had hairy legs or arms (and legit didn’t have any leg hair until I was like 16), this felt like a dig at my masculinity - back when I believed masculinity could be defined and quantified based on other people’s valuation scales.

But secondly, it drills in that men and women are supposed to be different.

Not so fun fact: the concept of women shaving their armpits in the U.S. is thought of to have been strongly influenced by the fashion industry and razor companies for marketing purposes. Though, as is evident by the Jewish text, the concept of female hair removal has been around for a long time, many believe the modern era of hair removal can be traced to Harper Bazaar’s post in their 1914 magazine and ads from Gillette telling women to remove the “unsightly” and “objectionable” hair under their arms. At this point, I feel like so much of our definition of masculinity and femininity has just been influenced by people trying to make money and then been passed down from generation to generation as if it’s what “has always been done.” But I digress.

The point is, why is our society built around this concept of what men do and what women do, and what straight men do and what queer men do? Growing up, I had a couple My Little Ponies that I would play with. And then I would have my ponies start fighting my cars in a super power battle to the death. But, even then, I felt embarrassed for my friends to know about the ponies. (In retrospect, my ponies fighting my cars feels pretty onbrand for me).

I’m not here to argue the existence of gender. But I do think about gender characteristics that are most common. Maybe it is true that, in a total vacuum, removed from any influences in clothing stores, and tampon commercials, women are more likely to like the color pink than men. And maybe in a world where trucks aren’t advertised as signs of a man’s masculinity, men would still be more likely to play with toy cars than women. But that doesn’t mean that if I choose to like pink or if I choose to play with a barbie, that that should be wrong. But also, Savyon informed me that, for a while, pink was actually a color for boys as it is similar to red which, as the color of blood, was considered masculine. Only later did society shift us to think of pink as a girl’s color. It’s all just so ingrained, even in my writing I can’t figure out what is natural and what society has told me. (I would recommend looking up the history of pink and blue. It’s fascinating)

One of my cis-women straight friends texted me recently and asked me, point blank, do straight men wear nail polish. She had matched with a guy on hinge and saw a picture in which he was wearing nail polish. And she wasn’t sure if this is something she should be worried about. Which is why she had to ask me, as the apparent knower of all male sexuality. And on the back of my own extensive google search with regards to my ear, I simply responded, “Yes, straight men wear nail polish. It just means he wanted to wear nail polish.”

Nail polish is often seen as one of the most feminine things you could do, which has been hard for me. The first memory I had with nail polish is when I was in first grade, and I refused to cut my nails. My mom said if I didn’t, she would paint them. There’s a bit of nuance here because on the one hand, my mother was using painting my nails as a threat/punishment, but on the other, she didn’t care about the messaging of sending her son into school with painted nails. But regardless, my takeaway was that, as a boy, I shouldn’t want nail polish.

My family has this third grandmother, her name is Elsa. Elsa is a religious christian lady that may be the sweetest person in the world. Some of her political beliefs may lean a bit conservative, but that’s from growing up on a farm in upstate New York in the 1940’s. And when Ezra and I were younger, this religious christian, grew up on a farm, lady, would help us paint our nails, and put on makeup, just because she thought if that’s what you wanted to try, why not. But we never mentioned it to anyone outside of that house. Not even our parents. And I often think about how I wish more people were outwardly like Elsa (She was also the one who bought me the ponies).

It took me a long time to be able to wear that nail polish outside of Elsa’s home. I remember the first time, I was 25. Savyon painted my toenails and I went home for thanksgiving. Though my family rolled their eyes, they didn’t actually care. And so I realized cool, I can wear toenail polish if I want to. So I did the same thing with my finger nails, and then, too, I realized, cool, I can wear fingernail polish if I want to. And the cool part is that I don’t want to. Weirdly, it makes me feel like my fingers are sweating. But I have crossed the threshold of “can’t” to “not wanting to”.

There is such a difference between not wanting to, and feeling like you can’t. Even once you think that you can but don’t want to, how much is your subconscious telling you that you don’t want to simply because you were told you shouldn’t? Like, I say I didn't want an earring, but is that because I still felt like I shouldn’t because it could emasculate me, or because I actually didn’t want it? I will forever struggle parsing out what I want versus what society has deemed acceptable for me as a man. But I’m working to reframe how I view my decisions so the question of “can I do this as a man?” is no longer relevant. I’m going to try to wear the necklace if I want to, buy that ring if I want to, dye my hair again if I so choose. And though I encourage people to stop quantifying men’s worth based on their perceived level of masculinity, I’m going to work to feel comfortable expressing myself however I choose, even if it means I express some femininity, because truthfully, we’ll probably all be better for it.