Thrown together for a reality TV show, the people (including a girl from Dublin) casting new light on the gender debate. . .
CAMBELL is a woman who used to be a man. Howie grew up wanting to be male, but is now a proud lesbian. Markus is a gay man who likes to wear make-up, which, he says, ‘confuses the hell out of everyone’.
Phoenix defines as 70 per cent female, while Saffron identifies as non-binary, so would rather not have any she/he tags attached at all, if you don’t mind.
Dan may dress like a boy on Monday, but a girl on Tuesday. Meanwhile, Romario thinks men should be men and the more macho the better — and Brooke was born a boy, but developed breasts as a teenager. Her friends now joke that she is ‘a woman with a little bit extra’. Bewildered? Well, you won’t be alone. The most startling thing about a new Channel 4 programme which brings together 11 young people, all of whom have different ‘gender identities’, is that even some of those involved seem befuddled about the brave new world they are living in.
‘Oh, I didn’t understand a lot of it,’ says Markus, who, with his eyeliner, looks as if he might know about these things. ‘I didn’t even know what gender fluid meant. I still find it all difficult, knowing what vocabulary to use. You can’t call Saffron “she” and I kept slipping up on that. Or “babe”, which I’d do, too. Of course it’s difficult. No matter how broad-minded you are, it is difficult.’
The series, Genderquake, which starts on Monday next week, could not be more timely. In the past decade there has been a seismic shift in the way society regards sex and gender — resulting, as sweeping social change often does, in a fair amount of confusion.
To many people, the idea of gender fluidity — that a person’s gender lies somewhere on a ‘spectrum’ rather than being one of two options — is baffling. But to a growing number, including some of those in the new TV series, even the terms ‘male’ and ‘female’ are outdated constructs.
Genderquake addresses the whole issue in a disarmingly simple way: the group of volunteers, who have been chosen for their varied stances on sex and gender, move into a house together and cameras film them over a month.
It’s a bit like Big Brother, minus the evictions. Life stories come tumbling out. Prejudices, entrenched views and rows duly ensue. Questions are asked that, in polite society, tend not to be asked. Not everyone will like the answers, either.
The oldest member of the group, Markus, is 32, while the youngest, Charlie, is 19, so we are talking about millennials here — most of them not short on opinions.
Four agreed to speak to the Mail about their experiences.
Filomena, 27 and from a small town outside Dublin, is perhaps the most traditional in outlook. A heterosexual woman, she admits she was nervous about signing up.
‘I didn’t know if I’d be the only straight one,’ she says. ‘I’d always thought of myself as quite openminded, but I was aware that I knew nothing about the world of gender fluidity.’
In fact, she inadvertently caused an upset on the very first night, as the group discussed what it is that makes a woman a woman. She offered what she thought was a non-controversial view. ‘I didn’t even think about it. I certainly didn’t think I was saying anything that anyone could take offence at. I said what made me a woman was that I had a womb.’
All hell promptly erupted. Those who identified as women, but didn’t necessarily have the traditional biological components, were offended. ‘I was almost attacked,’ Filomena admits. ‘I didn’t know I’d said anything wrong. It certainly wasn’t malicious. To me, it was like saying the grass was green.’
After a month in the company of people who have very different lives, however, she now feels — and talks — differently.
‘The other day I was talking to someone about the abortion debate, and this person used the phrase “pregnant woman”. I corrected her and said “pregnant person”. That would never have occurred to me before. Previously, I thought it was just a straightforward matter of biology, what made you a man or a woman. The whole experience has made ask, “Have I been wrong all this time?” ’
What changed her mind? Perhaps it’s best to let the housemates’ stories speak for themselves.
Take Charlie, 19, who works as a trainee hairdresser in Brighton. Born a boy (or ‘assigned male at birth’, to use the preferred language), she says she knew by the age of four that she was, as the cliche goes, trapped in the wrong body.
She points out, however, that she didn’t feel trapped at all. ‘I thought what I was feeling was normal. But I vividly remember washing my hair and having the towel drape down my back, fantasising about having long hair.’
She grew up borrowing her mum’s clothes and make-up. ‘People say, “How can a child know?” but I did. I didn’t understand it, though. I