Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity Through Body Work

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Lipstick tales Beauty and precarity in a southern Philippine boomtown Taqueban, E.M.

Publication date 2018 Document Version Other version License Other Link to publication

Citation for published version (APA): Taqueban, E. M. (2018). Lipstick tales: Beauty and precarity in a southern Philippine boomtown.

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Download date:05 Oct 2021 Chapter 3

Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work

True to her promise, Ellie introduces me to her les friends. One of them is Junie, who she grew up and went to school with. “We never became a ‘thing.’ We were not each other’s type,” she confides, laughing. Junie is 19 years old and a self-identified les (a term commonly used by young lesbians in the city to refer to themselves). Hanging out in the city’s newest mall, she tells me:

I don’t know why but there’s more and more young les in the city. Here you generally see two kinds of les, the hard and the soft. But every les is really different. Everyone is unique. We all have different ways and styles.

Although Junie uses the binary categories “soft” and “hard,” she also hints at the various gendered subjectivities and “styles” available to her peers. Junie is not the tomboy of Filipino lore, a cross-dressing masculine- bodied woman attracted to feminine women (Ofreneo 2003). For one, Junie does not embody masculinity. She often wears girl shorts and short skirts, styles her long hair, and wears lipstick. She has always “fashioned” herself this way, she tells me. Junie’s feminine body confronts dominant and traditional notions of being a tomboy in the Philippines.

Various studies on the cultural construction of the tomboy have focused on subjective experiences of the body. In her study set in west Sumatra, Blackwood (1998) argues that being tombois is not about acting like men, as masculinity is perceived to be deeply rooted in their bodies. Tombois are “female-bodied individuals who lay claim to the social category ‘man.’” Blackwood proposes that social meanings are learned and embodied (2009: 461). In Jolo in the southern Philippines, Johnson (2005) presents tombois as asserting that they are like men rather than being men. His informants “did not express any sense of being a man

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‘trapped in the wrong body’” (2005: 89). Luzatto and Gvion’s (2007) study in Israel similarly finds young lesbians following more flexible body codes, differentiating themselves from straight women and older generations of lesbians by “constructing a body that refuses to completely assimilate into a lesbian culture” (2007: 38).

In studying the lives of young les in Cagayan de Oro, their body practices—especially their use of cosmetics—serve as a reference for their “being in the world” (Heidegger 1962; Young 2005: 9). The inquiry begins with accounts of body work among young les—the products they use to achieve their desired “being-in-the-world.” I take inspiration from Wieringa and Blackwell (1999) that “just as there is no sexual desire outside of the cultural ontology that mediates between bodies and cultures, there is also no culture that is disembodied” (1999: 16). Alongside the focus on embodiment, the concept of mobility is central to the inquiry. Mobility is deployed here in several ways: one, to describe the movement of young les to the city, mainly to study and work; two, once in the city, their ability to access different flows and networks (Appadurai 1996); and three, their capacity to aspire to new futures. Mobility thus describes both spatiality and ability.

This chapter is based on focused ethnographic fieldwork conducted in Cagayan de Oro in 2015 and 2016 among self-identified lesbians aged 18 to 25. My data come from participant observation and semi-structured interviews as well as general observations and informal conversations. The young les who participated in this study come from lower and middle- income families. While most are students, some work to support their families. A few are “in between,” either out of school or waiting to work. Most migrated to the city from neighboring provinces, while some were born in the city and grew up there. Most are practicing Catholics; a few belong to other Christian denominations. Making the most of their referrals, many of my interlocutors were friends or were acquainted with each other.

Cities are central loci in the study of how spaces are gendered (McDowell 2009; Wilson 2001; Bondi and Rose 2003) and provide locations from which to inquire into gay and lesbian spaces and practices (Binnie 1997; Valentine 2003; Nash 2005, 2006). The prevailing view is that gays and lesbians do better in cities where there is more social and sexual diversity (Phillips et al. 2000). The modern city is often imagined as a staging ground for new worlds, new things, a site-precursor for changes in attitudes and providing latitude for unique identities. Cities

84 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work are informational centers (Castells 1989; Sassen 2005) that enable young people to access new commodities and ideas, which become part of their everyday and shape practice and culture (cf. Appadurai 1988; Whyte et al. 2002). Cities inspire a particular kind of “imagination” (Appadurai 1996)—the aspiration of achieving mobility and desired subjectivities— where “local” and “global” signals collide, mix and merge. More generally, I adopt Grewal and Kaplan’s (2001) understanding of “transnational relations in which power structures, asymmetries, and inequalities become the conditions of possibility” to study the “empowering practices of consumption and engagements with media and new technologies that create new subjects” (2001: 671).

English terms do not capture the ambivalence for gendered words in the Bisayan language spoken in Cagayan de Oro. The Bisayan term uyab, for example, refers to a person one is in a relationship with. While the term translates to either “girlfriend” or “boyfriend” in English, uyab has no reference to gender. Bisayan pronouns are also gender neutral: the pronouns siya, niya, iya, sila and nila do not translate to “she/he” or “her/ his” but more closely approximate “they” and “them.” Blackwood (2009) in her study of tombois in Indonesia uses “s/he” and “h/er” “as a way to disrupt the binary genders of the English language,” arguing that the use of the English pronoun that resembles the person’s gender identity “has the potential to reinsert transgressively gendered individuals into fixed identities” (2009: 479). My interlocutors had no particular preference for either of the English gendered pronouns. Manifestly masculine, Bas, MJ, Pen and Lee were surprised to be asked about their preferences, answering “S’ympre, ‘she’ ko” (Of course I’m a “she”). Conversing mostly in Bisayan, the appropriateness of gender referencing did not present any issues. Writing, on the other hand, presents this dilemma. Cautioned by Blackwood, I use the English pronouns indicated by each informant.

Navigating and making space

For many young les, coming to the city is a project of claiming opportunities. Pau and Cal, who describe themselves as “hard les, sometimes butch by others,” come from neighboring provinces. They moved to the city to attend the nautical school, both aspiring to work abroad as mariners: “You can’t easily find courses like ours in other provinces. Here in the city, there are around five schools to choose from.” Charlie, Jaime, Di and Chris, also self-ascribed hard les, are classmates in the criminology school. “We enrolled because we didn’t have to wear skirts!” they confide, laughing. With its three universities and various colleges, the city has a large student

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population. Courses such as nautical studies and criminology attract young people seeking to improve their prospects. Such courses are deemed masculine and attended mostly by male students. Charlie explains: “If you find any females, they’re usually like us, hard.”

The city’s booming service sector has also opened opportunities for young people. While the jobs are usually poorly paid and insecure, companies are willing to hire non-college graduates. “Usually, employers are okay to hire tomboys,” explains Dot, a waiter at a local restaurant. “It’s just a matter of finding a job that fits.” Dot has done the rounds: “I’ve worked as a service crew in a fast food chain, as a gas boy, a merchandiser, and a packer at the factory.” Many of the young les I spoke to are proud of their work ethic and see this as a particular “les ethic.” “We work hard,” attests Maru. “If anyone carries a case of beer, I can carry two.” “There’s a gasoline station and a hardware store here in the city that only hire les. A friend who works there says their amo (boss) value a les’ integrity,” adds Kas.

Many young les experience living in the city as liberation. Pen explained she had to escape from her family and small town life. She used to join beauty pageants in her town but now prefers to wear baggy shorts and basketball jerseys instead of the “sexy” clothes she wore during her pageant days. At 23, she found a job running a small bar. “My family is okay. But I just couldn’t be myself with them anymore. So, I left. I ended up working here. Maybe when I’ve saved enough I can go back to school.”

Kris, a 19 year-old college student, told me that she is out—visibly masculine—to her family and neighbors in her small town. But romantic relationships did not come easily. While it was no problem being visibly tomboy, it was difficult to be a lesbian. But the city—if one knows how to navigate its spaces—provides public spaces where she can be fully herself:

You’ll see how there’s just so many of us now. All shapes, sizes and fashions! It seems more people are used to seeing us and are fine with it. I don’t know with these younger les though, they’re all over the place brazen about their affections, they PDA (public display of affection) with their uyab.

Among the notable spaces in the city is the public park in front of the provincial capitol building, a favorite after school hang-out for teens. Afternoons are a lively affair, with vendors plying chips, soda and cigarettes. Young les, in their school uniforms of skirt and blouse paired

86 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work with sneakers, huddle in groups, their cropped hair a group identifier. Couples—hard and soft, or both soft—claim their private benches and engage in PDA, oblivious to passers-by. Mimi, a 19 year-old computer science major, prefers the park by the cathedral, also a popular hang-out:

It’s a dating place actually. It’s easier to ask permission from your parents when you say you’re going out to hear mass. And we really do hear mass, I have a lot to thank God for. Then after the mass we hang out around the park, we date.

But the city is not always friendly. Ram and Bas recount instances of outright aggression. Both have gotten into fights after being taunted by bugoys (hooligans) on the street. “They challenge us, calling us ‘fake men.’ One wanted to start a fight. He pushed me and called out, ‘tomboy!’ No way! I’m not going to back down from that.”

Kim and Mara, who have been together for two years, get sidelong glances and are sometimes the targets of snide remarks. Kim embodies “hard” while Mara is “soft.” “It’s obvious from their faces when they see Kim, uy she’s tomboy. They look at her then they start talking. They look at her differently like they’re seeing an alien.” Kim mostly ignores the stares and shrugs philosophically. She takes it as part of her daily grind to deal with “different types of people.” “It can’t be helped,” she tells me. “There are people like that. You’ll just waste good energy if you’re always in fight mode.”

Rey and Mina, who started off as friends and then became a couple, have learnt to deal with being in public: “You don’t have to act like you’re a couple. We know who we are to each other. We’re like best friends mostly. We don’t do overly sweety-sweety stuff. Nobody bothers us.” Rey and Mina are aware that particular behaviors—more than their presence and how they look—upset the regularity of public space. In navigating the local terrain, most young les would rather not transgress moralities head on. Pau tells me:

When I get married, I’d rather do it abroad. Things are the way they are here and that’s alright. Not everyone will understand. But I should also understand that. There’s also something good about that. We should respect it, how we are here is how we are here.

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Unlike in the national capital, where the gay rights movement is much more visible, Cagayan de Oro hosts few LGBT-oriented activities and even fewer associations. Young les have little to no involvement in the national movement, while most do not relate the term les to the LGBT movement. Concepts of sexual orientation and gender identity as defined in the west are unfamiliar.40 The notion of “transgender,” for example, is only commonly applied to homosexual males. “Transgender, that’s only for bayots” (male homosexuals), Pen tells me. While all of my interlocutors espouse “one love” and “anti-discrimination,” they are more concerned about their everyday lives and anxieties about the future—of being able to secure stable jobs and provide for their families—than same-sex civil and political rights. The legal system in the Philippines does not recognize gender diversity. While homosexual relationships and transgenderism are not illegal, there are no civil rights accorded to same-sex couples; the country’s constitution only recognizes a man and a woman as being able to constitute a valid marriage and family.41

According to Tan (1995a, 1998), the Filipino language has no equivalent term for “sexuality” or specific terms to capture categories of sexual orientation—not due to the absence of such phenomena, but due to continued social stigma (cf. Josef 1999). There is, for example, no Filipino term equivalent to “lesbian.” Instead, the English term “tomboy” is borrowed to refer to women who prefer male clothes, hairstyles and generally manifest masculine behavior, including women who are not necessarily attracted to other females ( Josef 1999; Tan 1998, Ofreneo 2003).42 Largely based on biology, the labels emphasize “inversion”— females taking on male and males taking on female mannerisms (Tan 1998).43 Josef ’s study (1999) on the sexual identities and self-images of Filipino “woman-loving women” traces incipient awareness of lesbian identity to sexual attraction to girls and cross-gender behavior or preference for male clothing. In Bisayan, the term lakin-on is used to capture the idea of masculine women, laki meaning male and the suffix -on meaning ish, as in boy-ish or man-ish. Young les neither use nor identify with this term.

Gender non-conforming individuals had a distinct place in Philippine precolonial history, not only recognized but sometimes also revered (Garcia 2008; Jocano 1966). Consider the figure of thebabaylan , a spiritual leader who wielded great influence as an animist shaman mediating between the physical and spiritual worlds (Abrera 2009). Thebabaylan could be either male or female and took on different gender characteristics. When the Spanish arrived in the sixteenth century, the babaylan’s gender non- conformity was regarded as disconcerting and out-of-place. Fearful of the

88 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work influence they wielded, thebabaylans were persecuted and their influence diminished.

Acceptance of gender diversity in the contemporary Philippines is at best partial. For Tan (1995b), the dominant understandings of homosexuality in the Philippines are those of sin and sickness—notions derived from the country’s colonial past, the former rooted in Spanish Roman Catholicism and the latter in the American biomedical model of illness. Nevertheless, Filipino families often refer to a “tomboy cousin” and/or a “gay uncle” in the family. A national survey in 1998 found 95% of Filipinos disapproving of homosexual relations (Dayag-Laylo and Montelibano 2000). A further survey in 2013 revealed a marked change with 73% of respondents (and 78% of respondents aged 18–29) indicating that homosexuality should be socially accepted (Pew Research Center 2013). In the 2002 Philippine Young Adults Fertility and Sexuality Survey of 19,000 young adults aged 15–27, more than half of respondents expressed “homosexual acceptance.” But only 13.5% approved of both the person and the sexual act, indicating support for people having the right to be the gender they wish, but disapproval of people having same sex relations (Cruz and Mallari 2007). While religious dogma in the Catholic-dominated country is against “homosexual perversions,” homosexuals and transgenders participate in Catholic mass and other religious activities—although such tolerance is increasingly contested by Protestant evangelical and fundamentalist groups. But in terms of local community practices, tacit gender plurality is usually observed.

While young les continue to use the old categories, they bestow on them new meanings. Although they use the distinction of “hard” and “soft” to sort themselves, the codes are changing. For instance, tomboy is regarded as outdated and pejorative. While they still use the term amongst themselves, it is generally seen as offensive when used by others. While tomboy is the term used by outsiders to describe and taunt lower- class “overacting” lesbians, the term les offers nuanced reclassification and flexibility. Pen explains: “The term ‘tomboy’ is tacky, ‘les’ has more class, it’s more modern.”

Kim, Ram and Bas have different ways of asserting their sometimes contested presence in the city. But ultimately, they stand their ground, as Ram tells me: “We don’t care. We’re not hurting anyone. We just do our thing.”

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Virtual spaces: clans and Facebook groups

Mobile phones afford my interlocutors access to a new expanse of virtual spaces. The mobile phone was a ubiquitous presence during interviews and conversations, a tool to show me their uyabs, the places they hang out, and the latest trends. “You should also talk to…” was often followed by quick taps on the phone to connect me via text or chat messaging with the next les I was to interview. “You’ll see, Maru is also chuy,” was followed by proof of Maru’s profile picture on Facebook. The internet is a fortuitous means for young lesbians, gays and bisexuals to create community (Bond et al. 2009). Compared to face-to-face encounters, cyberspace provides a safer space for exploring one’s sexuality, the possibility “to explore various persona as they engage with possible partners” (Ujano-Batangan 2012: 178).

Figure 29. Screenshot from Facebook, 9 February 2016

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Young people in the Philippines usually belong to a barkada or several barkadas. The term denotes a social peer group, one with a relatively egalitarian structure that affords its members opportunities to explore, experiment and interact (Ujano-Batangan 2012). Among young les, a recent barkada set-up is the “clan.” Clans begin as texting groups among friends, which quickly expand as they invite other young les to join. Members Maru and Tara inform me that clan rules must be strictly followed. “You have to reply to everyone,” explains Tara. “If you use bad language, they can kick you out.” Clan names such as Lesbian Extreme CdO or Les Only Friends serve as identifiers of membership. My informants explain that categories such as tomboy and femme are often used as signifiers of group composition, for example “Proud Tomboy of the Philippines,” “Philippines Lesbian and Femme Association,” and the inviting “Lezbefriends.”

Initially a status marker, mobile media use in the Philippines has become the “ideal medium for new, unpredictable, exploratory or virtual relationships…. Possibilities for fantasy flourish in these new spaces and interfaces of communication. They become sites for new and at times subversive subjectivities” (Pertierra et al. 2002: 12). “I got into the clan so I’d have someone to text with, meet friends, other les. Who knows, maybe true love,” explains Barbie with a laugh. Many of the young les I spoke with recall how most of their relationships began with a text. Pam met her girlfriend, Ali, through the text clan they both belong to. At first they texted through the group, and then directly with each other, until they finally met during an eyeball. With telecommunications companies offering unlimited data packages, many of the clans have migrated online, the most popular site being Facebook. Cheap, instantaneous and visual, Facebook groups have become the preferred “clan” space for young les.

Mobile media provide young les with a sense of belonging, intimacy and a claimed space, combining the safety of distance with constant connectivity and the prospect of real world intimacy. Because mobile media enable members to post photos and links to other images, it provides a visual medium, a co-presence as suggested by Hjorth and Hendry (2015) that “visualizes intimate communication” (2015: 2). The shift marks the importance of visual social media, that of being able to show oneself and to see others. Through profile photos and selfies, young les can display their looks, hairstyles, clothing and the latest trends while inviting responses from others. At its core is the anticipation to meet in person. Each les in a clan or a Facebook group is never truly alone.

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Social space: eyeballs, body shots and patak-patak

Chatting in Facebook and text messaging are precursors to “eyeballs”— social events where members of clans and groups, prospective friends and lovers, meet in person. Members take time to look good. One of the most important rules of clan membership is to never miss an eyeball. At the heart of the eyeball, Bas explains, “is the tagay. In fact, for many clans, tagay is their vision.” Tagay is a Filipino term that denotes the sociality of drinking. Tagay is practiced with all group members drinking from the same glass as it is passed around. Everyone has a turn taking a shot, usually of hard drinks such as rum or brandy. Bas recalls that such was the prevalence of drinking during clan eyeballs that there was once a les clan called Baranggay Tagay. Gabby is 24, currently out of work and waiting for a job abroad. She feels that tagay makes her less shy and more open: “That’s when all the fun stuff comes out. People are funnier. I don’t know about you, but alcohol helps when you want to air out a problem.” Cal enjoys drinking with her friends and considers it usual barkada fun: “It’s happiness! Right after an exam, when someone has a birthday, or when someone got broken up with. Promise, Empe (a brand of cheap brandy) makes it all better.” An important social aspect of tagay is patak-patak. Patak is a Bisayan word, meaning “a drop.” The group divides the cost of the tagay; everybody contributes or “drops” what they can afford. If one doesn’t have enough money, the rest of the barkada will patak more. What would otherwise be expensive and beyond the means of an individual becomes affordable throughpatak-patak .

The night scene is a les scene, Gabby informs me. Paul Willis (1990) argues that nightlife is pivotal in the construction of young peoples’ identities; for young les, nightlife is a space of leisure which at the same time entails serious business for cultivating friendships, belonging and self-definition. In her study of dance and rave clubs in Great Britain and the United States, Sarah Thornton (1995) notes that although “club cultures” have become global phenomena, they remain locally rooted, with each youth group creating their own club rites and practices, and enacting their own hierarchies where individuals develop strategies to gain “subcultural capital” (Thornton 1995: 163).

During the night, clubs, bars and “hang-outs” become important spaces for young les to converge. There are particular bars that young les go to, said to have good music, an easy ambiance and cheap drinks. Ellie tells me of a “special place” where she used to frequent. “It’s a must, you should go,” she informs me, “I’m friends with Pen, she runs the place.”

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Figure 30. Body shots during les night at Tiboom.

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Tiboom, the city’s first and only openly lesbian “bar cum club,” opened its doors two years ago. Boom, the owner, then in her third year of studying hotel and restaurant management, thought it a good idea “since we’re always going to bars and drinking anyway. I thought we better open a place of our own.” Pen helps Boom and her girlfriend, Maiya, run the place. Pen first met Boom while hanging out at the bar. Finding out Pen needed work and a place to stay, Boom offered Pen to help her run the bar. Popular among young les in the city, the bar is especially crowded on Fridays and Saturdays. “We used to let men in. But now, we keep Fridays and Saturdays strictly for les only. ‘Les night’ we call it.” Running the bar has been mostly fun, she says, but it hasn’t been without conflict. “I’ve been called to the barangay (community hall) for a number of complaints. They say it’s the noise. But there are other bars that are loud too, even louder.” To offset her troubles, she recounts the positive things other les have told her.

I’ve had other les from out of town, one came all the way from Zamboanga [a province further south in Mindanao] telling me how great it was to be in a lesbian bar. They really appreciate it! To liven things up on Fridays and Saturdays, we have games and body shots!

“It’s fun and sexy!” Pen tells me, explaining that while there are other bars that young les go to, Tiboom is usually packed. “You know everyone is a les here. Everyone knows the rules.” Junie opines: “Les drink more. It’s the pagka-laki” (masculinity).

You drink with friends, never alone. Where’s the fun in that? A lot of les talk about their problems, coming out to their families and being dumped by uyab during tagay. I don’t know if it’s just among les or if it’s normal for everyone. But we do drink a lot!

Among the young les I spoke to, only one thought she had a drinking problem. But most had experienced being hubog (drunk) and wasak (wasted). Drinking and being hubog or wasak were not regarded as specific to being les so much as being young and care-free. “Everybody drinks!” Boom tells me. Everyone had a story of having drunk too much leading to “hazardous situations.” Ram recounted a fight with her girlfriend:

We were both drunk and it got out of hand. I don’t know what we fought about. I think I was jealous. She was always going

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out with her friends. In the heat of the fight, she got a small knife and cut me. We were taken to the barangay to settle it.

Boom recounts fights breaking out at the bar: “When people are drunk everyone becomes astig (tough). Tomboys become abrasive. If you accidentally bump into someone or if they think you’re looking at them funny, a fight can start.”

One of our patak-patak sessions provides a snapshot of how alcohol affords an environment that enables and encourages socialization. In attendance that night were Pen and her girlfriend, Yvette, Ellie, Ellie’s boyfriend Gary, Ellie’s sister Pam and her les partner, Len. By the time Gary arrived, everyone was, as Gabby put it, tipsy-happy. “Tonight is an exemption, even if it’s Les Night, Gary can join,” Pen tells everyone at the table. Over the course of the night, Gabby tells me she has fallen in love with Ellie and does not know what to do. I was still trying to digest this, remembering how Gabby on another occasion had shared how she was still pining for her ex-girlfriend who, while Gabby was working abroad, had left her for another girl. Pen then turns to me to say, “That’s les love life for you. Sawi (tragic)!” Offering a shot glass filled with brandy, she turns to Gabby and declares: “Let’s toast to the lonely hearts club!”

Figure 31. Full house at Tiboom, 20 July 2015.

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Alcohol serves as a lubricant that facilitates bonding and intimate relationships within youth les social networks. The practices of tagay and patak-patak increase the sociality of drinking. “Drinking is normal,” says Pau, “You learn to do it young.” Many young Filipinos indeed start drinking in high school. Miles grew up with members of her family drinking alcohol: “It was normal to drink during family parties. Mostly the men, like my father. Here in Cagayan de Oro, I see a lot of young people drinking, not just les. The bars are always full on weekends.”

That’s My Tomboy, Flower Boys, The Rich Man’s Daughter

The city offers mobile young les numerous opportunities to work, study, and socialize—to experience new modes of sociality and intimacy. Mediating their interactions are the products they consume to shape how they want to look and be in the world. Young les shape and enhance themselves to embody a particular look, making the body at once the self and the mediator in the interaction with other social bodies. Here we can conceive of the body as both a narrative of identity and as symbolic of social relations.

Finkelstein (1997: 154) proposes that fashion can be both liberating and constraining. Much the same can be said about body work among young les. “There is no one les look these days. I’m les but I don’t like male fashion. Some of my hard les friends mix their look,” Gabby explains. Chris ascribes to being a hard les and likes to wear, along with her jeans, tight t-shirts that emphasize her curves. Pen, who has a collection of pastel colored shorts supposed to be for men, observes:

Some men’s clothing could pass for girls’ too. The colors are girly and the cut is tight…. You can’t easily tell by the way people wear clothes or their hair and make-up if they are les or not. A lot of straight girls also like to wear our style. Some les look like girls. Some look weird. What’s important is that you’re angayan and chuy.

Simmel (1971[1904]) has called attention to the duality of fashion, both as a means to signify belonging and distancing from a given group. In cities where individuals become anonymous in the crowd, fashion is a marker of one’s identification with a group, just as it can also be a means to play with ambiguity and uniqueness. While the figure of the tomboy remains conspicuous in the city, young les are shifting away from the anti- feminine look and embracing body work that combines the masculine and

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Figure 32. Poster advertising concert by Charice Pempengco and Aiza Seguerra. Aiza became popular as a child actor after joining a noon-time show’s Little Miss Philippines contest. Charice was a teen YouTube celebrity who became internationally known. In an interview with Oprah, she detailed her struggles of coming out. Screenshot from https://atmmagazine.wordpress.com/2013/09/22/the-power-of-two-the-unbreakable- tour-features-unbeatable-duos/ (retrieved July 2014).

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feminine in what “fits” or is “becoming” angayan( ) as an individual style. Their body work is increasingly geared not (just) to assert a particular gendered identity, but also to be fashionable, trendy and attractive.

Urban youth are bombarded by media messages that promote consumption and the creation of new subjectivities (Nilan and Feixa 2006; Tranberg Hansen 2008). My interlocutors explain that consuming media gives them fresh ideas on who and what is chuy, and how to be chuy themselves. High on their list are local pop lesbian artists, Korean male pop stars, That’s My Tomboy (a noon-time variety show segment) and The Rich Man’s Daughter, a television drama series.

The concept ofchuy is important for understanding body work and aspired embodiment among young les. The term chuy (also choi) is a Bisayan expression commonly used by youth to refer to something “cool.” Someone’s fashion sense can be chuy, a hairstyle can be chuy, make-up and nail polish can be chuy. Body work is important for achieving chuy. Chuy is embodied and a marker of attractiveness. Chuy requires diachronic observance. What is considered chuy is dynamic—it is about being contemporary, modern and in step with new styles.

MJ, Jaime and Di mention international comedian Ellen de Generes and local artists Aizza Seguerra and Charice Pempengco as inspirations for how they want to look. Aizza Seguerra was a child star in the local movie industry before coming out as a lesbian and embarking on a successful singing career. Charice Pempengco, another Filipino singer, became popular internationally as a female pop artist. Like Aizza, she too came out as a lesbian later in her career, trading her popstar dresses for more masculine fashion. They are mentioned not only as fashion icons, but as life models. Yan confides: “It helped when they came out as les. I think a lot of les became inspired to come out as well. I mean that’s Charice and Aizza, they’re really popular. Aizza married her uyab too.”

In 2013, the local television network ABS-CBN launched That’s My Tomboy, a segment in its noon-time variety show. While ostensibly advocating for “LGBT recognition,”44 the segment takes after traditional beauty pageants. The contest combines personality and talent competitions with awards for “Best in T-Boom Smile,” “Best in T-Boom Style” and “Trending T-Boom Award.” Widely followed by young les, contestants in That’s My Tomboy are judged based on their “pogi points” (handsome points). CJ, a 19 year-old college student, explains: “They’re really chuy. Mga gwapo (they’re handsome). Nobody laughs at them like

98 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work people do in Miss Gay pageants.” Gay pageants are popular during town fiestas and commonly feature transgender women. While productions are becoming more sophisticated, they are still framed as carnival, as comical entertainment. Young les are quick to point out that That’s My Tomboy is more “dignified” and more “authentic.” “Look at how they look. The tomboys aregwapo while the bayots (gay men) look funny,” CJ tells me. Contestants in That’s My Tomboy embody the traditional tomboy construct—short-haired, masculine, cross-dressing. Unlike their older predecessors, they assume fashionably masculine personas, with their hair styled, wearing light make-up and dressed in the latest masculine chic.

In 2015, the competing local television network GMA launched the drama series The Rich Man’s Daughter. The series revolves around the story of a young woman, Jade, born into a wealthy family and expected to marry her boyfriend. But Jade falls in love with a woman, Althea, who makes her realize she is a lesbian. When her father learns of their relationship, he offers 100 million pesos to the man who can make Jade straight. The series invites viewers to witness what it touts as heightened family and social conflicts centering on gender and sexuality. Jade and Althea are

Figure 33. Contestants in That’s My Tomboy during the show’s finale. Screenshot from http://staging.entertainment.abs-cbn.com/tv/shows/itsshowtime/photos/albums/ thats-my-tomboy-grand-finals?pic=70 (retrieved July 2014).

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Figure 34. Advert for Rich Man’s Daughter Screen- shot from http://therichmansdaughter.tumblr.com/ post/118519418518/caption-translation-meet-althea-guevarra-and-jade.

Figure 35. A magazine photoshoot from the series. Screenshot from http://40.media.tumblr.com/744796a3 a87018318a781538635d911c/tumblr_no24t0nrPf1qhc- 9d1o1_1280.jpg.

100 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work portrayed as soft les—fashionably dressed, feminine and wearing make- up. The characters are played by attractive heterosexual Filipino actors.

In the past, media depictions of traditional Filipino homosexuals—the bakla and the tomboy—served mostly to provide comic relief. While these characters provided visibility and opportunities for subversive backtalk, they were mainly portrayed as entertaining caricatures; they “capitalize on their identities and bodies to generate comedic laughter, creating the illusion that their popularity is proof of acceptability of gays in general” (Corpuz 2010: 158). The tomboy character was usually portrayed by a beautiful actress cross-dressing as a man, following a storyline that would have her fall in love with a man and in the end “coming to her senses” and reverting to being a woman. The popularity ofThat’s My Tomboy contravenes this storyline and visibly transgresses ideals of the female body. In the main, the show rewards being a tomboy and looking good as a tomboy. However, the show also reflects how dominant popular culture portrays lesbians as primarily pogi (handsome) and masculine. In this sense, the young tomboys in the show maintain the gender conventions of being masculine.45

It could be argued that The Rich Man’s Daughter is an appropriation, a mimicry, of a western construct of what it is to be a “modern lesbian”— and that by privileging certain portrayals, it does a disservice to the gender identity of more masculine Filipino lesbians. On the other hand, the show may be seen as providing a glimpse of something different yet similar, of other-place ways of doing things. The show’s popularity among young soft les can be seen as a validation of their way of being les. “I can’t miss the show,” Mimi tells me. “It shows different kinds of les and helps people understand about being us… that les wear make-up and I can have a pretty girlfriend too.” For its fan base of young les, the show brings visibility to the feminine lesbian.

On the other hand, the emergence of the “flower boy” trend calls attention to androgynous body work that allows young les to play with both masculinity and femininity. The 1990s saw the proliferation of Korean telenovelas (soap operas) broadcast by Filipino television networks, mostly featuring the lives and love stories of young people. This ushered in the entry of other K-pop media products. Among them are the “flower boys,” often characterized as androgynous and considered attractive due to their feminine, softer looks. For a typical, normative Filipino male, the flower boy look is considered soft and effeminate. One popular South Korean male rapper, G-Dragon, became a model for The SAEM brand “global

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eco red” lipstick (Sloane 2016). Young les who take to flower boys tend to be comparatively affluent. They grow their hair long and patronize hair salons specialized in “Korean looks.” Like their idols, they usually wear facial foundation, eyeliner, lip gloss and maintain a regimen to achieve smooth skin. “If not, it’s just a matter of putting on concealers,” Kris confided. Kris and Ram prefer to style themselves after male Korean pop stars and boy groups. “It’s the hair. Korean male style can pass for female style. They almost look like girls, but are stillgwapo (handsome),” Kris explains.46 Les fans of Korean flower boys enjoy the bending of traditional gender stereotypes. Being feminine as well as gwapo is the new gwapo. “And the flower boys have many girl fans ha, not les, but girls,” Ram tells me.

These media representations are key indicators of changing traditional notions of what it is to be a lesbian in the Philippines. They highlight local and global influences in shaping the subject positions of young lesbians, and facilitate making lesbian reality part of the everyday through media visibility. They also reveal the significance of young les’ capacity to access various media as well as the penetration of transnational media to wider audiences for subject formation (Grewal and Kaplan 2001: 671). The modern “chemical” city provides young les with a plurality of identities

Figure 36. K-pop star and flower boy. Screenshot from http://posturemag.com/online/ about/ (retrieved July 2014).

102 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work they can adopt, just as consumer marketing reinforces them. Marketing strategies have been creative in capturing segments, in deploying images from hot girls and K-pop idols to local les models, and, in a way, in making gendered identities. Youth have emerged as economic actors due to their purchasing power. While far from all are wealthy, many are plugged into the global marketplace of aspiration and identity.

The notion of young les as global consumers (of both products and ideas) warrants reflection. Not only are the resources available to young les uneven; Wieringa and Blackwood (2007) caution against any notion of globalized subjects, calling attention to the “processes of nation building, citizenship, and the transnational flows in the production of sexualities and genders” to locate them within “the histories and sociocultural specificities of particular places and everyday lives” (2007: 2). The popularity ofThe Rich Man’s Daughter and young les’ emulation of flower boys may be rooted in the lower status of the tomboy in Filipino society, with feminine embodiment providing a more acceptable way of being les. The media personalities and images that young les in Cagayan de Oro follow are by no means uncontested. They have, however, found local transmutations and meanings relevant to young les, reflecting tensions in how new norms and subjectivities are interpreted.

Hair/skin/body work: transgressive and conventional

The hard les are easily distinguished in the city. Aspects of the traditional notion of the tomboy apply to the hard les, with their masculinity extended to their choices for study and work. Those who work tend to choose jobs that allow them to perform masculine tasks. Those in school tend to choose courses that are typically male-dominated such as nautical studies or criminology. Kris is among the female minority at her nautical school: “I do just as well in mechanical courses as the boys. The teachers don’t differentiate. We wear the same uniform, same haircut and are required to do the same stuff.”

Hard les embody masculinity through their behavior, clothes and the products they consume without taking on the social category of “man.” They perform masculinity without necessarily aspiring to be male. MJ explains:

I’m female. I’m okay with being female. But I’m also like a man because I don’t like frilly stuff. I like girls. I don’t want to change my body. I don’t want a sex change. My uyab is a girl,

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but I don’t need to become male. Why do we have les if you still need to change? I never dreamed of being a man, but I also never dreamed of being totally a woman. If someone can love me the way I am, why can’t I love myself?

Seeing the body as a “gift from God,” many young les do not want to transition to become males: “The body shouldn’t be altered, I just want to be natural,” explains Miles. The Catholic beliefs of many young les inform how they shape themselves, interact and embody gender identity—simultaneously creating constraints and allowing them some latitude. They are no less good Catholics for being les, they say. Rather than modifying their bodies, they perform masculinity through aesthetic body work.

Hair is considered a les signifier and an important aspect of les body work. Many invest much time styling their hair, emulating local actors and their changing hairstyles. The porcupine or spikes, the shaved look (in geometric patterns) and the K-pop look are all popular hairstyles. Short, cropped hair is “the common look,” explains MJ. Synnott (1993) argues that hairstyle is imbued with symbolic social significance. Throughout history, hairstyle and length have carried religious and cultural meanings; women’s hair, for example, is seen as a sex symbol in many cultures, requiring women to keep their hair under wrap. To wear one’s hair short is thus to move away from this feminine signification.

Young les employ a variety of hair products to achieve chuy. “Hair dyes and gels are important,” MJ explains. “You should be able to sculpt your hair. Gels are important for holding up the spikes. And hair dyes for chuy.” Chris points to the variety of products now available: “Before it was just the gel. Now there’s cream, hair dough, wax and matte. You can choose the best kind that holds your hair well, whatever product that works for your hair.” Hair styling products are omnipresent in shopping malls and neighborhood sari-sari stores, many now available in sachets. Hair dyes— from blonde and auburn to green and blue—are also popular. Hair can be fully colored or streaked; its color can be frequently changed. Agua oxinada, commonly used to clean wounds, is a cheap alternative to bleach hair. Some les prefer products for men: “I use Hair and Shoulders for men. Men’s products are stronger, they need to stand up to the chemicals we put in our hair.” Pen explains that hair styling allows les to chuy-chuy: “It doesn’t matter if you’re not good-looking, having good hair can make all the difference.”

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Figure 37. Bas shows her geometric cut. Hair color is also an important feature of style.

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Charlie explains that how you look also tells people who you are:

Family notice how and what you are. I cut my hair short all the time. I didn’t like girls’ clothes. I acted more like a boy. They got it somehow. At first they were anxious. Nowadays, my father encourages me to be a police. He even kids me when we see a pretty girl.

Bas, who likes to experiment with her hair (she recently shaved swirls and stars), has an ambivalent relationship with her father:

I’ve always been like this since I was small. My parents tried to make me pretty, especially since Mama owns a beauty parlor. But no, I am more gwapo than gwapa. Hahaha! My father, though, he thinks we’ll all be cursed because I’m like this and my brother is bayot. He doesn’t understand, but he lives with it.

Many young les feel that they are “out” and generally accepted by their families. Ofreneo suggests that homosexual identity in the Philippines is rarely disclosed; it is how one looks and acts that informs significant others (2003: 46). By performing and embodying masculinity, hard les are able to declare themselves in a way that is culturally recognizable to their families.

Scent, in the form of cologne and deodorants, are used to project masculinity. “I buy products for men because of how they smell. I don’t like floral or fruity smell,” explains Kyle. “Because of the work I do, I need strong soap like Safeguard or Greencross,” says Ram. “They smell clean and are not too feminine. I feel more attractive when I smell like a man.” Hardon et al. (2013) find transgender youths turning to pharmaceuticals to feminize their male bodies; analogously, hard les use personal care products for men to fashion a semblance of masculinity over their female bodies.

Pen explains that a typical female takes more time caring for her body than a les “because we’re like men. You wouldn’t believe it, but when I was still girly-girl” (she points to a girl in shorts),

I was like that, sexy and hamis (smooth skin). I had so many body rituals, lotion, cleanser, toner, and moisturizer. I took vitamin E for my skin. I wouldn’t go to sleep with make-up still on, even if I was really tired. I couldn’t be out in the sun.

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I drank milk. I had a lot of maintenance. It was a lot of work. Now, who cares? I fall flat on my bed after a long night out. I don’t even wash my face sometimes!

When she came out as les, Pen cut her long hair and took to wearing jeans and masculine shorts. “Now, I only maintain my hair color para chuy chuy (so that it’s cool). As you can see, I don’t exercise as much. I’ve lost my curves!”

Charlie explains that there is a suitable way of being les. “How you look mustn’t be hilas.” The Bisayan term is used when something is perceived as being over the top, overdone or unbecoming. “Some tomboys are OA (over acting), acting more male than actual males, hilasan. Hilas kaayo (very unbecoming)! They get drunk and start getting into fist fights. Paka-bro kaayo! (They overdo being a bro). They look likecargador ” (often lowly paid men hired to haul heavy loads). For Mao, the “overdoing” diminishes attractiveness, “They brag about their bodies, how they look like men. They have beer bellies. I don’t like it. They don’t really know who they are.”

Hard les body work is not only about being masculine. Owen, for example, uses Rexona Pink, a deodorant for women, because “it suits my underarms better.” Nes uses PH care feminine wash because “it cleans my privates better,” while Cleo uses Ponds Pink Cream with Whitening because “I’m very conscious of my oily skin, and particular about my face. I want it smooth.” Personal care products are used “to feel fresh and clean” rather than to be more masculine or feminine. Operative in their choice of products is the notion of angay or gi-angayan, that the products fit them well (cf. Hardon 2008).

Hard les are transgressive in their cross-dressing and masculine aesthetics. While they disrupt normative ideations of the female body, they also maintain conventions of the traditional Filipino masculine female. Being hard takes its cue from the traditional construction of the tomboy, which remains a dominant gender category in the Philippines. But the subversion of cultural gender norms that enable hard les to claim masculine spaces at school and work is not without tensions and complications as changing body practices and aspirations call attention to new consciousness and motivations. There is no one body model and no one body practice; there are, instead, emerging social and bodily distinctions. For instance, the old image of the tomboy was one of masculine repudiation of self-consciousness about one’s looks

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and resistance to fashion (cf. Skerski 2011). The growing popularity of contests such as That’s My Tomboy and popular media emulation through body work reflect young les’ growing interest in fashion, looking good and consumerism. Increasingly, the embodiment of particular chuy masculinity among young les depends on cosmetics and personal care products.

Make-up and sneakers also go together

Being hard is by no means the only way young les position themselves in the city; some claim the social category of les without necessarily exhibiting masculinity. For Gabby and Ari, being les means being attracted to women without necessarily being masculine. They do not necessarily aspire to masculine career trajectories; most are enrolled in non-gender defined courses such as nursing, management or computer science. How they wear their hair and clothes are indeed indistinguishable to most heterosexual females. Gabby categorizes herself as soft.

Soft because I like looking pretty. I’m a les and I like to look hot. I always have my kikay (beauty) kit with me. I also always have a lipstick or two in my purse. Here in Pinas (Philippines), to be les you have to be a butch. But I’m not and I’ve always been attracted to girls. All my long-term relationships are with girls.

Mara, who has been with Kim, a hard les, for the past two years, has appropriated the identity of soft les for herself: “Not yet all out. But, I guess I’m les. They say if a girl loves a girl then she’s a les. So, that’s what I am, I’m a soft les.” Ellie’s sister Pam who lives with Len, her hard les partner, is ambivalent about identifying herself: “I’m with Len, she’s hard. Some would call her tomboy. I’m obviously kikay, very girl and don’t look tomboy. I don’t know and don’t care what that makes me or us as long as we get along.”

Western studies of femme identity often contrast it to butch identity, resulting in the reproduction of what theorists call “Butch-Femme othering”—defining the femme in relation to her assumed butch partner (Blair and Hoskin 2015). But this is not the case for many young les. While they deploy the terms “femme” and “lipstick,” these terms suggest that soft les are aesthetically feminine in their body work and not averse to wearing lipstick and feminine fashion; they do not signify being a “femme” to a butch partner. Dani, Gabby and Junie explain that they have attractive girlfriends who are also into lipstick. Gabby by fashioning herself as “hot” claims an overt sensuality that she consciously enhances

108 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work

Figure 38. In 2015, the popular retail brand Bench ran an ad campaign, “All kinds of love,” featuring, among others, same sex couples. Make-up artist Ana Paredes and her girlfriend, interior designer Carla Peña, were featured as the lesbian couple. The billboards were prominently displayed on Manila’s main thoroughfare. The male gay couple photo was “edited”—their holding hands blotted out by black paint, apparently as ordered by the advertising board, resulting in an uproar from gay activists. Ana and Carla’s billboard was displayed without editing, calling to mind Ofreneo’s take on the depreciation of tomboys and women’s perceived heterosexuality (2003: 41). Screen- shot from https://www.buzzfeed.com/mattortile/paint-their-hands-back?utm_term=. xvk7QpxjQx#.rfNyqO0xq0 (retrieved July 2014).

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with her cosmetics use. “I want to be hot because I also like hot girls, I want to be attractive,” she tells me.

Due to the construction of the tomboy as masculine, the feminine woman in a same-sex relationship is not perceived as homosexual but as pumapatol sa tomboy (a person who settles for a tomboy) (Ofreneo 2003: 41). This, Ofreneo (2003) argues, reflects the deprecation of tomboys and the dichotomy between masculine and feminine roles as well as the woman’s perceived heterosexuality in Filipino society. Analogously in Thailand, Sinnott (2004) describesdees as the female partners of “female ‘men’” (toms) excluded from the Thai translation of lesbian. She proposes that it “indicates their ambiguity” and their “peripheral status in the Thai articulation of the Western concept ‘homosexuality’ when describing local transgendered practices” (2004: 2).

For soft les, make-up or cosmetics are everyday wear. What they consume largely depends on what they can afford on their students’ allowances or what is available from their mothers’ dressers. Gabby learnt to put on make-up from her female friends as well as online. Her usual everyday wear consists of light lipstick, liquid foundation and eyeliner. Gabby tells me: “Just because you’re les doesn’t mean you can’t be beautiful.” Popular personal care brands are readily available in department stores. A beauty kit usually contains two shades of lipstick, dark and light, lip gloss, loose and pressed powder, eye liner, mascara and cologne. It is common to share cosmetics with one’s uyab and to help each other put on make-up. If one lives with one’s uyab, personal care products such as soap and shampoo are also shared. “We’re the same anyway,” explains Lala. Cologne is considered a necessity. “Smelling good especially in this weather is important,” Ari explains. “I sometimes use floral scents, sometimes sporty.” There has been a proliferation of colognes on the market, packaged distinctly for males and females, and increasingly, unisex. Gabby, Dani and Lala wear their hair long. They spend money on hair products and visit the hair salon at least once a month. “I don’t like very short hair, that’s so tomboy,” Lala tells me.

Because they do not embody masculinity, being les often requires a categorical declaration. “I’ve had to tell boys at work that no, I am not attracted to them,” Ari explains. “My boss made a pass at me and I tried to play along. But I couldn’t take it. I had to tell him, ‘Dude, I’m a dude,’” recounts Gabby. In the Philippines, the dominant image of the butch lesbian relegates the feminine lesbian to near invisibility. Because they do not embody the culturally recognizable tomboy, soft les often require

110 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work disclosure when they want to be out with their significant others. Dani has only told her elder sister. Ari, who realized she was les when she was in grade school, has not told her parents. Gabby continues to have a tenuous relationship with her family:

My brother caught me with my uyab in my room… Next thing they (family) were processing my papers to work abroad. They forced me to take a job even if it wasn’t what I wanted to do… Maybe they were shocked because I didn’t look like a tomboy. Maybe they thought I could still change.

Lala, who lives with Inda in her family’s home, explains:

My parents are very understanding. Maybe also in denial. My mother really likes Inda and my father is okay. But, I think it’s because they think we’re just best friends. We look alike and not like a tomboy couple.

Being soft entails tensions for young les. Their authenticity is often questioned, as I witnessed spending an afternoon with Gabby and Bas. Gabby wore tight jeans, a tight shirt, make-up, and her long hair loose. Bas, who had just shaved her head, wore baggy shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt. Neither previously knew the other. When Gabby went to the toilet and was out of earshot, Bas asked me, “She’s les? Really? I don’t think so. Are you sure? She doesn’t look like one.” Bas’ reaction reflects prevailing notions of what it is to be les—that an authentic les is masculine. Over the course of the afternoon, as they got to know each other better, Bas said of Gabby, “That’s the new trend in being les.” Junie confirmed this “body check”:

I get asked by other les if I’m really les. They look at my body. I tell them I am and that this is how I express myself. I like my long hair and my make-up. I like to show my legs, so I wear a mini skirt with my boots.

Soft les are transgressive because, not aspiring to embody masculinity and at ease with their femininity, they go against the grain of traditional notions of tomboy. Being soft enables them to navigate spaces that would otherwise call attention to masculine les. They are able to be conventionally female while being traditionally transgressive in their desires.

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It’s mixed up: beyond tomboy chic

Young les mix masculine and feminine products—hair gels and vaginal washes, tight shirts with baggy boy jeans, men’s shirts with tight jeans, cropped spiked hair with make-up. This “mixed” look treats the body as a terrain that conflates what is recognized as feminine and masculine. I was introduced to Zsa-zsa, a 19 year-old college student, by Ellie. Zsa-zsa and Ellie went to high school together and were a couple for two years. When they went to different universities, they grew apart and lost touch. “We’re still friends,” Ellie tells me, “Even now that she knows I’m seeing a boy. She’s really great and pretty. I wouldn’t go out with someone not attractive haha!” When I met Zsa-zsa, she was wearing her long hair loose over her shoulders. She had on light make-up, her lips with a shimmery gloss, and her nails painted purple. She had just met her barkada at the mall and was wearing jeans, a t-shirt printed with an anime princess and sneakers. Over the course of our conversation, she tells me she does not readily identify herself as soft or hard. “I’m not hard, I’m not super soft, not lipstick. I’m just ‘ok,’ a les,” she declares. “I think some people when I’ve just met them wonder, is she, is she not? I just let them figure it out. I think it’s more of a concern for them than it is for me,” she tells me with a laugh. She has worn her hair both long and cropped. She checks out fashion blogs and magazines. She follows the latest hairstyle trends and has a girlfriend who fashions herself in similar ways.

I like jeans and t-shirts, but not too baggy like how most tomboys like their jeans. I like them a little fitted to show a bit of form. I don’t like girly-girly things but I wear skirts sometimes. I also wear make-up, nothing heavy just lip gloss and face powder. I like growing and painting my nails. I tend to have crushes on girls who sort of have the same look.

For Zsa-zsa and Dani, it is less about defining themselves as any particular kind of les. Like Zsa-zsa, Dani is 19 years old and is attending college. They do not want to make their bodies more masculine or feminine, but more attractive and chuy. It is as much about being attractive to others as embodying symbolic representations of fitting in and being one with the mod. The fashion world has caught on and dubs the trend tomboy chic, sometimes also referred to under the umbrella description of androgynous fashion. It is a trend that has crossed over to heterosexual females. Fashion magazines feature images of young women dressed in traditionally tomboy/masculine clothing mixed with feminine articles

112 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work such as tight shirts or make-up. Clothing, hair products and fragrances are increasingly marketed as unisex.

Zsa-zsa and Dani belong to a mixed group of friends and do not feel any less than their peers for their sexuality. They feel at home in the city; they are able to navigate its social norms and feel unrestricted in how they embody themselves. They find no need to distinguish themselves from other females or to belong to a distinctly les group, which they see as kinaraan—“old ways” or “traditional.” “Open na ta karon uy (We are now open),” Dani tells me. Not unlike the young Israelis in Luzatto and Gvion’s (2007) study who distinguish themselves from older lesbians, many young les in Cagayan de Oro are less particular about asserting a political identity, have little discomfiture with their female bodies, and are more interested in expressing an individual style.

Some products are commonly used by young les whether or not they ascribe to being hard or soft, for instance pampa-tisoy (skin-whitening) soaps. Tisoy is slang for mestizo, a term used for Filipinos of mixed (usually Caucasian) descent with fair skin, fine features and high socio-economic status. Tisoy is also slang for good-looking. For MJ, attractiveness is symbolic capital (cf. Bourdieu 1977). Her aspirational body echoes her aspirations for the future; her foray into the city, after all, is motivated by the hope of economic success. Fashion sense, hairstyle and chuy are important identifiers of being city folks, with the body and its second skin being projects for designing the desired self. In this sense, the body is more the channel of self-expression than sexual signification (cf. Luzzatto and Gvion 2007). The practice of chuy, it may be posited, enables seeing the body as both corporeal and as text, with young les aspiring to be chuy for themselves and to be seen as chuy by others.

Being les

It is inadequate to think of a singular culture among young Filipino women loving women. Young les in Cagayan de Oro do not represent a homogenous community but manifest being les in diverse ways. The landscapes of the city and media technology enable them to participate in the exchanges and consumption of new images and identities. Young les copy, reinterpret and recreate. There are a plurality of identities they can adopt, which at the same time are reinforced by marketing. Just as young people are creative in using products to shape their identities, cosmetics companies are alert in tailoring and marketing products in ways that shape identity. Being “hot,” “chuy,” beautiful and attractive are

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extrapolated, made bigger, recreated and reframed through marketing. Young les negotiate the landscape by navigating their visibility, their body work relying on an array of personal care products to shape their desired selves. Their everyday body practices reveal the tensions and possibilities of subverting and recreating cultural gender norms, highlighting the dynamics of identity formation as they navigate contradictory cultural attitudes of acceptance and discrimination, tolerance and judgment in the southern Philippine boomtown.

For Foucault (1977), the body is a site of discipline where culturally and structurally specific practices and regulations are inscribed, producing and maintaining socially acceptable bodies. Through everyday social practices, bodies conform to conventions of masculinity and femininity. Butler (1990) proposes the provisional and performative nature of gender identity, constructed through existing discursive structures (Salih 2002). Through discipline, surveillance and self-discipline, identities are continuously produced and reproduced, leading to complex and contradictory performances in social relations. The tension can be seen in various popular media representations of tomboys and lesbians. For example, Skerski (2011) criticizes “tomboy chic,” arguing that while the figure of the tomboy is gaining visibility in popular culture, this figure is produced merely as marketing for personal style rather than as resistance to “prevailing gender norms” and has in many ways reduced “an enduring figure of gender rebellion into a wardrobe decision” (2011: 477). For Skerski, the new visibility is a “makeover of a masculine woman into feminine compliance” (2011: 472). In a similar vein, the portrayal of the tomboy in local popular media continues to bank on the transgressive and disruptive masculine female as a fascinating and entertaining other.

These tensions are also apparent in how young les make and transgress body distinctions: hard les contest the authenticity of the soft les with their flexibility and refusal to conform to familiar gender roles, while soft les transgress body codes by disrupting constructs that traditionally communicate the prescribed gender status of a masculine female. Class and status are further tension points. When Charlie and Mao speak of appropriate ways of being les—differentiating themselves from other tomboys who are “OA,” “hilas” and “cargador-like”—and when Pen frames the notion of tomboy as tacky, they are pointing to other underlying aspirations (the cargador-like tomboy is less socially mobile than the chuy les, possessing less social capital and therefore less attractive). Embodiment is no longer just about masculinity and/or femininity but about how the body embodies notions of modernity and affluence, seen for instance in

114 Being Les: Reimagining Masculinity and Femininity through Body Work the use of skin-whitening products to inscribe notions of economic and social mobility. The seemingly easy movements of young les in and out of online networks may in fact “amplify inner subjectivities while reflecting broader social inequalities” (Pertierra 2013: 480), highlighting their uneven access to technology and virtual spaces as well as limited access to real spaces in the city.

Although it is easy to imagine the city as open and free—as a counter narrative to prevalent stories of discrimination—its emblematic modern spaces remain contested and disciplinary (cf. Oswin 2008). The public spaces frequented by young les still have the character of private spaces. In the parks, the regulars are in the know and observe their own tacit rules of propriety; in the malls, les couples walked hand in hand as if best friends, mindful that their actions do not transgress observed norms.

“I’ve changed my name several times,” JM tells me. She explains that in school, her teachers call her “Joanna,” her name on record. In high school she went by “Joey” as “it sounded more male and I was more butch.” Since entering college, she’s been introducing herself as JM, “it’s a les name. Not too boyish, not too girly.” At certain junctures in her life, JM was able to merge being les and being attractive among her peers (though not necessarily in a culturally recognized way). Les identity formation suggests a flux of local and global identities. Often initiated into the culturally recognized masculine ideation of the tomboy, they are introduced to other ways of expressing and constructing a sense of themselves as they move to the city and use social media. JM and her friends reveal the dynamism of body coding, the complexity of how gender and sexual identities can morph and evolve in postmodern life.

Among young les in Cagayan de Oro, we witness individuals adopting certain labels and then playing with them, just as they adopt and play with prescribed norms for embodiment. Those who mix their body practices disrupt the strict binaries of being hard and soft, and instead code their bodies as they see fit. What results are various transgressive, enabled and contradictory selves: hard les interested in being chuy, transgressing the characterization of the traditional tomboy as anti-fashion and anti- feminine; soft les transgressing tropes of tomboy masculinity by being feminine; and young les combining the feminine and masculine in their body work. And just as they are preoccupied with being chuy in front of their peers, they are determined to better their futures and are alert to the pragmatics of life. Possessing dynamic social networks and increasingly

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informed, they shape and are shaped by the technologies they access, transforming their agency (cf. Pertierra 2013: 25).

Young les conceptualize gender and sexuality in complex gradients, with the cultural trope of the tomboy—“a man trapped in a woman’s body”—no longer adequate to capture the everyday realities of young Filipino les. By using the umbrella identifier les, and through their body work, they bend traditional binary categories and how they can subjectively be in the world. By being les, they distance themselves from the historical and pejorative burden of the tomboy identity and re-appropriate notions of modernity, city life and the global. They partake of a global lesbian signifier, but hybridize and re-appropriate the construct to embrace their particular meanings, such that western urban categories are “appropriated and complexly intertwined with ‘local’ meanings” (Wieringa and Blackwood 2007). Being les reflects how they see themselves and what they aspire to be—contemporary, ambitious and chuy. But their aspirations are inextricably conditioned, if not limited, by their social positions and their capacity to access commodities and new media.

The narratives presented here by no means exhaust the complexities of being young les in the city. They nonetheless present the particular realities of a generation of young les in a bustling town in the southern Philippines increasingly under the sway of globalization. Young les are embarking on their own innovative body performances where both masculinity and femininity are performed and fused. In the final analysis, this study of young les in a southern Philippine boomtown invites a broader analysis of modern subjecthood. Their growing visibility, their claim to the city, and the pursuit of their aspirations enable young les to choose how to shape their own bodies, futures and identities, solidarities and unique selves that continue to unfold.

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