or when you wanted to applaud a movie.
"ace ventura: pet detective" was a fairly funny movie, that much i knew as i watched jim carrey act out a caricature of a person. the delivery of every line was absolutely perfect.
that is, until a part that truly jarred me came up.
the head of what seemed to be a police department, a woman with brown curls and shoulder pads to spare, was revealed to be "a man" after thorough investigation. i was hoping that would be the end of the transphobia (marked by ventura's disgust upon his realization), and i could continue enjoying the film.
but then, in a stunning confrontation, the department head was revealed to the entire police force to have been trans, humiliated by being stripped of her clothing so that everyone could see her genitalia.
at all of the disgust on the male actors' faces, i wanted to vomit.
i prayed for the movie to be over sooner, and as soon as the credits rolled, i stood up and headed to my room.
"wren, do you get it?" my mom asked. i said nothing, just kept walking out of the living room. "what's wrong?"
your transphobia, the public eye's transphobia. your innate villainization of a woman being who she is. not he, she.
nausea overwhelmed me as soon as i made it to my room. i felt the need to vomit, to cry, and to keep praying for the people who just want to be.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
