It happens even more, though less frequently than before, that I meet a person who insists on addressing me by a female name or refuses to call me by first name – that is, by the other name, which is now mine. I can refute that person's request rhetorically, and I can provide institutional evidence and show my new identity card – just as the Jew who had converted to Christianity did in the 1400th century – when the convert presented his certificate of spotless blood. I can also screw up my masculine behavior, stop shaving for a few days, go with heavier boots, wider pants and leave the handbag at home. I can even spit in the street while walking, or stop smiling (masculine behavior sometimes requires a silly choreography). None of these approaches, however, is sufficient to prove a gender truth for the good reason that gender truth (like the spotless blood of the 1400th century) does not exist outside a collection of social and interpersonal. . .
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