Hip Hybrids and Gender ID

Today a 20 something woman stopped me to inquire about the breed of my “pretty little girl” Sugarman. Sug happened to be wearing a gorgeous soft-pink and purple-crotchet frock at the time.

I told her that, “Sugarman is a male terrier-mix.”

“Oh, he must be one of those hip hybrids”, she followed.

“No dear, he’s just an old fashioned cross-dressing mix breed… they haven’t been hip since the ‘80s.”


“A what?”

“Everything’s got fancy new label nowadays, you know?”

“You mean like Peek-A-Poo and Godlendoodle?”

“No I mean like PanGender and GenderQueer.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Are you equating human gender identity with hybrid dog breeds?”

“I am saying that all these new fangled labels are made up things.”

“But they do matter. It’s how we know who is what.”

“If we don’t know who is a what, unless said person tell us, then we as a species are in trouble.”

“How so?”

“Look, we are all mixes of this and that, none of us too special, none of us too unique. All of us just doing the best we can with the parts we got. Our biology steers us, way more than any pronoun ever could.”

“So you don’t think ANY labels matter?”

“I think our current obsession with gender and sexuality labels speaks to our need to feel special. But labels and names does not make us special. If anything these two dozen new labels just makes us look like perpetual seekers.”

“I am not sure I follow.”

“Drop the labels, and just be. The biology part will work itself out.”

“Maybe. What kind of dog did you say he was?”

“A cross dressing, male terrier mix… the cross dressing part was my choice, not his. He’d prefer to be smeared in dead squirrel and cow dung”

“Well you and Sugarman have a good day.”

“Thanks. You too.”

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