I am writing another essay! Someone stop me! All you have to do is send in submissions - we’re always open. I know there are stories to tell, so send ‘em in!

Today, I finished reading a report about going undercover in the “gaming” world as a woman.

Here it is, by the way.

I wanted to rebut because some of it made me really frustrated. First, let me sum it up for you:

A guy walks into an MMO in “drag.” He’s clever, he uses a voice modulator for those times when he needs to speak as a girl. He uses a friend’s images, someone who does not have an already established internet presence.

The moment he hits the OOG boards, he gets bombarded with attention, free stuff, and becomes instantly popular. Everyone loves this dude because they all think he’s a chick.

Then, the drama and resentment starts building around him; when it comes to a head, he reveals that he’s truly a man, and apologizes for the deception. All the other guys are happy to find out that this person is really male, and they all have a good belly laugh and all is forgiven. Thank god this player wasn’t ACTUALLY a chick, right?

First of all, I don’t have a lot of experience with the digital gaming world. I am actually an MMO addict, and like all addictions, in spite of my being nearly a decade “sober,” if I were to fall off the wagon and get back into it I’d probably have the same issues I ran into as a teen.

So, for that reason, I avoid online gaming.

My last foray into the world of MMOs was with FFXI, back in the mid-aughts. I’ve never been a particularly charismatic person - my entire life, I’ve largely been ignored by the internet. Even though I present online as a cis female, I have not seen any of the attention that the “Sarah” character received (fun fact: I think that name is cursed. Every single Sarah I’ve ever met has been constantly bombarded with attention from men in gaming communities.)

In FFXI, I was usually playing with my then-boyfriend, and a few offline friends. But I did actually meet someone through the game, who was male, and who was/is by all appearances a genuinely sweet individual. He was never hitting me up for lewd shit, never trying to get into my online panties. In fact, most of our discussions revolved around how he was planning to propose to his then-girlfriend, Nikki (to whom, I am happy to say, he has been married since and with whom he now has several adorable kids). Everything I did and made in that game, with a few exceptions from the kindness of my IRL buddies, I did and made on my own merits.

Then again, playing with a female avatar in FFXI - and playing as a real live female - were not uncommon instances. One of the better races was female-only, so it was generally assumed that an avatar’s sex did not necessarily match that of the player. So I’m willing to accept that in a different scenario, maybe players react differently to seeing a “girl” on the server.

Mostly, my geeky interactions are in the flesh, which is substantially more threatening and upsetting.

Something that the article writer mentioned was the unwanted transaction. Men often cite how awesome it is to be a girl, because we - apparently - get a bunch of free stuff. It can have its benefits, but largely what the men who envy us ladies forget is that there is no such thing as a free lunch.



In return for kindness that we didn’t ask for, free gifts we never requested, we are expected to do something in return. Often, we are merely expected to show gratitude, but sometimes even this gets tricky, especially if the gift or the person bestowing it is giving off scary or dangerous vibes.

Sometimes, more is expected. In the case of the article writer, pictures and attention were the currency. We are being “bought” - our time, our affection. It’s the whole reason the “friend zone” debacle is even a thing. We are given affection or kindness but not told about the fine print, that in return, we must fulfill xyz social or sexual obligations.

In real life, I largely get around this with my male friends by being a foulmouthed, pugilistic little thing. “I will fucking fight you” comes out of my mouth, quite frankly, more often than it should.

But in interactions with strangers, I often feel more uncomfortable expressing that side of myself. When men take pictures of me when I don’t want it, when they sit next to me or hover over me and engage me in conversation that I don’t feel up to having, I can feel the weight of that supposed social obligation on me. These men are giving me the “gift” of their attention, so I must respond in kind.

But what if I told you guys that attention and items are worth much less to me than my own privacy? My own agency? Mindblowing.

And yet, our society does not give us an opportunity to refuse these offerings without being labeled as something horrible; even in the article, when the character of “Sarah” attempted to reimburse her benefactors for their gifts with their actual monetary value, she was shot down and denied - made unable to purchase her own freedom from those who would rather have had a girl on call to send them pictures or listen to their awkward advances.

One thing I really disagreed with, however, was the writer’s assertion that women are given “free passes” to act out or speak their minds. I found the idea entirely laughable from my own personal standpoint.

Women are taught to take up as little physical and verbal space as possible. For that reason, a man can write an article about feminism and be lauded for it, while a woman could say the same things and be blacklisted by the internet community at large. A man can swear with impunity, but a woman who does so is then subjected to scrutiny over her actual gender, her sexuality, and her moral fiber. No, in my experience, speaking out as a woman very rarely has only positive effects. At worst, the prospect can be very literally dangerous, because so many of us are ill-equipped to face the physical stature of our male counterparts. Even though I’m prepared for fisticuffs, like, 24/7, I know intellectually that at 5'3", 135 lbs, with no martial arts training whatsoever, I would not last long against a larger combatant.

Usually it’s only the “ridiculousness” of a girl threatening to deck someone that diffuses a situation - I am NOT seen as a threat. I am laughed off, my anger is laughed off, and at times, my fear and hurt are seen as hilarious.

I also want to take this moment to mention the issue of female-on-male abuse, and why male survivors of abuse are so seldom taken seriously… because of this idea that women committing violence against men is so culturally laughable. But that’s really a different issue for a different blog.

Back to the article, and the issue of the “free pass” - it contradicts itself. The article goes into great depth about the drama that sprang up around “Sarah” just because she was a woman, without her taking part in it, even as she slept. The men involved were all starting to see her as being duplicitous, “sleeping around” with other men in the game, distributing her attention in-game too widely, and it all came to a head largely because of how possessive all these players were of this fictional person.

But of course, as soon as the writer outed himself as being a “dude all along,” everyone was instantly willing to forgive him. To laugh about it, and they actually expressed relief over “Sarah” being a man. If that isn’t a gender-based “free pass,” I will eat my hat.

In the flesh, I am often seen as a nonperson. In direct contrast to the experiences of “Sarah,” I am often ignored by convention-goers, who - for one reason or another - feel uncomfortable talking about games with a female-bodied person. When I am not ignored, I am forced into social situations that I cannot escape from - cornered at my booth by men who only want to talk to me about their romantic life, or my body, or their appreciation of my body, or how my body can be used to “sell” my product. I am violated verbally and physically, my likeness is captured without my consent. In subtle and not-so-subtle ways, I am often dismissed entirely as a human with agency, and talents beyond that spectacular feat of having breasts. And I know that I am not alone, not even slightly.