The Vagina Monologues

The university I attend, Shippensburg University, has been doing a production of Eve Ensler’s play The Vagina Monologues for a while now. I attended the play last year and was so impressed by it that I wanted to act in it. I wasn’t sure what I would do, I only knew that I wanted to be a part of it. When I came to the audition session, I didn’t know the first thing about acting. Sure, I had acted in a high school play once. They put goop on my face and dyed my hair grey. I played a preacher in an episodic Christian play that didn’t make a lot of sense to me. I almost pulled out at the last minute because I didn’t like the writing. The Monologues were different. I read off a sheet about how two people were worried about vaginas, and I knew this was a well-written play. I spoke the words into a hand-held camera and I was sure I didn’t express the right amount of emotion. I mean, what do I know about vaginas? Me, who has never even had one but has always wanted one?

Consequently, I was surprised when I got the invite to take part in the play. I showed up to the meeting and my script wasn’t ready. They were doing a part for me that was brand new- at least to the university. We hadn’t done a transgender monologue before because, quite simply, no transgender person before me had reached out to the Women’s Center and taken an interest in acting in the play. The monologue itself involves five women on stage- usually transwomen- talking about their experiences of being bullied and how they found happiness after their transition. Beforehand, I did a little introduction about how transgender people face violence because of their gender and/or societal deviance. I was originally scheduled just to do the first part, but the second part was available after someone else couldn’t make it. I wasn’t the only person who had two parts in the play, but I was nervous about what would happen since I don’t pass all the way as a woman.

When I entered the dressing room on a Thursday afternoon, no one was around. As is my habit, I showed up quite a bit early. I felt like taking a nap. I piddled on my computer until people started coming in. And then I found something surprising. Someone I knew previously from college came in and offered to help me with my makeup. I am not much of a makeup person- mostly because I’m fine the way I look already. But I was glad to discover how to hide my five o’clock shadow that shows up regularly at 9 am. I also received a bra- the first one I wore- and while I didn’t think that I passed completely for a woman, I also knew that I wouldn’t be automatically accepted as a man either. I didn’t practice at all with my voice. I just went out there as I was in my heels and black skirt.

I was in the second act of the monologues. For the first two nights, I couldn’t hear what was going on the first act. On the third night, I sat backstage to listen to it. The women acting in the first act did a very good job, and I was surprised (though not much) to find how well they performed. When it came time for my act to start, I was nervous. I sat down in a chair and waited until my turn came around. Although I enjoyed the performances of those who came before me (my act came last), I found that my heart was hammering in my chest. Would I be accepted by the audience? I knew they could tell. Maybe some of them had even seen me sitting there while there other monologues were going on. Each monologue came and went until it was turn to go. I stood up, sure that I would fall over or do something to embarrass myself. I went to the side of the stage, grabbed the mic they had ready for me and then stood in front of all those people. The spotlight turned on and I began to talk.

The words came out as though they had been waiting all year. It felt natural- this was what I wanted to do. Standing there, probably looking and sounding like a guy, but dressed like a woman, I found that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I am sure that my exultation leaked through the performance in some way or other. I tried to keep it as even keel as I could, but the silence of the crowd bolstered me forward. That, and the support I had received from the cast and crew.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I went to change in a room full of women and me having man-hairs everywhere. I quickly discovered that not only did my fellow cast members accept me as a woman, they also gave me words of support and encouragement. Looking back on it now, I can only say that this was what kept me going throughout the entire process. There I was, a foreigner entering the private country of women and rather than turn me away, they embraced me with all their strength.

Ironically, I was the only person there who could go topless and get away with it.

Possibly because of that, I didn’t feel quite so bad when I finished the show and the curtain closed faster than I could react and I had to shuffle my way through the side of the curtain to get backstage. Nor did I feel all that bad when on a lonely Saturday night, I had to walk through 30 to 40 mph winds across campus to get to the auditorium. Nor did I even feel all that bad when I learned that, as a result of choosing to act in the play, I lost the only job I’ve had for quite some time. It didn’t really bother me because the experience of acting in the Vagina Monologues was not something I would trade for anything- not even a regular paycheck.

One of the more colorful moments was Friday’s cast party when Feminique owner Jill McDevitt and her vulva puppet came to educate all of us on the female genitalia and the ways in which women experience orgasms. Although I had never experienced an orgasm and couldn’t personally relate to what was being said, I found it odd that the women there had generally negative attitudes regarding their vaginas. A man had once said that the juice that comes out was disgusting, or there was always something wrong with it, or the hair was nasty, on and on. I couldn’t help but smile since I had always wanted one of my own, even if it was imperfect and even if me having a vagina would mean weekly visits to the gynecologist.

Now the play is over and everyone is congratulating me on the job I did. Perhaps I’m being overly self-critical, but I thought I could have done better. I wasn’t much of an actress before this, and I doubt that I’m going to win an Oscar award or anything for my performance. It’s just that when I keep hearing these same compliments, I wonder if I really did do a good job. I wonder if it really is enough to stand up on stage and be yourself. Perhaps that is what theater really is.

Perhaps transgender people who haven’t transitioned all the way yet choose to stay in the closet, but I do not. I have deliberately chosen to be as out as I can. I don’t feel the need to hide or keep anything secret. Given how my experiences at the Monologues went, I am glad that I didn’t.