Misgendered in Mexico

“Soy Mujer…”, is a refrain I would come to repeat many times while walking into a public restroom in Mexico. Maybe it was my loaded bikepacking rig, maybe my short hair, my baggy cycling shorts. Could have been all of the above and the assumption that only a man would be riding such a heavily laden bicycle.

Perhaps it was expectation or projection. 

In any case, unless I was walking into a public restroom, often found in big markets or bus stations, I decided it was safer and possibly even more beneficial to let people see and believe what they want.

Ask any woman anywhere who is hiking, cycling or even just walking down a busy street alone about the fear of simply being a female in public. 

Being misgendered is not new to me. I’ve been mistaken for a boy, a young man or a man all my life. It used to feel awkward.  My mother found it exasperating when I was young. 

 As a little girl Mom dressed me in pink taffeta and patent leather shoes with ribbons and bows in my hair. I was unmistakable. But when the dresses and shoes came off, I was in pants or shorts, tee shirts and sneakers running around in the woods or the backyard like the feral child that I was. I could throw rocks, catch toads, play baseball and splash around in mud puddles with the best of them. Not what my conventional but loving mother thought I should be doing at all.

This past winter I spent six weeks cycling off the beaten path in Mexico. The country has some of the best and quietest gravel roads and two tracks I have found anywhere. Perfect for exploring small towns and villages that see few other tourists. Considering its burgeoning population and ever- expanding mega-cities I was pleasantly surprised. It was beautiful and quiet. The people I met in small towns and villages were by and large, friendly, kind and generous. Mexico has a reputation as crime infested and violent. Especially in areas where there is the potential for cartel and gang related activities. I never saw any of it. 

Mexico also suffers from an incredibly high rate of femicide. 

Why differentiate homicide from femicide? Great question! I’m glad you asked. Homicide is defined as general murder or the killing of another human being. Femicide on the other hand is the specific killing of a female BECAUSE they are female. This can include domestic violence, gender inequality, power dynamics and deeply entrenched machismo culture. 

Being misgendered had its benefits. I was less likely to be harassed on the street or otherwise seen as an easy target.

But as ever there are two sides to every coin. While being mistaken for a man gave me a modicum of freedom, I still practiced all the same precautions. For example, being out of sight after dark, I never told anyone where I was camping, didn’t hang around in bars, drink beer on the street with locals (I had several invitations), buy drugs or gamble. I also didn’t hang around small towns and villages for more than an hour or two to eat tasty street food or buy groceries. My bike and I are obvious and we don’t blend in well. In all my years traveling in Latin America this has never posed a problem.

On the other hand, it occurred to me one day that being thought of as a man, could go sideways very fast. 

Early afternoon on New Year’s Eve, I pedaled into a very small town looking for water and some groceries. A young man standing in the doorway of his house called out to me and waved me over. He spoke some English and was friendly enough. Maybe he wanted to practice speaking English. He asked if I wanted coffee, or water and mentioned that he knew of a place where I could camp later. I was a little suspicious having heard “stories”. I asked where I could find some groceries and he pointed me to the small street market a few blocks away. The people were so friendly and curious as they often are in these villages.

Later after I filled my food bags with fresh bolillos (small loaves of bread or rolls), probably a legacy of European colonialism, cheese, sliced ham, avocados and some other fruit I made my way back to where my newfound friend lived. It turns out the whole family lived there. Mom, dad, sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews all shared a house built by the family over the course of years. I met the dad who worked as the caretaker of a large property about a mile away. He allowed me to camp on the land for which he was responsible. It was beautiful. There was a view across a canyon of an ancient pyramid. 

After I set up my camp I went back to the house as they invited me to share some food and refreshment.  I met one of my newfound friends’ sisters. She had two young daughters of her own and through conversation I learned that she was a single mom. The girls’ father had apparently gone off with another woman. They weren’t married and she had no recourse for accountability. 

She took a keen interest in me and twenty minutes into this conversation a light went on in my mind and I realized she thought I was a man. 

That’s when it hit me how dangerous being MIS-gendered could be. I weighed the implications of correcting her. Would she and the family think I was mis-representing myself on purpose? What if they did? This was a small town where everyone knew everyone and I’m sure the word was out that I was camped nearby. Even though the property was secure with a high fence and tall wrought iron gate, would I really be safe? 

Maybe I was being paranoid. I let the moment hang. I think there might have been a look of confusion on my face but I believe we all chalked it up to language. My Spanish is good but it’s not great and there is nuance to language that only native speakers can master. 

It was a lovely visit and the next day they invited me again to a barbecue with more of the extended family in another location. They wouldn’t take “no thank you” for an answer. It was lovely and the home cooked food was amazing. But I felt really awkward. 

I left the next morning and continued on my journey. I found that I was consistently perceived as a man and used it to my advantage.  I am not transgender. Although when asked, in some circles, I answer that I fall into a non-binary category. 

Over the past several decades, Mexico has progressed socially and economically. It’s more liberal in its social consciousness and in some ways may have surpassed the US in this regard given our current socio-political climate. 

But I wouldn’t want to test this theory. 

On the other side of the coin of being misgendered, I envisioned the possibility of being roughed up by bandits should I have been robbed at any point BECAUSE I had been perceived as a man. I don’t know. I don’t really want to think about it too much. I believe my strategies for personal safety have proven themselves sound over the years but certainly not failsafe. 

Anything can happen anywhere at any time. I’m always grateful random gun violence in America, not withstanding, for my safe return home. 

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