The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres 3030977927, 9783030977924

Table of contents :
Acknowledgements
Contents
List of Figures
Chapter 1: The Presumption of Progress
Transphobia, Homophobia, and Trans Representations
Trans Media Studies and Trans Representations
The Presumption of Progress
Works Cited
Chapter 2: Bodies Under Scrutiny
Trans Media Model as Surveillance Tool
The “Purpose” of Drag
The Drama of Being Trans
Works Cited
Chapter 3: The Comedic “Cis Surprise” (Friend Version)
The “Cis” Surprise (Friend Version)
Restabilizing Cisnormativity
Trans Not-So-Regular Regular Characters
Works Cited
Chapter 4: The Comedic “Cis Surprise” (Romantic Partner Version)
Perverse Desires
The Romantic “Cis Surprise”
From Victim to Chaser
Works Cited
Chapter 5: Dramatic Romance and the Value(s) of Tragedy
Passion as Validation
Doomed to Death (or Friendship)
Show Me the (Queer) Love
Works Cited
Chapter 6: Trans Criminality: From Dangerous Sociopaths to Sassy Hookers
Trans Murderers from Psycho to Sexy
Sex Workers and the Cis/Hetero Hierarchy
Destiny, Pearly Gates, and Nameless Sex Workers
Works Cited
Chapter 7: Trans Victims: Dead Or Alive
The Ethos of Victimization
Disposable Bodies
Illegally Gendered
Works Cited
Chapter 8: Conclusion
Works Cited
Appendix A: Glossary for Gender Identities and Characters
Appendix B: Timeline of Trans Characters in Scripted American Film and Television, 1965–2018
Index

Citation preview

The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres Traci B. Abbott

The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres

Traci B. Abbott

The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres

Traci B. Abbott English & Media Studies Dept. Bentley University Waltham, MA, USA

ISBN 978-3-030-97792-4    ISBN 978-3-030-97793-1 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the ­publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and ­institutional affiliations. Cover credit: Carme Parramon / getty images This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Acknowledgements

Like many former contingent faculty members, particularly in the humanities, I never assumed I would write a book, so I am grateful to those who, over the past decade, encouraged me to do so and never presumed that a contingent status prevents meaningful and substantive research. Moreover, I was trained in feminist and queer cultural studies with a focus on canonical literature, so a shift to televisual culture was also only possible because colleagues directed me to seminal texts in this field and sometimes adjusted my thinking to better respond to this medium. My gratitude extends to my many colleagues in the English & Media Studies Department at Bentley University who have provided much needed personal encouragement and financial support over the years, including Samir Dayal, Barbara Paul-Emile, Tzarina Prater, Ruth Spack, and Randy Nichols, while I could not have completed this project without the assistance specifically of Wiley Davi, Jennifer Gillan, and Anna Siomopoulos. Kathy Sheehan, J.  Ken Stuckey, and Erica Arkin also provided much needed comfort and laughs through this challenging process. I am thankful for additional financial support from The Valente Center for Arts & Sciences, Bentley’s Arts & Science Dean’s Office, The Gloria Cordes Larson Center for Women and Business, and the Faculty Development Program. While to some external colleagues, the support I have received from a business university may seem out of place, there are many others at Bentley who make up my queer and feminist support system and without whom this project would not have been possible. While there are too many to name (and hopefully they also know who they are), I would be remiss without acknowledging v

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the following: Leslie Doolittle, Jane Ellis, Jane De Leon Griffin, Erin Kelley, Katie Lampley, Tony Martin, and Laurel Steinfield. As a cis woman long interested in the fluidity of gender and sexual identity, I appreciate the input and encouragement of many queer studies colleagues who supported this project, provided useful feedback, and always reminded me that the fight for LGBTQ and gender equity is a team effort. I am especially grateful to my colleagues in the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender and Queer Studies area at the Popular Culture Association and on the editorial board of Queer Studies in Media & Popular Culture journal, but none more than Bruce E. Drushel, whose assistance and support has been invaluable. I similarly appreciate my queer and feminist media colleagues in the International Communication Association, but, again, Thomas J. (TJ) Billard deserves special mention for their support. My editors at Palgrave Macmillan have stuck with me through this process, which I greatly appreciate. I am forever indebted as well to many other queer, feminist, and trans colleagues, students, and readers whose input, shared goals, and experiences shaped this project and altered my beliefs as it developed. I am constantly inspired by the work of other scholars and activists, most of whom are named in this book, who seek a more just and equitable world and fight against state-supported trans exclusion, violence, and misogyny. Finally, I am grateful to the friends and family members who have supported and sometimes suffered through this project with me. Thank you to Jim Moran and Heather Meade, whose gracious hospitality (and beautiful children) made my research trips to the Library of Congress a pleasure. I am grateful to them as well as Sonia Peterson, Mary Sarah Bilder, and Heather Albanesi for providing crucial love and support, as well as laughter, when I needed it. The unyielding support of my uncle-in-law, Richard Bachand, is appreciated more than he may know. Thank you to my sisters, Sandy Gabbard, Shari Abbott, and Jodi Abbott, who also live their values as instilled by our parents, Douglas E.  Abbott and Doris Newmark Abbott, that a meaningful life is achieved by the advancement of knowledge through teaching and in the service of social justice and equity. My mother in particular taught us the power of storytelling in the fight for social justice and the purpose of everyday activism in the advancement of women’s and LGBTQ equality; although she did not live to see either my academic promotion nor the publication of this book, neither would have been possible without her love and encouragement which are

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still with me every day. And last but far from least, I am forever indebted to John L. Gallo, who may not fit the profile of a queer feminist’s spouse but has never faltered in his commitment, and our children: Julia and Sebastian. My love and gratitude for you are immeasurable; this is for you and because of you.

Contents

1 The Presumption of Progress  1 2 Bodies Under Scrutiny 31 3 The Comedic “Cis Surprise” (Friend Version) 73 4 The Comedic “Cis Surprise” (Romantic Partner Version)101 5 Dramatic Romance and the Value(s) of Tragedy131 6 Trans Criminality: From Dangerous Sociopaths to Sassy Hookers167 7 Trans Victims: Dead Or Alive197 8 Conclusion227 Appendix A: Glossary for Gender Identities and Characters233

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Appendix B: Timeline of Trans Characters in Scripted American Film and Television, 1965–2018237 Index269

List of Figures

Fig. 2.1 Fig. 2.2 Fig. 2.3 Fig. 2.4 Fig. 3.1 Fig. 3.2 Fig. 3.3 Fig. 3.4 Fig. 4.1 Fig. 4.2 Fig. 4.3 Fig. 4.4 Fig. 5.1

Renée Richards in 1977 (Jeff Robbins/AP) Monica (Harold Perrineau) and Isabella (Penélope Cruz), Woman on Top (Torres, 2000) Chi-Chi Rodriguez (John Leguizamo), Noxeema Jackson (Wesley Snipes), and Vida Bohema (Patrick Swayze), To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (Kidron, 1995) Vanessa (Harmony Santana), Gun Hill Road (Green, 2011) Archie (Carroll O’Connor) and Beverly (Lori Shannon), All in the Family (CBS, 1975, S06, Ep4) Nikki (Linda Carlson) and Herb (Frank Bonner), WKRP Cincinnati (ABC, 1980, S03, Ep5) Chris (Liev Schreiber) and Philip (Steve Martin), Mixed Nuts (Ephron, 1994) Alexis (Rebecca Romijn) and Daniel (Eric Mabius), Ugly Betty (Fox, 2007, S02, Ep14) Myra (Raquel Welch) [photo by Terry O’Neill], Myra Breckinridge (Sarne, 1970) Mac (Rob McElhenney) and Carmen (Brittany Daniel), It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FX, 2005, S01, Ep4) Joel (Tom Cruise) and Jackie (Bruce A. Young), Risky Business (Brickman, 1983) Alan (Jon Cryer) and Paula (Paula Marshall), Two and a Half Men (CBS, 2013, S11, Ep10) Calvin (Graham Greene) and Bree (Felicity Huffman), Transamerica (Tucker, 2005)

39 42 45 53 78 83 87 91 108 111 115 119 134

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List of Figures

Fig. 5.2 Fig. 5.3 Fig. 5.4 Fig. 6.1 Fig. 6.2 Fig. 6.3 Fig. 6.4 Fig. 7.1 Fig. 7.2 Fig. 7.3 Fig. 7.4

Maura (Jeffrey Tambor) and Vicki (Anjelica Huston), Transparent (Amazon, 2015, S02, Ep10) Calpernia (Lee Pace) and Barry (Troy Garity), Soldier’s Girl (Pierson, 2003) Nomi (Jamie Clayton) and Amanita (Freema Agyeman), Sense8 (Amazon, 2015, S01, Ep2) Michelle (Christopher Morley), Vega$ (ABC, 1980, S02, Ep16) Ava Moore (Famke Janssen), Nip/Tuck (FX, 2004, S02, Ep16) Venus (Walton Goggins), Sons of Anarchy (FX, 2013, S06, Ep7) Ex-priest Charlie (Forest Whitaker) and Lexus (Alejandro Romero), Powder Blue (Bui, 2009) Christina Draguilera (Jai Rodriguez), and Sergeant Longford (James McDaniel), Detroit 1-8-7 (USA, 2011, S01, Ep15) Det. Olivia Benson (Mariska Hargitay) with suspect Sgt. Jim Preston (Marquise Vilson), Law & Order: SVU (NBC, 2018, S19, Ep18) Angela (Alec Mapa), NYPD Blue (ABC, 1996, S04, Ep8) Amanda Knott (Jai Rodriguez) with lawyer Adam Branch (Nate Corddry), Harry’s Law (NBC, 2012, S01, Ep10)

139 141 154 173 176 184 185 206 209 211 219

CHAPTER 1

The Presumption of Progress

The science fiction series’ first episode introduces a trans1 woman having joyous sex with her girlfriend as they prepare for San Francisco’s pride parade (Sense8, 2015,  Netflix, S01, Ep1). In the sitcom’s pilot, a trans woman enters the room to audible gasps as the camera pans to each character’s reaction shot. She giggles nervously, “I’ve had a little work done. Listen, I know I should have called you” (The Comedians, FX, 2015, S01, Ep1). In its season finale, a cheeky teen drama reveals that the psychotic tormentor of the primary characters is “Charles,” the former older brother of their previous “queen bee,” who has infiltrated their friend group as Charlotte (Pretty Little Liars, Freeform, 2015, S06, Ep10). A group of teens surround a trans girl in this long-running crime procedural, taunting and misgendering her before a physical struggle pushes her off a bridge (Law & Order: SVU, NBC, 2015, S17, Ep3). She later dies of her injuries. These televisual examples all reached U.S. audiences in 2015, a year after Time magazine claimed America was in the middle of a “transgender revolution” of visibility, thanks in large part to popular culture’s “radical increase in trans consciousness” (Steinmetz and Gray 44). The article highlights the series Orange is the New Black (Netflix, 2013–2019) and its trans female actor and rights activist Laverne Cox, now “a sought-after celebrity” (Steinmetz and Gray 44). To debut Caitlyn Jenner’s female

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1_1

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identity, a 2015 Vanity Fair article similarly argues, “enormous strides are being made today in the acceptance of transgender women and men” due to scripted television series like OITNB and Transparent (Amazon, 2014–2019) (Bissinger). These articles position trans visibility in U.S. popular culture as relatively new and presume it has positively shifted the cis society’s acceptance of the trans community. My opening examples, though, take issue with this presumption. “Trans visibility” in scripted televisual media varies greatly between Sense8, which depicts a trans lesbian whose female identity is unquestioned in the narrative and played by a trans female actor, and The Comedians, where a trans woman’s physiological and social transition is played for laughs by startling her previous co-workers—and the audience—with the visual image of a cis male actor in a dress and makeup. The suspenseful reveal of Charlotte’s identity on Pretty Little Liars is similarly as reductive and harmful to trans civil rights as the transphobic hate crime on Law & Order: SVU. To make sense of these examples, this book argues the necessity of analyzing trans representations, including the overwhelming focus on trans women versus trans men and gender nonconforming persons, in a wider context and on a continuum with representations from earlier decades. While mainstream fictional trans representations in American popular culture have certainly increased in veracity and variety over time, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres takes as its premise that they continue to present limited and harmful characterizations that reaffirm cisgender superiority for a cisgender audience. Televisual popular culture has, since the 1960s, consistently provided the cisgender mainstream with trans subjects meant to be seen as trans, their difference identified as not cis, not “normal,” not acceptable. Disciplinary power over gender boundaries, Michel Foucault has argued, by the government, by the medical community, and by individuals, relies upon such visibility: “it is the subjects who have to be seen. Their visibility assures the hold of the power that is exercised over them” (qtd. in Beauchamp 15). In short, only after difference is identified and defined— homo/heterosexuality, cis/transgender—can boundaries be regulated and categories normalized. Following the work of trans studies scholars Gayle Salamon, Dean Spade, and Toby Beauchamp who utilize this Foucauldian perspective, my book claims that the evolution of fictional trans representations has, with a few notable exceptions, maintained a cisnormativity that in turn naturalizes the male/female binary and justifies

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cisgender privilege. My lens, then, does not attempt to gauge the veracity of transgender media representations per se, since, as Andre Cavalcante’s ethnographic study points out, trans individuals may find affirmation, “comfort, communion, and glimmers of self-recognition” in even “well-­ worn clichés and stereotypes” (15). Moreover, as a cis person, I cannot and should not dispute the significance of any trans representations in the media for the trans audience. Instead, I demonstrate why positive and varied representations of trans identities in mass media are not just necessary for cisgender awareness of the trans community, as other scholars contend, but are also beneficial to cisgender audiences as they dismantle sexist, racist, and classist hierarchies that also negatively affect cis identities (Gillig, et al.). This book is not so much about transgender identities as it is about transphobic representations—those fictionalized characterizations which maintain a cis/trans or male/female binary and normalize the equation of sex with gender, female with feminine, and male with masculine. As Richard Dyer argues about gay and lesbian media representations, identifying and rejecting negative stereotypes is not enough since “doing so does not make the stereotypes go away, and tends to prevent us from understanding just what stereotypes are, how they function, ideologically and aesthetically, and why they are so resilient” (“Stereotyping” 353). Heeding Dyer’s warning and following Talia Mae Bettcher’s analysis of transphobic media (249–251), I also elucidate transphobia’s machinations by clarifying its false assumptions about cisnormativity and exposing the continuum between, for example, Law & Order: SVU’s inevitable victimization and Pretty Little Liars’ violent sociopathy, rather than presume the latter is more harmful. To do so, this book contrasts representations by genre, as I did in the first paragraph. Genre, as film and television scholars have explained, integrates audience expectations and values with “Hollywood’s ideological ones,” so genres are “situated within larger systems of power and, thus, come ‘fully loaded’ with political implications” (Altman 15; Mittell 27). While I focus on fictional televisual narratives that share elements and cultural associations, generic-specific elements shift the framing and presentation of the trans character in two key ways: first, on how and if the character’s gender identity is authenticated, and second, on the interrelation between their physiological and/or social transition and their relationship(s) with other (cis) characters, who stand-in for cisgender society. In fact, without including genre in the analysis, as Dyer has argued,

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“we don’t really understand why [stereotypes] turn out the way they do” (Matter 2). Unlike the majority of trans media scholarship, my analysis moves beyond main characters, like Nomi Marks, the trans lesbian in Sense8, or the main character in the historic drama The Danish Girl (Hopper), also released in 2015. Certain protagonists receive the lion’s share of analysis, whether found in film, like Boys Don’t Cry (Peirce, 1999), Transamerica (Tucker, 2005) or Dallas Buyers Club (Vallée, 2015), or television, particularly Orange is the New Black (Netflix, 2013–2019), Sense 8 (Netflix, 2015–2018), Transparent (Amazon, 2014–2019), Glee (Fox, 2009–2015), and Degrassi: New Generation (Teen Nick, 2001–2015) (Abbott; Malatino; Villarejo; Yep, et al.; Keegan, “Moving” and Lana). Similarly, generic media scholarship relies on the same trans identities which narrows analysis to horror villains, starting with Psycho (Hitchcock, 1960), and comedic cross-dressing male protagonists, such as Tootsie (Pollack, 1982) and Mrs. Doubtfire (Columbus, 1993), who do not fit what today is considered a trans identity (L. Miller; Phillips; Garber).2 I do not ignore such impactful representations, of course, but contextualize them using “cross-­ textual seriality” in order to include guest and minor characters. The term is Joe Wlodarz’s and has been useful to other queer scholars to specify the “developmental narrative” or progression of representation of a specific minority group (91; Pullen, Straight; Kessler; Garber; Sandercock). This progression requires close attention to which characteristics are repeated, which subgroups (e.g. black versus white trans women) occur more frequently, and how the character functions within the genre’s established conventions. My approach will thus explain, for instance, how film and television minor and guest characters keep the trans killer stereotype in play in the 1970s and ‘80s during the gap between Psycho and its film successors, Dressed to Kill (De Palma, 1980) and The Silence of the Lambs (Demme, 1991). This longer, wider view takes into account genre and minor characters without discounting how ground-breaking shifts resonate through the decades, such as the heterosexual romance and wedding of the first regular trans feminine character in network television in All That Glitters (Syn., 1977, S01, Ep65) to the same-sex wedding with a regular trans feminine character, again Nomi from Sense8 (Netflix, 2018, S02, Ep12). At the same time, my analysis complicates the inherent assumption that cultural and political progress is inevitable. Chapters 6 and 7, for instance, show that trans victims, who have increased in proportion to the decrease of

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trans criminals, do not necessarily validate trans identities better than psychotic killers. In making this case, I am indebted to other queer media studies scholars who interrogate the liberatory presumption of greater media visibility by examining not only what identities are missing, but also how those present valorize the dominance of other identity categories, such as whiteness, masculinity, and middle-class citizenship (Becker, Gay; Brady, Burns, and Davies; Kohnen). I also follow the work of other media scholars like Raquel J. Gates who contest the boundaries between positive and negative identity representations and reject the notion that certain genres, like independent film dramas, are more impactful than clichéd studio comedies or crime procedurals. The mainstream films and series I analyze in this book not only reach wider audiences, but also function as an interdependent web of production which replicates successful clichés and innovates by combining genres rather than altering these stereotypes.

Transphobia, Homophobia, and Trans Representations Both Time magazine’s 2014 “Transgender Tipping Point” article and Vanity Fair’s 2015 profile of Caitlyn Jenner acknowledge the inherent contradiction that trans scholar micha cárdenas states so succinctly: “trans people appear to be winning a struggle for visibility while also continuing to be murdered on a daily basis” (Steinmetz and Gray 44–45; Bissinger; 170). Yet these mainstream media articles are ultimately optimistic in contrast to the work of many trans studies scholars, like Morgan M.  Page, who believes that media visibility is intrinsically connected to “increased levels of physical and legislative violence against” the trans community (143). At the writing of this book, examples of legal discrimination include the ban on trans personnel in the military, the federal denial of safe housing and medical treatment for trans inmates and detainees, and the reduction of protections for K-12 trans students under Title IX, not to mention a slew of state legislative bills. Increased violence against the trans community includes murder rates: anti-LGBTQ homicides were higher in 2017 than either 2015 and 2016, according to the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs (Waters et al. 5). Putting statistics aside, let’s return to the transphobic mob violence in Law & Order: SVU when a group of cisgender teens verbally and physically harass a trans female teen, ultimately causing her to fall off a bridge and later die of her injuries. This episode is one of three from 2015 to 2018 with a trans feminine murder victim, an expected outcome in a

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television franchise with a reputation for fictionalizing “ripped from the headline” cases. Like filmic versions of real-life transphobic murders (e.g. Boys Don’t Cry, Peirce, 1999; Soldier’s Girl, Showtime, Pierson, 2003; A Girl Like Me: The Gwen Araujo Story, Holland, 2006), such episodes can be commended for creating empathy for trans victims. The latter film confirms actual crime statistics, as trans feminine persons are more likely to be murdered, up to four times higher than their cisgender counterparts, according to the Human Rights Campaign (Lee 33). A genre analysis across the decades, though, tells a different story about the function of trans characters in crime storylines, even if I stay focused only on the Law & Order franchise (NBC) from 2000–2018. 16 of the 18 trans characters are trans feminine, but only five are murder victims, including these recent examples. Yet unlike this trans teen, who is attacked by strangers, these other cases are framed as the result of the woman’s romantic or sexual relationship with a cisgender man (Law & Order: SVU, 2002, S03, Ep 23; Law & Order: Trial by Jury, 2005, S01, Ep12; Law & Order: SVU, 2016, S18, Ep6; Law & Order: SVU, 2018, S20, Ep10). Given the necessary dramatic arc for each episode’s investigation, it is also perhaps unsurprising that 7 of the 18 are also presumed suspects, and three turn out to be murderers (Law & Order: SVU, 2003, S04, Ep21; Law & Order, 2004, S14, Ep17; Law & Order: SVU, 2009, S10, Ep14).3 It is especially significant that even though the majority of trans feminine victims in reality are women of color, mostly African American, the majority of Law & Order’s victims are white or Asian American (Lee 34; Waters et al. 7). When Law & Order does include black trans women, most are sex workers who show up briefly as witnesses, and the others are either criminals or suspects. In fact, close to 40% of the franchise’s trans feminine characters are sex workers, including two non-black victims, a profession the series usually frames as a moral, not economic, choice. Given this closer review, should Law & Order, then, still be commended for creating empathy for victims of transphobic violence? As this brief analysis also demonstrates, trans representations do not merely confirm cis superiority but also engage in hierarchical differentials based on gender, race, and class, an intersectional puzzle that helps explain why the death of a middle-class white teen pushed off a bridge by strangers (Law & Order: SVU, NBC, 2015, S17, Ep3) is framed as more tragic than an Asian American teen sex worker murdered by her customer (Law & Order: SVU, 2018, S20, Ep10).4 My analysis of such televisual moments is indebted to queer scholars who similarly have unpacked such hierarchies

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for LGBQ representations by evaluating “homonormativity,” the concept that except for their sexual identity, LGBQ characters are as “normal” as other Americans—as white, as gender conforming, as middle-class, etc. (Cortvriend; Kohnen; Martin; Ng). This validation of normativity, in other words, has a disciplinary purpose, further punishing those unable or unwilling to fit cultural expectations or values and in turn rarely questioning male, white, or wealth privilege (Stodolka 417). This is an unsurprising result when white gay men dominate representations of the LGBTQ community on television (GLAAD 9, 14). Trans studies adapted the concept as “transnormativity” to elucidate the same narrow construction of acceptable trans identities, in order to, in Evan Vipond’s words, “convince cisnormative society that they are ‘just like them,’ … [by] upholding the sex and gender binary” (“Resisting” 24). Trans media scholars have applied such concepts to successfully expose the racist, classist, and ageist assumptions that uphold transnormativity as well (Hollis; McIntyre; Sandercock). It is crucial, though, to highlight that homonormativity is also a tool of transphobia since by definition it “exclude[s] transgender individuals and make[s] them appear more deviant in the process” (George 567). This viewpoint is borne out in studies that document how American heterosexuals’ acceptance of gays and lesbians does not correlate to trans acceptance (Mathers, Sumerau, and Cragun; Garelick, et al.). Granted, the trans and LGBQ community are targeted under similar presumptions that, for instance, gender and sexual identity are personal choices or threats that destabilize heteronormative values, and, moreover, cis people may be victimized for gender nonconformity.5 But, as Doug Meyer documents in Violence Against Queer People (2015), violence against trans individuals is “explicitly more dehumanizing than anti-lesbian and antigay violence” since perpetrators use pejorative language to frame the trans victim as an “‘it,’ depriving them of human qualities” (35). Recent legal arguments are useful to show the conceptual nuances of such prejudice. The lawyer for Jack Phillips, the Colorado baker whose right to refuse service to a gay couple was upheld by the Supreme Court in June 2018, claims that “Jack serves all customers; he simply declines to express messages or celebrate events that violate his deeply held beliefs” (De Vogue). In this way, the denial of LGBQ equal rights is conceptualized as a religious right of self-determination by the heterosexual individual to accept the person but reject the “sin,” a “love the sinner, hate the sin” rationale that frames validation of one person’s relationship as a threat

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to another’s ability to adhere to their religious faith. “Religious refusal and relationship recognition” legislation was one of the most proposed and passed categories of anti-LGBTQ state laws in 2018 (Warbelow, Oakley and Kutney 7, 29). In contrast, in 2016 a judge in Georgia denied a trans man’s petition to change his name by asserting, “name changes which allow a person to assume the role of a person of the opposite sex are, in effect, a type of fraud on the general public” and therefore are “dangerous” (Redden). This rhetoric denies his personhood, a “hate the sinner, hate the sin” perception that rejects a trans person’s right to exist.6 Georgia and 17 other states in 2017 and 2018 have proposed bills to ban health coverage for trans-related treatment through Medicaid and private insurance or for trans youth with this perspective, as well as make legal identification changes more difficult (Warbelow, Oakley and Kutney 21–22). Indeed, rather than perceive gender identity as an inherent and autonomous right against the authority of the state to define the conditions of one’s personhood, which fits Republican and particularly libertarian rhetoric, the trans community is conceived as a literal threat to cisgender individuals due to their alleged desire to assume a gender that is not their own and then invade sex-segregated physical spaces. Traces of this view can be found across scripted series that claim trans people are a threat just by existing: during this 2015 Law & Order: SVU episode, the psychologist at the trial of the main perpetrator argues that the trans girl’s gender identity compelled him to react with violence: “[she] was someone very different from the biological boys Darius knows … in ways that were threatening to a boy just beginning to mature sexually and emotionally…. He was flooded with fear and the need to show his peers that he was a straight—a ‘real’— man” (NBC, S17, Ep3). This example indicates that the trans psychotic murderers like Charlotte Drake on Pretty Little Liars are hardly perceived as the only trans threat to cisgender society (Freeform, 2015, S06, Ep10).

Trans Media Studies and Trans Representations The trans girl in the aforementioned Law & Order: SVU episode exemplifies the interrelated threads of homophobia and sexism within transphobia, since her gender identity, not her sexual orientation (which is never identified), “threatens” the heterosexual teenage boy who murders her, as he is compelled, according to the criminal psychologist, by his inability to assess his interpersonal role vis-à-vis a person who is both a girl and “not” a girl. Transgender studies thus situates its distinction as a field between

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gender studies and queer studies thanks to seminal scholars like Paisley Currah, Susan Stryker, A. Finn Enke, Jamison Green, and Aaron H. Devor.7 Certain aspects of trans identity or experience, as some recent scholars have argued, are overlooked or undervalued when trans subjects are examined from a queer media studies perspective (Fischer; Martínez-San Miguel and Tobias; Snorton). For example, trans media scholars in scripted narratives have argued that the “coming out” model often utilized to analyze LGBQ characters fails to transfer neatly onto trans characters even in series with queer characters like Glee, Degrassi: The Next Generation, The L Word and Orange is the New Black (Beirne; Yep, et  al.; Vipond, “100%;” Malatino).8 Moreover, the sequentiality of a transition narrative privileges the physical transformation above all else, but even without centering the trans character’s “journey,” the story arc is still so focused on the physicality of the trans character that dramatic events and tension are often constructed around the status of their genitals, as seen in even late 2010s examples like Rise (NBC, 2018, S01, Ep4), Law & Order: SVU (NBC, 2018, S19, Ep18), 3 Generations (Dellal, 2017) and Anything (McNeil, 2017) (for more examples, see Keegan, “Moving;” Poole; Abbott). In the same way, feminist studies, with its close attention to the relationship between a naturalized gender binary and patriarchal oppression, is integral to trans media analysis. Like other trans media scholars, I believe sexism cannot be dismantled without confronting transphobia, since representations build upon other sexist and homophobic assumptions, such as the sexual double standard, gender essentialism, femmephobia, and the valorization of procreative sex (Abelson; Fischer; Hines; Horak, “Trans”). Many fictional trans representations, for example, perpetuate the notion of an effortless cis gender identity and expression, which occurs even when cis female actors9 play trans feminine characters, a casting choice that has been less common than those with cis male actors, as in my earlier examples. Two mid-2000s films easily show how this dichotomy of female expression works. Felicity Huffman and Sofia Vergara play female transsexuals in Transamerica (Tucker, 2005) and Grilled (Ensler, 2006), yet the character’s gender expression is atypical of the actor’s usual glamorized, hyperfeminine appearance, which is evident in the roles that made them stars, Huffman on Desperate Housewives (ABC, 2004–2012) and Vergara on Modern Family (ABC, 2009–2020). The films masculinize their gender expression with a lack of makeup, sexualized clothing, and other feminine physical markers, like a high voice. Ironically, though, their cis roles’

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feminine gender expression is more challenging to achieve, due to the combined cost of professional makeup artists, hair stylists, cosmetic surgery, fashion and exercise consultants, etc. Yet only the former roles are presented as inauthentically feminine in comparison to the cis female characters and each actor’s “naturally” feminine appearance. This masculinized version, in fact, is meant to invalidate them as potential heterosexual partners for cisgender straight men within the storyline. Chapter 2 addresses how racial identity also impacts cisnormative standards, since trans feminine roles with white women like Huffman or light-complexion Latinas like Vergara are hypermasculinized in a way that many black women in trans feminine roles are not, since their racialized features, particularly their complexion and physicality, are enhanced as a stand-in for masculinization. An intersectional feminist lens, then, reveals how trans feminine characters maintain sexist, homophobic, and racist hierarchies. The fact that both characters are heterosexual also demonstrates my need to combine feminist media studies with queer media studies. I certainly appreciate queer media scholarship, like Samuel Chambers’, that mines scripted film and television for a queerness “that resists and subverts normative heterosexuality,” and, like Tison Pugh’s, reveals how certain characters and scenarios can disrupt the “gendered and (hetero)sexual normativity ostensibly encoded within these” narratives (21; 4). At the same time, the non-normative sexual and gender identity of some queer characters, particularly drag queens but also queer transsexuals, makes them useful for a variety of queer studies media analysis. In short, sometimes their atypical gender identity is more relevant to the character’s function, as Quinlan Miller similarly asserts about the “queer gender” of certain sitcom characters in the 1950s and 60s (8). As Miller’s book indicates, the boundary between cis and trans is also porous, due to both shifting definitions and gender’s complexity as an identity or in expression. For example, trans feminine characters who have already medically or socially transitioned consistently are defined onscreen as “transvestites,” even in the 2000s.10 Other times, a feminine-presenting person with male physiological attributes is defined this way regardless of the situation.11 LGBTQ identities are also often tracked together in scholarship (Tropiano; Capsuto; Benshoff and Griffin), advocacy (GLAAD), and popular blogs like Wikipedia (e.g. “List of Films with LGBT Characters”) and LezWatchTV, and often include as trans or genderqueer those who typically still identify with their assigned sex, like drag queens and kings, or do not utilize overtly visible gender changes (Singer

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259–260). “Transgender” is meant to be an inclusive umbrella term so covers a range of identities, from cross-dressers who may be another gender “part-time” and transsexuals who fit the conventional assumption regarding those who change their “sex” to other genderqueer people who identify outside of the two gender system. Any of these identities, in turn, may or may not utilize a range of medical treatments to change their physiology. As a result, even trans-only articles with historical lists (Anderson; Bernhard; Halterman) or aggregate sites, like Tiffany Michelle’s “Tiffany’s TG Movie Guide,” are not aligned in their definitions, and unfortunately, many use sources, particularly the International Movie Database, with inaccurate, outdated, and even pejorative terms.12 I have therefore viewed as many of these narratives as possible, including through multiple visits to the Library of Congress Moving Image Research Center, and have provided a chronological list of trans characters as well as drag performers and female imposters in American film and television as Appendix B. I include drag identities since I believe that televisual media contributed to the confusion between drag, cross-dressing, and transsexuality in order to deauthenticate a feminine identity or expression of any person assigned male at birth. While my own definitions will no doubt be disputed by future scholars, updated with better access and information or outdated by new practices, this chronology should enable more media scholars to address trans representations in their work or move beyond commonly referenced examples.13

The Presumption of Progress Chapter 2 first addresses the historical context that makes white trans feminine characters the most prominent trans identity in American popular media for the last 50 years. This trend not only privileges feminine identities over masculine ones but also promotes gender-normative feminine expression and behavior within a specifically racialized (white) and classed (middle-class) context. Recent trans scholarship is therefore useful to explain how the media emphasis on transnormativity can also be understood as a surveillance tool (Beauchamp; Fischer). Such apparatuses have, since the formation of the United States, defined and regulated normative gender roles by claiming its necessity for a productive citizenry and secure state (Gossett). Transnormativity was promoted as well by the first cisgender medical experts on “transgenderism” and the first transgender celebrities, but this chapter explains how televisual media became less and less

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interested in differentiating between transsexuality and cross-dressing, turning instead to an easily dismissible prop of a “man in a dress.” The audience, for example, most likely would be unable to distinguish between the transsexual Roberta in The World According to Garp (Hill, 1981), the drag queen in Trapper John, M.D. (CBS, 1981, S02, Ep6), and the female “imposter” and villain Isadora in the TV mystery movie Murder Me, Murder You (CBS, Nelson, 1983) when all are played by cis male actors. The impact of trans civil rights, however, produced more empathetic narratives starting in the 1990s, again using racial and class hierarchies to validate professional white trans women above all others, but often such characterizations continued to present trans bodies as irreconcilable with gender hegemonies. As trans theorists contend, trans embodiment is treated as singularly challenging and ultimately unfulfillable despite relying on the same consumeristic means as cisgendered embodiment and expression (Hughes; Salamon). I build upon these theories to assert in Chap. 2 that the transnormative model is crucial to the role physical embodiment plays in televisual representations of trans identities. As more and more trans protagonists appeared in the twenty-first century, trans bodies remain the site of trans identity due to transnormativity’s medical model of transition, but now their inability to achieve equality with cis society is attributed to their gender dysphoria rather than cisnormativity. More recently, the common practice of casting a cis actor as a trans character, known as “transface,” has generated controversy, but I demonstrate that the presence of a trans actor in a trans role cannot by itself authenticate the trans body since televisual genres still use visual conventions to convey the authenticity of one’s gender (Reynolds). Chapter 3 begins my genre case studies by analyzing how comedic genres treat trans identities as a cisgender “problem.” In this chapter I first explain how storylines create tension through gender and sexual identity difference by reviewing scholarship on comedic elements in sitcoms and films (Becker, “Becoming;” Garber; Neale and Krutnik). I then expand this concept by introducing a term, the “cis surprise,” which is such a common narrative trope that I examine its iterations both Chaps. 3 and 4. Separating the analysis between two chapters is necessary due to the trope’s evolution from a “friend” version, in which the cis main male character reunites with friend from decades before, to a “romantic partner” version, where the cis man expresses romantic interest in a new acquaintance or begins to date her. The “cis surprise” is my alteration of Jeffrey

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Escoffier’s “tranny surprise,” a term he uses to explain the narrative trajectory of pornographic films, in which narrative suspense hinges upon the surprise of the reveal, the moment when the trans woman discloses her gender history,14 usually by exposing her penis (274). The reveal’s narrative purpose, in short, is the moment when “the meaning of the trans body is contested, and competing ‘truths’ vie for dominance,” so that even if the trans person willingly discloses, the narrative asserts a cisnormative “truth” over their self-agency and authenticity (Seid 176). Like its pornographic counterpart, this trope primarily relies upon a cis male main character and a trans feminine guest character who, especially in the latter version, is conventionally attractive. Unlike its pornographic origin, however, the reveal in mainstream comedy is often unexpected and makes a trans character’s gender identity either a punchline or crisis in order to privilege the cis character’s reaction over the trans character’s voiced self-­ determination, which is only sometimes provided. By substituting “cis” for “trans,” I thus shift the onus of the surprise’s impact from the trans character to the cis character since they are the person in this exchange who makes this information relevant to the interaction. My term is therefore meant to remind readers that the term relies on a cis/trans dichotomy that does exist but is given a relevance by cisnormativity’s stress on its difference, not on its sameness, to trans lives and bodies. I keep “surprise” to retain this scenario’s intentionally transphobic purpose, often structured as a narrative climax regardless of whether it is used in a non-sexual (Chap. 3) or sexual (Chap. 4) context. A short comparison of its usage in the following three examples, studied in more detail in these chapters, also demonstrates why genre case study analysis is a necessary tool for narrative cohesion. Sitcoms originate what I term the “cis surprise” since it extends a trope that had become popularized with gay and lesbian guest characters, the reunion, in which a main majority character is reacquainted with an old friend, colleague, or romantic partner who now identifies differently than they had previously, a subset of the “mistaken identity” scenario familiar to sitcom audiences (Tropiano 212–223). The reunion storyline adds an emotional poignancy regarding whether a relationship is still possible now that the guest character’s identity has shifted, so applying concepts from queer theorists, as I explain, elucidates how this tension oscillates between the inherent sameness and difference of sexual identities (Doty; Kessler; Becker, “Becoming”). A comparison of two sitcom examples from different decades, though, also reveals a key difference that

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demonstrates why a generic analysis is necessary: sexual tension shifts the stakes considerably in a comedic context, as Chap. 4 asserts, while romantic  sex, such as in the medical drama Chicago Hope (CBS, 1995, S01, Ep18), pushes the climatic reveal into tragedy. On The Jeffersons (CBS, 1977, S04, Ep3), George is reunited with a friend from his Navy enlistment, hypermasculine Dr. Billy Kronk is reunited with his pee wee hockey teammate in Chicago Hope, and on Just Shoot Me! (NBC, 2000; S05, Ep6), Dennis is reunited with a childhood best friend, who shared his love of skateboarding, comic books, and the series Kung Fu. It is not insignificant that each cis male character’s relationship with his friend was established within a sex-segregated environment or activities as each cis man believes without this common identity, the meaning of their earlier affection, not just their current friendship, is invalidated. The comedic genre in turn impacts the storyline, the framing of their relationship, and the resolution of this conflict. As comedies, The Jeffersons and Just Shoot Me! heighten the comedic elements through misrecognition, so that neither George nor Dennis first believe the beautiful woman before him, given cisgender authenticity with the casting of a cis female actor, could possibly be his old friend, claiming it must be a practical joke. As a drama, Chicago Hope extends the mystery of what Annie has to tell Billy about her past after the two run into a plastic surgeon they both know, but she refuses to tell him why even though the two have already begun dating and having sex. Pathos is created in all three by the narrative tension that results when each man’s rejects his friend’s new identity and with it an ongoing relationship, which is how the trans guest character’s identity in a comedic and dramatic context still devolves into a cisgender “problem.” As a drama, Chicago Hope extends the pathos of Billy’s problem for a number of scenes, debating “what” Annie is with first Annie and then a female colleague. In contrast, Dennis’ talk with a female colleague convinces him to at least allow Brandi to apologize to him, and they make up by discussing Brandi’s breast augmentation, so the audience can titter approvingly when he asks to touch them. George’s rejection of Edie, in contrast, creates another humorous situation when he must hire a cis male employee to dress in female attire and impersonate Edie due to Louise’s fears of adultery. In the comedic narratives, the problem is only resolved after another cis character considered more morally astute—George’s wife Louise and Dennis’ colleague Maya—acknowledges her female identity, paving the way for his

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acceptance. The resolution, though, prioritizes cisnormative assumptions that her masculine self can never be fully erased, as George’s and Dennis’s rehabilitated transphobia is dependent on the fact that their friend retains enough masculine qualities to maintain their connection, demonstrated through Edie’s physical practical jokes and Brandi’s superiority in nerf gun battles and video games. In contrast, as a drama, Chicago Hope provides a poignant scene between the two when Billy attempts a reconciliation, which ultimately fails when he cannot overcome his repulsion, concluding, “I wish you hadn’t told me.” The pathos does not end here, though, as Annie returns the following season (CBS, 1996, S02, Ep16) to ask Billy for his help due to unexplained abdominal pain and a hormone imbalance, enabling the show to provide another dramatic reveal between the two when her first scene ends as she pulls off the scarf around her face to show significant facial hair. Again, however, his feelings for her, exacerbated by her tumor diagnosis, are rooted in their masculine-defined friendship, since she is shown cheering his violent body checks as he plays hockey. His cis authority again creates a cis problem because she refuses medical treatment, surgery and ending her hormone therapy, as it would remasculinize her body. Her last line, “I won’t be a woman. I can’t be a man. What am I supposed to do?”, is answered when he finds her body in her hospital bathroom, graphically shown from above to emphasize how the blood from her cut wrists has spread across the floor. While Billy’s rehabilitated transphobia is only referenced at the start of episode, when he alludes to being a “jerk” to her previously, the tragedy of their unfulfilled romance is now replaced by the tragedy of her death. The generic elements of comedic series like The Jeffersons are the focus of Chap. 3, the sexualized version from Just Shoot Me! covered in Chap. 4, and tragic romances that end either in the end of the relationship or death like Annie’s and Billy’s are addressed in Chap. 5. Chapter 4 elaborates on the cultural shift that occurs once the “cis surprise” romantic scenario becomes popularized due to the rise of sexually explicit television starting in the 1990s, which enables more explicit sexual engagement between cis male characters and trans feminine characters. I use trans scholarship to explain how these representations build upon the pathologization of trans sexuality which starts decades earlier in medical-­ psychiatric discourse and continues today in diagnoses like “autogynephilia.” Predictably, the sexually explicit “surprise” begins first in R-rated films like Risky Business (Brinkman, 1983) and Bachelor Party (Israel,

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1984), two examples I discuss in more detail in this chapter. The first is, like in Risky Business, a “romantic partner version,” or one in which the cis male character avoids sexual contact and retains his cisgender superiority by rejecting the trans feminine character’s romantic overtures when he learns her gender history. This film also uses racial (white/black) and class (middle-/lower-) hierarchies to support the cis/trans binary. In the second, the “cis chaser,” again an alteration of a pejorative term for the cisgender male sexual partner of a trans woman, also presents trans sexuality as unequivocally perverse. As in Bachelor Party, the reveal occurs after sexual relations, so it destabilizes the cis character’s heterosexuality, too. Such chasers, like in this film, are often secondary characters whose failed masculinity then highlights the main cis male character’ heterosexual prowess. The “cis chaser” extends the legacy of Myra Breckinridge (Sarne, 1970), a satirical film which remains influential in American media and bridges the longer history of the trans psychotic criminal with the “cis surprise” sexual predator. Both versions use misrecognition to further ridicule the trans character’s gender identity, but the latter has more applicability, often making sexual interaction the premise for scandal or blackmail for the cis male character and sometimes interjecting comedic elements into a dramatic genre. Romance is the genre case study in Chap. 5, which clarifies why the sexual innuendo and interaction in Chap. 4 are intentionally unromantic, since romance is constructed to affirm both partners. Thus, the inclusion of trans characters in this scenario in both television series like Chicago Hope (CBS, 1995, S01, Ep18), Ally McBeal (Fox, 2000, S04, Ep2–4, 7) and The Education of Max Bickford (CBS, 2002, S01, Ep12) and films like Boys Don’t Cry (Peirce, 1999) and Soldier’s Girl (Showtime, Pierson, 2003) would seem to suggest that trans fictional representations become substantively better as the 1990s progressed into the new century concurrent with an increased public discourse on transgender rights. Instead, I use feminist media theory to explain how romance can enhance the trans character’s autonomy while continuing to privilege the cis character as more significant (Gill; Grodal; Grindon; K.  Johnson; Todd). Chapter 5 also integrates queer theory to explain how this progression parallels similar benchmarks in the history of gay and lesbian characters. First, sympathetic depictions were dependent on their complete desexualization, while later relationship rejection and failure became a means to provide a sympathetic narrative without having to investigate the impact of systemic homophobia. Failed relationships continue to occur for heterosexual

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couples whether the cis partner is trans male (e.g. Mistresses, ABC, 2016, S04, Ep3–5; The Fosters, Freeform, 2016, S04) or trans female characters (e.g. Star, FX, 2017, S02; Pose, FX, 2018, S01), although the latter’s popularity over the former continues due to its replication of familiar sexist tropes. Thanks to melodramatic sensibilities, death can also poignantly end a heterosexual relationship while still conveniently preventing a happily-ever-­after, like in Dirty Sexy Money (ABC, 2008, S02, Ep8) or The Danish Girl (Hopper, 2015). The chapter concludes by explaining why cis/trans romance is primarily validated only for same-sex couples in narratives geared towards queer audiences, as happens in Sense8 (Netflix, 2015, S01) and Faking It (MTV, 2016, S03, Ep4–10), but also negates the necessity of affirming the trans character’s gender identity. Finally, Chaps. 6 and 7, building in the analyses from Chap. 4, identifies trans character tropes that cross genres even as the genre shifts the character’s function. Chapter 6 is devoted to trans criminality, opening with a section which analyzes the trans psychotic stereotype from the initially one-dimensional female imposter to the more modern version that continues to link transsexuality with personality disorders and violence, such as Pretty Little Liars’ Charlotte. This chapter also demonstrates that the sexualized components of this characterization are narratively linked with the trans feminine sex worker. The cis main character’s expertise in investigative and legal narratives—whether as beat cop, homicide detective, forensic examiner, prosecuting attorney, or private detective—prioritizes their definition of trans identities and determines their social capital. As feminist scholarship has demonstrated, sex work in popular discourse legitimizes male control over female sexuality even as it reveals anxieties over the extent to that control, so I incorporate this theory to explain how trans feminine sex workers function to reaffirm the superiority of cisgender male heterosexuality by continuing the denigration and ridicule found in the sexual “cis surprise” (Carr; Coy, Wakeling and Garner; Lister; Voss). As a result, the recurring trope of the “sassy hooker” has a comedic function, even in dramatic narratives, and in turn exposes her exclusion from positive empowerment tropes available to cisgender sex workers, whether through heteronormative “true love” redemption or savvy economic empowerment (Flanagin). Since fictional trans sex workers are more often women of color, these scenarios, present through the 2010s, continues to maintain the exclusion by race and class of lower-class trans women of color from model citizenship and with it any narrative empathy. Although many of these are minor or even nameless characters, I assert that the

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frequency and commonality of this trope create a “developmental narrative” across series and genres, valorizing these harmful stereotypes (Wlodarz 91). Chapter 7 turns to trans victims, the most recent trans trope historically. The trans victim in crime dramas partly relies upon the same melodramatic sensibilities found in romantic tragedies described in Chap. 5, particularly through sensationalized scenes of violence and a heightened focus on interpersonal factors and relationships. Crime dramas, though, decenter victims based on the structure and ideological purpose of criminal justice narratives, which is another means to validate cisnormative institutions and transgender exclusion. Even when cis characters work in their favor, such as to investigate their deaths in police and crime dramas or advocate for their civil rights in legal or family dramas, the cis character’s inadequacy against the system is the focal point of the drama, not the trans character’s experience with transphobia. This chapter therefore integrates feminist and queer media studies of this genre to explain how victimization, whether through physical violence or legal exclusion, is a narrative convention that enables series to appear inclusive of minority identities without having to suggest they are equal to majority characters. This occurs primarily because their tragic demise can often act as an acknowledgement of the intractability of the prejudice against them. As a result, television crime series designate certain identity groups as responsible for their own victimization, validating sexist and homophobic institutional oppression in the process (Lavigne; Foss; Rader, Rhineberger-Dunn, and Vasquez). My analysis of murdered trans victims then integrates a theory from trans studies scholarship, “trans necropolitics,” to more carefully explain how the interrelated oppression of social, political, and economic systems creates, justifies, and ultimately exploits trans violent death (Snorton and Haritaworn; Aizura; cárdenas). Moreover, the trans victim’s romantic and sexual history is often connected to her violent end, as I noted about the Law & Order franchise, which simultaneously validates her as a heterosexual object of desire but then neutralizes her threat to cisnormative heterosexuality. Thus, even though victimization storylines appear more progressive than their criminal predecessors, their death conveniently silences their experience and erases the possibility of systemic change. As a television and film scholar, I hardly wish to conclude that genres never expand rather than limit trans representations, a topic I address in more detail in the Conclusion. Current trends suggest that trans

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characters do not need to be presented as a “cis problem” when they appear in ensemble casts in a variety of dramas: Laverne Cox as a partner in the legal drama Doubt (CBS, 2017, S01); Nomi Marks as a member of pod of sensates in the science-fiction conspiracy thriller Sense8 (Netflix, 2015–2018, S01–02); Alex Blue Davis as a new intern on the medical drama Grey’s Anatomy (ABC, 2017, S14); Asia Kate Dillon as a GNC market analyst in the finance thriller Billions (Showtime, 2017–2018, S02–03); and Nicole Maines as a journalist and superhero on Supergirl (The CW, 2018, S04). Such depictions rightfully show that the trans community should be recognized for qualities beyond their atypical gender identity or history, an achievement more common in independent documentaries.15 Yet I also wish that mainstream storylines could provide cis audiences with more ways to understand the range of trans bodies and identities and parallel their experiences of gender with their own, so they can be more effective allies against transphobic legislative and interpersonal attacks that continue even as the U.S. moves into another decade. Until then, trans persons will continue to be harmed—personally, professionally, and violently—from these myths of an invariant gender binary and naturalized sex/gender correlation that continue to restrict opportunities and authenticity for every person regardless of their gender identity.

Notes 1. The terms “trans” and “transgender” in this book denote persons who experience an incongruence between their sex as assigned at birth and their gender identity, whether they utilize medical options to change physically or not or whether they identify within or outside of the gender binary. Persons who do not experience this incongruence I refer to as “cisgender.” While the accompanying terminology “trans woman” and “cis woman” is used to differentiate between the two, it is not meant validate one identity over another or presume one is more or less authentic. I acknowledge both “cisgender” and “transgender” remain contested terms whose meaning continues to evolve. Additional explanation may be found in Appendix A: Glossary for Gender Identities and Characters. 2. For that reason, as I later explain, films like Tootsie and series like Bosom Buddies do not appear in Appendix A but female “impersonators” like in Psycho do. Since I am analyzing mainstream and widely accessible productions, pornography is also excluded but is another genre of media analysis for trans representations. See, for example, Phillips; Escoffier; and Steinbock.

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3. I include in this brief summary a 2003 episode which implies the trans feminine character is impersonating a woman to avoid criminal prosecution, although the narrative provides little explanation regarding this person’s motivations (Law & Order, NBC, S14, Ep17). 4. As I later explain, I integrate feminist media analysis of sex workers to unpack the myths and ongoing fascination with this trope and how trans feminine sex workers both support and are distanced from these trends (Carr; Coy, Wakeling and Garner; Lister; Voss). 5. For example, cis women are often subject to gender harassment in the workplace and public places when they exhibit gender nonconforming expression or behavior (Leskinen, Rabelo, and Cortina), particularly queer women (Rabelo and Cortina). 6. A representative distinction can be found in the Family Research Council’s “Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity (SOGI) Laws: A Threat to Free Markets and Freedom of Conscience and Religion” as the following statement reveals: “While sexual attractions may be involuntary, neither homosexual conduct nor transgender behavior meets any of the other criteria. Skin complexion, ethnicity, and gender cannot be changed (so-called transgender surgery is superficial; it does not change the genetic and thus defining characteristics of the person’s gender)” (Spriggs). 7. For a history of trans studies and the contributions of these scholars, see Stryker and Aizura; Kunzel; Radi. 8. Trans media scholarship covers non-scripted genres as well, including journalism (Billard; Capuzza), reality television (Edgar; McIntyre; Mocarski et  al.; Sender) and documentaries (Booth; A.  Johnson; Pullen, “Transpeople”), and those in Transgender Communication Studies: Histories, Trends, and Trajectories (Spencer and Capuzza). 9. I use gender-neutral terms whenever possible, including the term “actor.” 10. Some examples include Picket Fences (CBS, 1992, S01, Ep11); Ally McBeal (Fox, 1997, S01, Ep10); Diary of a Serial Killer (Wallace, 1997): Law & Order: SVU (NBC, 2002, S03, Ep23); JAG (CBS, 2004, S10, Ep3); and House, M.D. (Fox, 2010, S06, Ep18). 11. Representative examples from dramas and comedies in each decade include a trans feminine thief in Rent-A-Cop (London, 1987); two trans feminine sex workers in River Made To Drown In (Meredino, 1997); a trans feminine club host in Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles (Wincer, 2001); a trans feminine police informant in Zodiac (Fincher, 2007); and a trans feminine party-goer in Men in Black 3 (Sonnefeld, 2012). 12. One representative example is the IMDB description of two trans feminine characters in a Nip/Tuck (FX, 2003–2010) episode (2003, S01, Ep9) which describes them as “transgendered man #1” and “#2.” Some of the many cast lists in IMDB that describe a character as a “tranny” include Law

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& Order (NBC, 2008, S19, Ep6); Blue Mountain State (Paramount, 2010, S01, Ep4), Shameless (Showtime, 2013, S03, Ep11) and Grudge Match (Segal, 2013). While many narratives, as I later explain, use contradictory definitions of the trans character’s identity, such as referring to a female transsexual as a “transvestite,” cast lists with character descriptions instead of names in Wikipedia and IMDB should use accurate and non-­ pejorative terms. 13. Please see Appendix A for terms and definitions used in this book. 14. Although this term is more common in social (Schilt and Lagos 429) and health science (Operario and Nemoto 1538) research, I have incorporated it because in such scholarship, it refers to how the person has altered their self-definition and/or their legal documentation over time. 15. Starting in the 1990s, such films became more readily available to audiences through both independent film festivals, as Laura Horak documents, and conventional outlets, such as on PBS stations which aired documentaries like Metamorphosis: Man into Woman (Leeman, 1990) in 1990 and You Don’t Know Dick: Courageous Hearts of Transsexual Men (Cram, 1997) in 1999. The critical and popular acclaim over Paris is Burning (Livingston, 1990) led to more documentarian attention to trans subjects not often visible in mainstream popular culture, particularly lower-class trans women of color. For additional analysis on trans documentaries during the 1990s and 2000s, including the rise in trans masculine subjects in the early 2000s, see Pullen, “Transpeople;” Austin Johnson; Wahng; and Horak.

Works Cited Abbott, Traci. “The Trans/Romance Dilemma in Transamerica and Other Films.” The Journal of American Culture, vol. 36, no. 1, 2013, pp. 32–41, https:// doi.org/10.1111/jacc.12011. Abelson, Miriam J. “Already Feminists: Transfeminist Histories, Hurdles and Futures.” Nevertheless, They Persisted: Feminisms and Continued Resistance in the US Women’s Movement, edited by Jo Reger, Routledge, 2018, pp. 43–59. Aizura, Aren Z. “Trans Feminine Value, Racialized Others and the Limits of Necropolitics.” Queer Necropolitics, edited by Jin Haritaworn, Adi Kuntsman, and Silvia Posocco, Routledge, 2014, pp. 129–148. Altman, Rick. “A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre.” Cinema Journal, vol. 23, no. 3, 1984, pp. 6–18. American Psychiatric Association [APA]. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, DSM 5. 5th ed. American Psychiatric Publishing, 2013.

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Anderson, Tre’vell. “Visibility Matters: Transgender Characters on Film and Television through the Years.” The Los Angeles Times, 18 Dec. 2015, http:// timelines.latimes.com/transgender-­characters-­film-­tv-­timeline. Beauchamp, Toby. Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and U.S.  Surveillance Practices. Duke University Press, 2019. Becker, Ron. “Becoming Bromosexual: Straight Men, Gay Men, and Male Bonding on U.S.  TV.” Reading the Bromance: Homosocial Relationships in Film and Television, edited by Michael DeAngelis, Wayne State University Press, 2014, pp. 233–54. ———. Gay TV and Straight America. Rutgers University Press, 2006. Beirne, Rebecca. “The T Word: Exploring Transgender Representations in The L Word.” Loving the L Word: The Complete Series in Focus, edited by Dana Heller, Tauris, 2013, pp. 24–36. Benshoff, Harry M. and Sean Griffin. Queer Images: A History of Gay and Lesbian Film in America. Rowman, 2006. Bernard, Riese. “105 Trans Women on American TV,” Autostraddle, 28 Apr. 2016, autostraddle.com/105-­trans-­women-­on-­american-­tv-­a-­complete-­history-­and-­ analysis-­216732. Bettcher, Talia Mae. “Transphobia.” TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, vol. 1, no. 1–2 (May 2014), pp.  249–251, https://doi.org/10.1215/2328 9252-­2400181. Billard, Thomas J. “‘Passing’ and the Politics of Deception: Transgender Bodies, Cisgender Aesthetics, and the Policing of Inconspicuous Marginal Identities.” The Palgrave Handbook of Deceptive Communication, edited by Tony Ducan-­ Morgan, Palgrave Macmillan, 2019, pp. 463–477. Bissinger, Buzz. “Caitlyn Jenner: The Full Story.” Vanity Fair, 25 June 2015, vanityfair.com/hollywood/2015/06/caitlyn-­j enner-­b ruce-­c over-­a nnie-­ leibovitz. Booth, E.  Tristan. “The Provisional Acknowledgement of Identity Claims in Televised Documentary.” Spencer and Capuzza, pp. 111–126. Brady, Anita, Kellie Burns and Cristyn Davies, Mediated Sexual Citizenship: Neoliberal Subjectivities in Television Culture. Routledge, 2018. Capsuto, Steven. Alternate Channels: The Uncensored Story of Gay and Lesbian Images on Radio and Television. Ballatine, 2000. Capuzza, Jamie C. “What’s in a Name? Transgender Identity, Metareporting, and the Misgendering of Chelsea Manning.” Spencer and Capuzza, pp. 93–110. cárdenas, micha. “Dark Shimmers: The Rhythm of Necropolitical Affect in Digital Media.” Gossett, Stanley, and Burton, pp. 161–173. Carr, Alison J. “The Stripper.” Smith and Attwood, pp. 362–370.

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Cavalcante, Andre. Struggling for Ordinary: Media and Transgender Belonging in Everyday Life. New York University Press, 2018. Chambers, Samuel A. The Queer Politics of Television. I.B. Taurus, 2009. Cortvriend, Jack. “Stylistic Convergences between British Film and American Television: Andrew Haigh’s Looking.” Critical Studies in Television, vol. 13, no. 1, Mar. 2018, pp. 96–112, https://doi.org/10.1177/1749602017746115. Coy, Maddy, Josephine Wakeling, and Maria Garner. “Selling Sex Sells: Representations of Prostitution and the Sex Industry in Sexualised Popular Culture as Symbolic Violence.” Women’s Studies International Forum, vol. 34, no. 5, Sept.–Oct. 2011, pp.  441–448, https://doi.org/10.1016/j. wsif.2011.05.008. De Vogue, Ariane. “Supreme Court Rules for Colorado Baker in Same-Sex Wedding Cake Case.” CNN, 4 June 2018, cnn.com/2018/06/04/politics/ masterpiece-­colorado-­gay-­marriage-­cake-­supreme-­court/index.html. Doty, Alexander. Making Things Perfectly Queer: Interpreting Mass Culture. University of Minnesota Press, 1993. Dyer, Richard. A Matter of Images: Essays on Representations, 2nd ed. Routledge, 2002. ———. “Stereotyping.” Media and Cultural Studies: Keyworks, Rev. ed., edited by Meenakshi Gigi Durham and Douglas M.  Kellner, Routledge, 2006, pp. 353–365. Edgar, Eir-Anne. “’Xtravaganza!’:Drag Representation and Articulation in RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Studies in Popular Culture, vol. 34, no. 1, Fall 2011, pp. 133–146, JSTOR, 23416354. Escoffier, Jeffrey. “Imagining the She/Male: Pornography and the Transsexualization of the Heterosexual Male.” Studies in Gender and Sexuality, vol. 12, no. 4, 2011, pp.  268–281, https://doi.org/10.1080/1524065 7.2011.610230. Fischer, Mia. “Queer and Feminist Approaches to Transgender Media Studies.” Feminist Approaches to Media Theory and Research, edited by Dustin Harp, Jamie Loke, and Ingrid Backman, Palgrave Macmillan, 2018, pp. 95–107. Flanagin, Jake. “Creating a ‘Living Image’ of a Transgender Woman.” The Atlantic, 28 Feb. 2014, theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/02/ creating-­a-­living-­image-­of-­a-­transgender-­woman/284131. Foss, Katherine. “’Who Are You?’ Shared Responsibility and the Victims of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.” The Harms of Crime Media: Essays on the Perpetuation of Racism, Sexism and Class Stereotypes, edited by Denise L. Bissler and Joan L.Conners, McFarland, 2012, pp. 151–170. Garber, Marjorie. Vested Interests: Cross-Dressing and Cultural Anxiety. Routledge, 1992.

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Garelick, Angela S., et al. “Beyond the Binary: Exploring the Role of Ambiguity in Biphobia and Transphobia.” Journal of Bisexuality, vol. 17, no. 2, 2017, pp. 172–189, https://doi.org/10.1080/15299716.2017.1319890. Gates, Raquel J. Double Negative: The Black Image and Popular Culture. Duke University Press, 2018. George, Marie-Amelie. “The LGBT Disconnect: Politics and Perils of Legal Movement Formation.” Wisconsin Law Review, vol. 2018, no. 3, 2018, pp.  503–591, wisconsinlawreview.org/wp-­content/uploads/2018/05/ George-­Final.pdf. Gill, Rosalind. Gender and the Media. Polity, 2007. Gillig, Traci K., et al. “More than a Media Moment: The Influence of Televised Storylines on Viewers’ Attitudes toward Transgender People and Policies.” Sex Roles, vol. 78, no. 7–8, Apr. 2018, pp. 515–527, https://doi.org/10.1007/ s11199-­017-­0816-­1. GLAAD. Where We Are On TV 2018–2019. 25 Oct. 2018, glaad.org/files/ WWAT/WWAT_GLAAD_2018-­2019.pdf. Gossett, Che. “Blackness and the Trouble of Trans Visibility.” Gossett, Stanley and Burton, pp. 183–190. Gossett, Reina, Eric A.  Stanley and Johanna Burton, editors. Trap Door: Trans Cultural Production and the Politics of Visibility. MIT Press, 2017. Grindon, Leger. The Hollywood Romantic Comedy. Wiley-Blackwell, 2011. Grodal, Torben. “Love and Desire in the Cinema.” Cinema Journal, vol. 43, no. 2, Winter 2004, pp. 26–46, JSTOR, 1225913. Halterman, Jim. “The Road to ‘Transparent’: A History of Transgender Characters on TV.” Mashable, 11 Dec. 2015, mashable.com/2015/12/11/road-­to-­ transparent/#bVbodcmECkqY. Accessed 16 July 2016. Hines, Sally. “The Feminist Frontier: On Trans and Feminism.” Journal of Gender Studies, vol. 28, no. 2, 2019, pp.  145–157, https://doi.org/10.108 0/09589236.2017.1411791. Hollis, Erik. “Figuring the Angry Inch: Transnormativity, the Black Femme and the Fraudulent Phallus; or Fleshly Remainders of the ‘Ungendered’ and the ‘Unthought’.” Feminist Theory, vol. 19 no. 1, 2018, pp. 23–40, https://doi. org/10.1177/1464700117742868. Horak, Laura. “Tracing the History of Trans and Gender Variant Filmmakers.” Spectator, vol. 37, no. 2, 2017, pp. 9–20. ———. “Trans Studies.” Feminist Media Histories, vol. 4, no. 2, 2018, pp. 201–206, https://doi.org/10.1525/fmh.2018.4.2.201. Hughes, Laine. “Wronging the Right-Body Narrative: On the Universality of Gender Uncertainty.” Current Critical Debates in the Field of Transsexual Studies, edited by Oren Gozlan, Routledge, 2018, pp. 181–193. Johnson, Austin H. “Transnormativity: A New Concept and its Validation Through Documentary Film about Transgender Men.” Sociological Inquiry,

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vol. 86, no. 4, Nov. 2016, pp.  465–491, https://doi.org/10.1111/ soin.12127. Johnson, Kevin A. “Unrealistic Portrayals of Sex, Love, and Romance in Popular Wedding Films.” Critical Thinking About Sex, Love, and Romance in the Mass Media: Media Literacy Applications, edited by Mary-Lou Galician and Debra L. Merskin, Lawrence Erlbaum, 2007, pp. 355–366. Keegan, Cael. Lana and Lilly Wachowski. University of Illinois Press, 2018. ———. “Moving Bodies: Sympathetic Migrations in Transgender Narrativity.” Genders, vol. 57, Spring 2013, par. 1–29. Academic OneFile. Kessler, Kelly. “Politics of the Sitcom Formula: Friends, Mad About You, and the Sapphic Second Banana.” The New Queer Aesthetic on Television, edited by James R.  Keller & Leslie Stratyner, Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2006, pp. 130–146. Kohnen, Melanie E.S. Queer Representation, Visibility, and Race in American Film and Television: Screening the Closet. Routledge, 2016. Kunzel, Regina. “The Flourishing of Transgender Studies.” TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, vol. 1, no. 1–2, 2014, pp.  285–297, https://doi.org/1 0.1215/23289252-­2399461. Lavigne, Carlen. “Death wore Black Chiffon: Sex and Gender in CSI.” Canadian Review of American Studies, vol. 39, no. 4, Winter 2009, pp. 383–398, https:// doi.org/10.1353/crv.0.0047. Lee, Mark. “A Time to Act: Fatal Violence Against Transgender People in America 2017.” Human Rights Campaign, 17 Nov. 2017, assets2.hrc.org/files/assets/ resources/A_Time_To_Act_2017_REV3.pdf. Leskinen, Emily A., Verónica Caridad Rabelo, and Lilia M.  Cortina. “Gender Stereotyping and Harassment: A ‘Catch-22’ for Women in the Workplace.” Psychology, Public Policy, and Law, vol. 21, no. 2, 2015, pp. 192–204, https:// doi.org/10.1037/law0000040. LezWatchTV, 2014–2019, lezwatchtv.com. “List of Films with LGBT Characters.” Wikipedia, 25 July 2019, en.wikipedia. org/wiki/List_of_films_with_LGBT_characters Lister, Kate. “The Pen is Mightier than the Whore: Victorian Newspapers and the Sex-Work Savior Complex.” Smith and Attwood, pp. 371–382. Malatino, Hilary. “The Transgender Tipping Point: The Social Death of Sophia Burset,” Feminist Perspectives on Orange Is the New Black: Thirteen Critical Essays, edited by April Kalogeropoulos Householder and Adrienne Trier-­ Bieniek, McFarland, 2016, pp. 95–110. Martin, Alfred L., Jr. “It’s (Not) in His Kiss: Gay Kisses and Camera Angles in Contemporary US Network Television Comedy.” Popular Communication, vol. 12, no. 3, 2014, pp.  153–165, https://doi.org/10.1080/1540570 2.2014.921921.

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Martínez-San Miguel, Yolanda and Sarah Tobias. “Introduction: Thinking Beyond Hetero/Homo Normativities.” Trans Studies: The Challenge to Hetero/Homo Normativities, edited by Martínez-San Miguel and Tobias, Rutgers University Press, 2016, pp. 1–17. Mathers, Lain AB, J.  E. Sumerau, and Ryan T.  Cragun. “The Limits of Homonormativity: Constructions of Bisexual and Transgender People in the Post-Gay Era.” Sociological Perspectives, vol. 61, no. 6, 2018, pp.  934–952, https://doi.org/10.1177/0731121417753370 McIntyre, Joanna. “’They’re So Normal I Can’t Stand It’: I Am Jazz, I Am Cait, Transnormativity, and Trans Feminism.” Orienting Feminism: Media, Activism and Cultural Representation, edited by Catherine Dale and Rosemary Overell, Springer, 2018, pp. 9–24. Meyer, Doug. Violence Against Queer People: Race, Class, Gender, and the Persistence of Anti-LGBTQ Discrimination. Rutgers University Press, 2015. Michelle, Tiffany. Tiffany’s TG Movie Guide, 14 Feb. 2012, www.tgmovieguide.org. Miller, Lucy J. “Becoming One of the Girls/Guys: Distancing Transgender Representations in Popular Film Comedies.” Spencer and Capuzza, pp. 127–142. Miller, Quinlan. Camp TV: Trans Gender Queer Sitcom History. Duke University Press, 2019. Mittell, Jason. Genre and Television: From Cop Shows to Cartoons in American Culture. Routledge, 2004. Mocarski, Richard, et  al. “’A Different Kind of Man:’ Mediated Transgendered Subjectivity, Chaz Bono on Dancing With the Stars.” Journal of Communication Inquiry vol. 37, no. 3, 2013, pp.  249–264, https://doi. org/10.1177/0196859913489572. Neale, Steve and Frank Krutnik. Popular Film and Television Comedy. Routledge, 1990. Ng, Eve. “A ‘Post-Gay’ Era? Media Gaystreaming, Homonormativity, and the Politics of LGBT Integration.” Communication, Culture & Critique, vol. 6, no. 2, June 2013, pp. 258–283, https://doi.org/10.1111/cccr.12013. Operario, Don and Tooru Nemoto. “On Being Transnational and Transgender: Human Rights and Public Health Considerations.” Editorial, American Journal of Public Health, vol. 107, no. 10, 2017, pp. 1537–1538, https://doi. org/10.2105/AJPH.2017.304030. Page, Morgan M. “One From the Vaults: Gossip, Access, and Trans History-­ Telling.’ Gossett, Stanley and Burton, pp. 135–146. Phillips, John. Transgender on Screen. Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

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Poole, Ralph J. “Towards a Queer Futurity: New Trans Television.” European Journal Of American Studies, vol. 12, no. 2, Summer 2017, https://doi. org/10.4000/ejas.12093. Pugh, Tison. The Queer Fantasies of the American Family Sitcom. Rutgers University Press, 2018. Pullen, Christopher. Straight Girls and Queer Guys: The Hetero Media Gaze in Film and Television. Edinburgh University Press, 2016. ———. “Transpeople in Performative Documentary: Self-Representation, Citizenship and Transparency.” Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 50, no. 6, 2017, pp. 1376–1399, https://doi.org/10.1111/jpcu.12625. Rabelo, Verónica Caridad, and Lilia M. Cortina. “Two Sides of the Same Coin: Gender Harassment and Heterosexist Harassment in LGBQ Work Lives.” Law and Human Behavior, vol. 38, no. 4, 2014, pp.  378–391, https://doi. org/10.1037/lhb0000087 Rader, Nicole E., Gayle M.  Rhineberger-Dunn, and Lauren Vasquez. “Victim Blame in Fictional Crime Dramas: An Examination of Demographic, ­Incident-­Related, and Behavioral Factors.” Women & Criminal Justice, vol. 26, no. 1, 2016, pp. 55–75, https://doi.org/10.1080/08974454.2015.1023487. Radi, Blas. “On Trans* Epistemology: Critiques, Contributions, and Challenges.” TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, vol. 6, no. 1, 2019, pp. 43–63, https:// doi.org/10.1215/23289252-­7253482. Redden, Molly. “What Rights Do Transgender People Have to Change Their Names?” The Guardian, 12 June 2016, theguardian.com/society/2016/ jun/12/transgender-­name-­change-­rights-­georgia-­ruling-­hawaii. Reynolds, Daniel. “Is Transface a Problem in Hollywood?” The Advocate. 25 Feb. 2015, advocate.com/arts-­entertainment/2015/02/25/ transface-­problem-­hollywood. Salamon, Gayle. Assuming a Body: Transgender and the Rhetorics of Materiality. Columbia University Press, 2010. Sandercock, Tom. “Transing the Small Screen: Loving and Hating Transgender Youth in Glee and Degrassi.” Journal of Gender Studies, vol. 24, no. 4, 2015, pp. 436–452, https://doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2015.1021307. Schilt, Kristen and Danya Lagos. “The Development of Transgender Studies in Sociology.” Annual Review of Sociology, vol. 43, 2017, pp. 425–443. https:// doi.org/10.1146/annurev-­soc-­060116-­053348. Seid, Danielle M. “Reveal.” TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, vol. 1, no. 1–2, 2014, pp. 176–177, https://doi.org/10.1215/23289252-­2399947. Sender, Katherine. “Transgender, Transmedia, Transnationality: Chaz Bono in Documentary and Dancing with the Stars.” The Routledge Companion to Media

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& Gender, edited by Cynthia Carter, Linda Steiner, and Lisa McLaughlin, Routledge, 2014, pp. 318–328. Singer, T. Benjamin. “Umbrella.” TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, vol. 1, no. 1–2, 2014, pp. 259–261, https://doi.org/10.1215/23289252-­2400199. Smith, Clarissa, and Feona Attwood, editors. The Routledge Companion to Media, Sex and Sexuality, Routledge, 2018. Snorton, C. Riley. Black on Both Sides: A Racial History of Trans Identity. University of Minnesota Press, 2017. Snorton, C.  Riley and Jin Haritaworn. “Trans Necropolitics: A Transnational Reflection On Violence, Death, And the Trans of Color Afterlife.” Stryker and Aizura, pp. 66–76. Spade, Dean. Normal Life: Administrative Violence, Critical Trans Politics, and the Limits of Law. South End Press, 2011. Spencer, Leland G. and Jamie C. Capuzza, editors. Transgender Communication Studies: Histories, Trends, and Trajectories. Lexington, 2015. Spriggs, Peter. “Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity (SOGI) Laws: A Threat to Free Markets and Freedom of Conscience and Religion,” Family Research Council, n.d., frc.org/issuebrief/sexual-­orientation-­and-­gender-­identity-­sogi-­ laws-­a-­threat-­to-­free-­markets-­and-­freedom-­of-­conscience-­and-­religion. Steinbock, Eliza. Shimmering Images: Trans Cinema, Embodiment and the Aesthetics of Change. Duke University Press, 2019. Steinmetz, Kay and Eliza Gray. “Transgender Tipping Point: America’s Transition.” Time, 29 May 2014. 38–46. Stodolka, Jason. “You Don’t Belong Here Either: Same-Sex Marriage Politics and LGBT/Q Youth Homelessness Activism in Chicago.” LGBTQ Politics: A Critical Reader, edited by Marla Brettschneider, Susan Burgess, and Christine Keating. New York University Press, 2017, pp. 414–435. Stryker, Susan and Aren Z.  Aizura, editors. The Transgender Studies Reader 2. Routledge, 2013. ———. “Introduction: Transgender Studies 2.0.” Stryker and Aizura, pp. 1–12. Todd, Erica. Passionate Love and Cinema: Romance and Film Genre. Palgrave Macmillan, 2013. Tropiano, Stephen. The Prime Time Closet: A History of Gays and Lesbians on TV. Applause, 2002. Villarejo, Amy. “Jewish, Queer-ish, Trans, and Completely Revolutionary: Jill [Joey] Soloway’s Transparent and the New Television.” Film Quarterly, vol. 69, no. 4, 2016, pp. 10–22, https://doi.org/10.1525/fq.2016.69.4.10. Vipond, Evan. “100% Dude: Straightening Degrassi’s Adam Torres.” Queer Cats Journal of LGBTQ Studies, vol. 1, no. 1, 2015a, pp. 31–54, escholarship.org/ uc/item/2mw237rf. ———. “Resisting Transnormativity: Challenging the Medicalization and Regulation of Trans Bodies.” Theory in Action, vol. 8, no. 2, 2015b, pp. 21–44, https://doi.org/10.3798/tia.1937-­0237.15008.

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Voss, Georgina. Stigma and the Shaping of the Pornography Industry.  Routledge, 2015. Wahng, Sel J. “Double Cross: Transmasculinity and Asian American Gendering in Trappings of Transhood.” Violence and the Body: Race, Gender, and the State, edited by Arturo J. Albama, Indiana University Press, 2003, pp. 287–310. Warbelow, Sarah, Cathryn Oakley and Collen Kutney. 2018 State Equality Index. Washington, DC: Human Rights Campaign Foundation. Jan. 2019. Waters, Emily, et  al. “A Crisis of Hate: A Mid Year Report on Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Queer Hate Violence Homicides.” National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs, Aug. 2018, avp.org/wp-­content/ uploads/2017/08/NCAVP-­A-­Crisis-­of-­Hate-­Final.pdf. Wlodarz, Joe. “We’re Not All So Obvious: Masculinity and Queer (In)Visibility in American Network Television of the 1970s.” Queer TV: Theories, Histories, Politics, edited by Glyn Davis and Gary Needham, Routledge, 2009, pp. 88–107. The World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH). Standards of Care for the Health of Transsexual, Transgender, and Gender Nonconforming People. 7th edition, 2011, WPATH.org. Yep, Gust A., et  al., “Uniquely Glee: Transing Racialized Identity.” Race and Gender in Electronic Media, edited by Rebecca Ann Lind, Routledge, 2016, pp. 73–89.

CHAPTER 2

Bodies Under Scrutiny

Toni finishes her song and exits the stage. The cis male protagonist follows her upstairs but stops, perplexed, when she enters a restroom labeled “Guys.” He opens the door to find her wigless at the mirror, but she simply turns to ask, “did you like the show?” (The Tiger Makes Out, Hiller, 1967). In another film comedy, a woman steps to the counter in feminine presentation but with visible facial and chest hair. She tells the clerk, “I’m going to have … the operation. My analyst said I should start making the adjustment. So that’s why they fired me.” After she leaves, the cis male protagonist addresses the same employee: “that’s the flamingist faggot I’ve ever seen!” (Fun with Dick and Jane, Kotcheff, 1977). The bouncer leans over to tell the two cis male young men gazing at a beautiful woman, “you know your boy? … He’s about to suck face with a tranny.” One replies with disbelief, “that’s no tranny, Ray, that’s Anika,” to which the bouncer retorts, “Anika’s got a bigger stump than you, Drama” (Entourage, HBO, 2007, S04, Ep4). A cis woman confronts her widowed brother Early about his new girlfriend, Freda: “are you gay?” He denies it, but she presses on: “this person you’re with. Does she have a vagina?” (Anything, McNeill, 2017). Of the many social, legal, and technological changes that have affected trans life in the U.S. in the last 50+ years, these examples indicate how little has affected trans representations, even though the majority have shifted from “female impersonators” like Toni to female transsexuals like © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1_2

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Freda. Anika and Freda have more screen time than Toni and the unemployed applicant, but the cisgender audience is still meant to assess her femalehood and reductively reduce her to her genitalia. Her emulation of white cis womanhood, in turn, authenticates its superiority in her noted failure. Televisual media has consistently utilized this specific trans body— white, middle-class, feminine—to reinforce traditional gender, class, and racial hierarchies even as the media narrative delegitimizes that body’s gendered authenticity. As this chapter demonstrates, public discourse positions transgender identity as distinct from, rather than continuous with, cisgender identity to maintain a sex/gender binary that is itself fictitious.1 Trans and cis gender identities operate within the same gender system, one that requires external mechanisms to make gender legible. These mechanisms include temporary and permanent physiological changes to and beyond one’s sex characteristics because every person’s gender must be intelligible within this cultural lexicon. Atypical gender presentations are hardly synonymous with trans identities since gender attribution is a cultural, not natural, interaction. In the 1950s, for example, a woman sporting a tattoo or a man with a ponytail would be stigmatized as exhibiting incongruous gender markers. Despite this shifting locus of gender incongruity, a trans person’s identity remains a cultural flashpoint due not to their atypical process towards gender authenticity nor their atypical presentation, as each may follow the criteria of the hegemonic gender system. Instead, their atypical starting point, their sex assigned at birth, is considered most relevant. The invisibility of the former—sex—heightens the visual importance of the latter— gender. Trans persons categorically expose the malleable gendered embodiment of cisgender personhood, society’s dependence on consumerism to establish the parameters of embodiment, and the tenuous link between sex and dichotomous gender roles. Cis and trans bodies utilize the same medical technologies, such as synthetic hormones and surgical modifications, and the same physiological consumeristic trends, from diets and muscle-sculpting to silicone injections and hair extensions. Yet trans embodiment is still singularly perceived as unnatural and requiring regulation. Given the patriarchal standards of heteronormativity, women’s bodies, both cis and trans, receive heightened attention and require a broader array of consumptive interventions. Trans media scholars employ the term “transnormativity” to reference society’s affirmation of only some trans identities in some contexts,

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including both scripted (Keegan; Sandercock) and unscripted media productions (Mocarski, et al.; McIntyre). This conditional approval focuses upon the trans body, judging its adherence to the sex/gender correlation through medical transition and hegemonic gender roles as well as the racial and class hierarchies inscribed in those roles. Those already stigmatized by these hierarchies, like black trans women, must employ additional strategies for acceptance (Glover 351). Like the presumed link between sex and dichotomous gender roles, the transnormative model is itself fictitious since all genders are products of the same social norms created with the same biological justifications (Shapiro 20). As trans theorist Eva Hayward explains, “there is no absolute division, but continuity between the physiological and affective responses of my different historical bodies…. Changeability is intrinsic to the transsexual body, at once its subject, its substance, and its limit” (73, 74). Even the concept of bodily permanence is fraudulent: “the body (trans or not) is not a pure, coherent, and positive integrity” (Hayward 73). Ethnographic studies document the heterogeneity of identities in the trans community, particularly for younger generations, and lack of consensus on correlating gender identity with specific physiology (Kuper, Nussbaum, and Mustanski; Scheim and Bauer). Yet the symbolic distance between Christine Jorgensen in 1952 and Caitlyn Jenner in 2015 is minor, demonstrating how trans heterogeneity is rarely the central focus of cisgender anxiety. The trans umbrella includes gender nonconforming (GNC) persons who identify as neither or both male and female, but characters with this identity have been included in televisual narratives only recently.2 This moniker rejects the gender binary to affirm a fluid continuum of gender identity, yet GNC fictional characters are usually comedically strange, not seriously threatening.3 Ironically, then, even though the majority of scripted trans characters reaffirm this binary and hegemonic gender roles, all trans identities are stigmatized. Televisual media has therefore created a typical trans narrative which connects validation to physical embodiment even when the trans character’s gender is indistinguishable from cisgender exteriorization. This concept, labeled “cisgender aesthetic” by trans media scholar Thomas J.  Billard, promotes an unwinnable scenario for trans persons in these scripted narratives: to legitimize their gender identity, they must replicate hegemonic gender parameters in presentation, physiology, role, mannerisms, etc., but knowledge of their gender history and/or biological sex leads to accusations of deception (3–4). Their identity indicates that the

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sex/gender binary is flexible, but their identity, not the binary, is what is delegitimized.

Trans Media Model as Surveillance Tool Televisual narratives reinforce the boundaries of cisnormative gender expression and its reliance on consumerism, exemplifying how popular media echoes other institutional apparatus in a web of hypervigilant gender surveillance. Surveillance reinforces the perception that legible, authenticated gender is a requirement of citizenship. My analysis aligns with trans scholarship based upon the Foucauldian premise that disciplinary power over gender boundaries is enacted by a variety of institutions on multiple levels (interpersonal, communal, and institutional) but created through the visibility of the subjects (Beauchamp 17; Salamon 79–80; Spade 104–105). Overly surveilled gender subjects like the trans community become the focal point of anxiety instead of the system, allowing cisnormative subjects to blindly assume that surveillance is directed elsewhere (Beauchamp 16). For this reason, trans bodies are viewed as incapable of existing outside of such surveillance and legitimize the need for such surveillance for everyone. Gender surveillance is hardly a recent phenomenon. Access to economic and political power in the U.S. has been dependent on physiological hierarchies to justify the supremacy of white cis men even prior to its founding as a nation-state. Che Gossett explains that European colonialism in North America was a form of gender surveillance as it defined “black and/or indigenous peoples … as sexual and gender outlaws to be disciplined and punished” (184). Surveillance took many forms, including laws defining or prohibiting cross-dressing, sodomy, blood-fraction, and anti-miscegenation laws (Katz; Kennedy; Koshy). Citizens are still tracked by gender, as Christine Overall demonstrates, since every time we “check F or M on almost every document we ever fill out: reports of birth, marriages, and death; questionnaires and surveys, and applications for school or university, employment, health insurance, a driver’s license, a pension, or a passport, … we are not being required to report our gendered behavior or feelings or our gender self-identity,” but instead our “genitalia,” as presumed by the M or F (22). Class distinctions similarly reify gender and racial hierarchies within cultural models of hegemony; despite vast social changes, the ideal of white domestic heteronormative womanhood, for example, has remained relatively consistent, from the nineteenth-century’s

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“Angel of the Household” to the mid-twentieth-century’s sitcom mom epitomized by June Cleaver and now “mommy” social media influencers like Amber Fillerup Clark. The media, in turn, promotes consumerism as the means to access gender conformity. Makeover television shows, from 1950s Glamour Girl (NBC, 1953–1954) to 2000s What Not To Wear (TLC, 2003–2013), reinforce the same presumption about the “inadequacy [and] dissatisfaction” of one’s unmediated “sex” (Cassidy 128; J. Douglas). The proliferation of visual media in the twentieth century accelerated this “look good, feel good” transformational ethos that uses such media to enact an hyper-­ attentiveness to current fashion and bodily surveillance of celebrities, ordinary people, and oneself (Featherstone 201–203). Specifics may shift but the process remains constant; even as new fads and technologies arise, “these modified bodies in turn become the new norm to which individuals are held accountable” (Shapiro 105). As scholars Timothy C. Edwards and Angela McRobbie have argued about hegemonic masculinity and femininity respectively, consumer culture and unattainable media ideals are integral to defining and surveilling gender precisely because gender is seminal to our internal selfhood and an external statement of privilege. As noted, this link between gender surveillance and nonconformity has a long trajectory; one example, cross-dressing laws, started in the mid-­ nineteenth century to curtail female economic and political power but then were levied against the LGBQ community through the 1960s (Stryker, Transgender 45–51). Yet mid-twentieth century developments, especially post-war restabilization of gender roles and new scientific theories about sexuality, unleashed an unparalleled public anxiety over gender and sexual nonconformity. Writing about this “Lavender Scare,” historians David K. Johnson and John D’Emilio document the rhetorical presumptions which made treason another justification for gendered surveillance. The queer community’s threat to heteronormative society became a de facto threat to American democracy since sexual orientation’s invisibility through gendered embodiment paralleled assumptions about the ordinariness of extraordinary treachery. The businessman-spy, innocuous as another middle-class white suburbanite, collimates the housewife-­ lesbian, whose friendly attention to another housewife is intended, according to Jet Magazine in 1954, to “destroy [her lover’s] life for good” (qtd. in Faderman 146). Like post-9/11 legal justification, “surveillance practices make gender nonconformity visible, constructing it as inherently deceptive in ways that justify continued surveillance … [even] without

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formally naming the category of transgender,” as Toby Beauchamp explains (132). Spotlighting these decades, though, should not imply that trans gender surveillance began either with the unprecedented public attention to transsexuality that Jorgensen unleashed or concurrent medical research and technological advances. To do so would normalize racial and class hierarchies and erase centuries of gender nonconformity (Page 140). As I noted, the United States was founded upon ideals which connect gender appropriateness and the duality of masculinity and femininity with moral citizenry, a healthy democracy, and national security. The Lavender Scare’s impact even in this long history is still significant, however, as the medical-­ psychiatric research that established regulations over gender transition arose during and directly after this period.4 These regulations created a new form of gender surveillance still enforced decades later. Today known as Standards of Care, SOC reinforces the concept that trans bodies are a threat to cisnormativity even as these standards legitimize cisgender oversight and a narrow model of trans identity. The SOC, now overseen by the World Professional Association of Transgender Health (WPATH, 7th ed.), utilize the APA’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM 5, 2013) to define cross-­ dressing or “transvestism” as a “fetishistic” or stigmatized sexual disorder distinct from “gender dysphoria.” Previously labeled “gender identity disorder,” Austin H. Johnson asserts that in reality, gender dysphoria “positions discomfort and distress surrounding the incongruence between assigned sex category and gender identity as resulting from a lack of access to medical interventions rather than the social consequences of gender ideology, transphobia, or cissexism” (“Normative” 804). In fact, as cisgender physicians sought to differentiate these groups, they relied less on a dysphoria diagnosis and more on “the request for surgery itself as the primary distinguishing feature of the transsexual condition” (Meyerowitz 176). Furthermore, mid-century clinicians initially discounted the possibility of “heterosexual transsexualism,” a confusing label for a “post-­ transition” queer identity, which SOC censured through the 1990s as a different diagnostic category (Rosario 39).5 These strict gender and sexuality boundaries reflect the parallel concerns of the medical-psychiatric community and the first transsexual celebrities, each doing their part to establish the legitimacy of science to alter sex. The primarily female transsexuals had to demonstrate a desire and ability to closely approximate cis standards, while scrutiny by medical authorities itself validated the gender

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dichotomy. In medical and therefore social discourse, “alternative stories about gender-variance and cross-gender experience [became] invisible, because to tell the truth about one’s gender experiences, if it deviated from the approved outline of the medical model, was to become ineligible to treatment” (Lev 45). As a form of gender surveillance, the SOC justifies a higher level of institutional control over trans than cis embodiment by creating a regulatory distinction between similar or identical surgical procedures, like mastectomies or breast augmentation, which are usually on-demand for cis patients. Paul B. Preciado identifies the surveillance inherent in this discrepancy for procedures like vaginoplasty or phalloplasty: “genitals are still enclosed in a pre-modern and almost sovereign regime of power that considers them to be state property” (274). This hyperfocus on “sex change” (now gender confirmation) surgery still frames genital alterations as the only means to and moment of transition from one gender to another. Even today, GCS is the legal benchmark for gender change in most of the United States (Arnold, Nelson, and Loubier). This type of gender surveillance encompasses more than healthcare access and has become “an accountability structure for transgender people’s interactional experiences of gender in multiple areas of social life” (A. Johnson, “Normative” 803). This mid-century period also further develops media’s influence as a gender surveillance regime. Journalism’s impact, as trans media scholars argue, includes but moves beyond misgendering or censuring trans subjects (Billard; Westbrook and Schilt). Mainstream media and sensationalist tabloid coverage alike detail medical alterations with graphics and text that together evaluate a transsexual’s femalehood (Meyerowitz 197–200). For example, class and racial markers specify Jorgensen’s appropriate femininity in a Post article: “she has beautiful skin, shapely legs, soft feminine hands which she uses gracefully to gesture, push back her blonde curls or play with her black beads” (qtd. in Skidmore 276). Self-evaluation or scrutiny is similarly tracked in many early transsexual autobiographies, including Jorgensen’s, as well as published interviews (Phillips-Peddlesden 101–102; Skidmore 276). 1960s press became even more explicit; a New  York Sunday News article assures readers that surgery gave Sandy Loren better “Junoesque” curves than hormones would alone, underscored by photos of Loren in a black negligée (Crews 26, 2). Whether internal or external, this surveillance reinforces prescribed boundaries to ensure their femaleness remains incomplete. These “almost-women” may be validated by their desire to fit hegemonic femininity but also critiqued

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as a failure based on minor physiological details, like the timbre of their voice or immutable chromosomes (Meyerowitz 68; Crews 26). In short, cisgender society—and medical-psychiatric discourse—sets gender normativity using parameters that are intentionally insurmountable. This early journalistic discourse at least presents female transsexuals as sincere in their gender aspirations, however unattainable. Early scripted televisual narratives, in contrast, invalidate these aspirations and the result in the most convenient way: through casting. The “almost a woman but not a man” framing becomes “not a woman because she’s a man.” With the exception of satirical comedies (Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, Meyer, 1970; Myra Breckinridge, Sarne, 1970), every trans role in a wide-film release from 1965 to 1977 is played by a white cis male actor, whether transsexual, drag queen, or unspecified trans feminine person. This casting occurs whether the character creates suspense for crime genres (e.g. Alfred Hitchcock Presents, NBC, 1965, S03, Ep17; Freebie and The Bean, Rush, 1974; Police Woman, NBC, 1977, S03, Ep13), encourages pathos in a transition narrative (The Christine Jorgensen Story, Irving Rapper, 1970; Medical Center, CBS, 1975, S07, Ep1–2), or adds laughs to a comedy (e.g. The Tiger Makes Out, Hiller, 1967: All in the Family, CBS, 1975, S06, Ep4; Fun with Dick and Jane, Kotcheff, 1977). The only narratives which cast non-white actors are violent film dramas written and directed by white cis men who hypersexualize and criminalize such characters as inmate sex workers (Riot, Kulik, 1968) or drag queen murderers (Together Brother, Graham, 1974), previewing a pattern prevalent in later decades. A notable shift occurs in 1977 when cis female actors are cast as a female transsexual in three mainstream television narratives: All That Glitters (Syn., April-July); The Jeffersons (CBS, S04, Ep3); and Westside Medical (ABC, S01, Ep7). This casting change enables the narratives to reiterate her physical transition diegetically with explicit references to her “sex change” operation and extradiegetically through the actor’s authentic cisgender aesthetic. Why 1977? It is thanks to another famous white, heterosexual, and conventionally feminine female transsexual, Renée Richards. Richards, a pro tennis player, sued the U.S. Tennis Association for barring her as a female competitor. The case’s extensive press coverage in 1976–1977 routinely evaluates Richards’ femalehood through visual aids like photos (Fig. 2.1) and textual description. Her cis feminine aesthetic is confirmed by her nail polish, jewelry, soft voice, and “high cheekbones,” while feminine subservience and female inadequacy are evident in her admission that her now “feminine build [is] physically inferior to her

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Fig. 2.1  Renée Richards in 1977 (Jeff Robbins/AP)

former male stature” (Birrell and Cole 219; Pieper 680). The judge’s ruling in Richards’ favor concurs that her complete physiological transformation means, “this person is now female” (qtd. in Pieper 683). This shift, however, is short-lived, despite continued attention to female transsexuals in public discourse, through bestselling autobiographies, including Richards’ Second Serve (1983), and other nationally publicized employment discrimination cases, like Karen Ulane’s suit against Eastern Airlines (1984). 1980s American televisual narratives rarely assume an educational stance to clarify, for example, cross-dressing from transsexuality. Instead, the majority of directors and producers rely upon a general public knowledge about transsexuality, “transvestism,” and drag to invalidate all three as part of the social debate over rapidly shifting gender roles. Granted, the few televisual narratives that do attempt to edify the public are transnormative, all profiling white trans women, including Second Serve’s scripted adaptation (Page, 1986), and casting cis female actors (e.g. The Woman Inside, Van Winkle, 1981; Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean, Altman, 1982; The Love Boat, NBC, 1982,

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S05, Ep15). Trans masculine identities, in turn, are overlooked in almost every public forum. Normative hegemonic femininity for cis and trans women alike was altered by changing gender norms and the efforts to contain them. As feminist television scholars Elana Levine and Judy Kutulas assert, hypersexualized female characters proliferated during the 1970s in response to feminist challenges to patriarchal subordination. Such objectification works in tandem with roles in traditionally male professions, like on Police Woman (NBC, 1974–1978) and Charlies Angels (ABC, 1976–1981), to maintain “women’s sexual difference from men” and a hyperfeminine consumeristic aesthetic (Levine 135; Kutulas 129). In comedic settings, this sexual objectification relies on sight gags that, like tight shots of a well-endowed bosom, use the camera to evaluate a feminine character’s sexual attractiveness and reiterate it as her primary value and priority. Because of the reductive visual appraisal of all feminine-presenting characters, the distinction between transsexuals and cross-dressers or drag queens becomes less consequential to a trans feminine character’s comedic purpose. These “second-take” gags use a shot-reaction shot sequence to align the character’s recognition with the audience’s: rather than an “almost-­ woman,” this person is neither man or woman, a “not-person” or prop, whose agency and voice are irrelevant. For example, when curvy blond Melissa tells Nell she is a transsexual on Gimme a Break! (NBC, 1983, S03, Ep7), the camera shifts back and forth between Nell’s shocked face and her POV on Melissa’s breasts. Nell, the camera, and the audience reduce Melissa to her female physiology, so that her apology for not disclosing sooner is irrelevant. So much so, in fact, that she leaves immediately afterwards, never to return. It makes little difference to the audience, in short, whether a trans feminine character is a “female impersonator” in Freebie and The Bean (Rush, 1974), a “trans-sexual” in Fun with Dick and Jane (Kotcheff, 1977) or a “transvestite” in Too Close for Comfort (ABC, 1982, S03, Ep8). Her physical presence registers only as an invitation to the audience to deauthenticate her womanhood and then dismiss her personhood. Cis female actors whose transsexual medical transformation is noted in the storyline are still engaged as props through the 1990s, primarily to humiliate cis men who initially find them attractive even though the camera confirms their sexual appeal (e.g. WKRP Cincinnati, ABC, 1980, S03, Ep5; The Last Precinct, NBC, 1986, S01, Ep1–8; Real Men, Feldman, 1987; Soapdish, Hoffman, 1991; Beverly Hills 90210, Fox, 1995, S05,

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Ep31–32; Arli$$, HBO, 1996, S01, Ep3). In the same vein, cis male actors provide a convenient sight gag and require little set up beyond a person in feminine presentation standing side-by-side with cis male characters in an all-male setting.6 Seen first in male restrooms in films like Cabaret (Foss, 1972) and Thank God It’s Friday (Klane, 1976), the joke moves to other sex-segregated settings, particularly male jail cells or prisons (e.g. Sharky’s Machine, Reynolds, 1981; Philadelphia Experiment, Raffill, 1984; Hollywood Vice Squad, Spheeris, 1986; Hard Time, Reynolds, 1998). These encounters offer a moment of levity precisely due to the incongruity between the character’s femininity and the audience’s presumption, based on context clues, that her “real” sex is male. Due to the combined impact of television parental ratings, cable competition, and the mainstreaming of soft-core pornographic elements, these sight gags, like all television content, became more explicit starting in the mid-1990s (Mayer; Glascock). Bulging crotches earn closeups in narratives like Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (Shadyac, 1994); Dude Where’s My Car (Leiner, 2000); It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FX, 2005, S01, Ep4); and American Crude (Sheffer, 2008). These sight gags continue in the twenty-­ first century within montages of “weird” or eclectic people (e.g. If You Only Knew, Snedeker, 2000; Van Wilder: Party Liaison, Becker, 2002; George Lopez, ABC, 2005, S04, Ep17; Zodiac, Fincher, 2007; Because I Said So, Lehmann, 2007; Men in Black 3, Sonnefeld, 2012; Hot Pursuit, Fletcher, 2015; Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates, Szymanski, 2016) and bar scenes where cis men flirt with a trans feminine patron (e.g. Woo, Mayer, 1998; American Wedding, Dylan, 2003; Eve, UPN, 2005, S02, Ep16; Half and Half, UPN, 2005, S04, Ep7; Shadowboxer, Daniels, 2005; Andy Barker, P.I. NBC, 2007, S01, Ep6). In other contexts, the character’s reasoning for being “in drag,” is never explicated, either verbally or situationally, despite the ease of hinting at a drag hobby or sexual proclivity. Thus minor characters in cheap wigs, badly done makeup, and ill-fitting feminine clothes enter the frame to flirtatiously threaten a new neighbor (Who Is Cletis Tout? Ver Wiel, 2001); steal a cis female character’s muff in a club (Rent-A-Cop, London, 1987); and debate with fellow diner patrons about whether a nuclear strike is imminent (Miracle Mile, De Jarnatt, 1988). For others, a similarly inept feminine expression accentuates a quirky personality, whether the person helps hijack a plane (Con Air, West, 1997); lends a sympathetic ear to the female protagonist (Somebody To Love, Rockwell, 1994); or becomes a co-­ host on a cooking show (Woman on Top, Torres, 2000 [Fig. 2.2]). This

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Fig. 2.2  Monica (Harold Perrineau) and Isabella (Penélope Cruz), Woman on Top (Torres, 2000)

trend hardly disappears in the twenty-first century (e.g. Moulin Rouge!, Luhrmann, 2001; Belly of the Beast, Ching, 2004; Third Watch, NBC, 2004, S06, Ep7; House Bunny, Wolf, 2008; Scream Queens, Fox, 2015, S01, Ep5). In such cases the lack of verbal explication presumes for the audience that only a strange, irrational, or, most commonly, perverse (aka homosexual) male person would exhibit cross-sex presentation or behavior.7 In fact, producers of such representations never assume that a cross-gender presentation could be ignored. This imperative to categorize the gender identity of even minor characters is summarized by Marjorie Garber: “if there is a difference (between gay and straight), we want to be able to see it, and if we see a difference (a man in women’s clothes), we want to be able to interpret it. In both cases, the conflation [of homosexuality with cross-dressing] is fueled by the desire to tell the difference, to guard against a difference that might otherwise put the identity of one’s own position in question” (130, emphasis in the original). Such representations position the trans character’s illogical behavior (dressing in female attire) as illogical

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due to the fact of their maleness, unless it assigns them a queer identity, in either case distancing them from gender normativity.

The “Purpose” of Drag My argument thus far indicates why some of the most famous cross-­ dressed characters are not useful for my study.8 Such cis male characters often propel the plot, like in Mrs. Doubtfire (Columbus, 1993) or White Chicks (Wayans, 2004), while the casting of some cis actors as female characters is presented as an obvious media ploy, such as John Travolta in Hairspray (Shankman, 2007) or Adam Sandler in Jack and Jill (Duggan, 2011). These characters still affirm a gender-normative femininity within a specifically racialized (white) and classed (middle-class) context,9 but encourage identification with the characters’ or actors’ “real” cisgender identities, often through laughable imitations of hegemonic femininity (Miller 135). The distinctions between cross-dressing, drag, and transsexuality are central yet fluid inside the trans community. Drag queens and trans women have a long and interrelated history, one built by common values, necessity, and flexible personal and communal definitions of identity (Stryker, “Transgender;” Bailey). 1960s activists Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson, for example, identified as “transvestites” but have since been commonly referenced as trans women (Crookston 112). Therefore, another rationale for an increase in heterosexual female transsexuals played by cis female actors is that, by 1977, mainstream media production caught up with political divisions in the gay rights and feminist movements which further delineated between trans identities.10 First, each movement disavowed gender non-conforming members, which lead to trans-specific activism starting in the early 1970s, such as organizations founded by Rivera and Johnson in New  York City and Angela Douglas in Miami (Stryker, Transgender 128–132; Peña 758, 766; Stone). Second, different trans groups had their own incentives to divest from the larger trans community, like Virginia Prince, whose Foundation for Personality Expression promotes heterosexual male cross-dressing as less socially transgressive than gay drag queens (Stryker, Transgender 74–75). Mainstream televisual media in the 1970s and 1980s primarily overlooks the trans community’s actual circumstances to instead instrumentalize trans feminine characters for narrative or generic purposes. For instance, early televisual crime narratives often use drag queens to reference criminal

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intentions or shady settings.11 1980s comedic genres provide other questionable scenarios in which cis male actors in feminine attire impersonate women to commit crimes (Murder Me, Murder You, Nelson, CBS, 1983; Too Close for Comfort, Syn., 1985, S05, Ep10; The American Way, Phillips, 1986; Surrender, Belson, 1987; A New Life, Alda, 1988). Friendlier drag queens show up in the 1990s, though their presence is an extension of the increased prominence of gay men (Becker 3). Fun, chatty drag queens appear as AIDS patients on dramas (e.g. Sisters, NBC, 1996, S06, Ep12; Chicago Hope, CBS, 1996, S02, Ep14) or “girlfriends” on sitcoms (e.g. The John Larroquette Show, NBC, 1994–1995; Fired Up, NBC, 1997–1998, S01–02; Veronica’s Closet, NBC, 1998, S01, Ep15) which fit gay male stereotypes in other television roles (Becker 155–158). Moreover, their gender incongruity is easily dismissible as play or performance, a situational emphasis that, like generically functioning cross-dressing characters, highlights the character’s cisgender identity as more authentic.12 As trans scholar Vivian Namaste claims, “drag queens … are tolerated as long as they remain in a space clearly designated for performance” (10). Critic Mary Marcel argues this is still true in RuPaul’s Drag Race (LOGO & VH1, 2009–present), since, “RuPaul’s version of drag is that the biologically male self is proximate, in time and body, to the act of female drag performance” by requiring, for example, contestants to appear in and out of en femme and rewarding those who approximate an “old school, hyperbolically femme” presentation (22, 23). Drag queen characters are most commonly symbols of the cisgender character’s liberal sophistication. Like Ron Becker’s observation about minor LGB characters, they “establish the hipness of the regular [cis] straight characters simply by virtue of their presence,” requiring little character development or longevity while still affirming their inferiority to cisnormativity (196). Indeed, this “cool” factor is likely the rationale for making a drag queen the heterosexual cis female character’s close friend, a constant from the late 1970s and 1980s (The Rose, Rydell, 1979; The Morning After, Lumet, 1986), into the 1990s (The Associate, Petrie, 1995) and 2000s (Sweet November, O’Connor, 2001; A Star is Born, Cooper, 2017; Dumplin’, Fletcher, 2018). This pattern probably contributes to feminine-presenting male characters in similar roles (e.g. Somebody to Love, Rockwell, 1994; For Da Love of Money, Edwards, 2002; It’s Kind of a Funny Story, Boden and Fleck, 2010). Even minor or guest drag queen characters elevate the hipness of cis female protagonists, such as for the named central character in Roseanne (ABC, 1994, S07, Ep6); Xena:

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Warrior Princess (Syn., 1997, S02, Ep11); Ally McBeal (Fox, 2001, S04, Ep20); Miss Congeniality 2: Armed & Fabulous (Pasquin,2005); and Fur: An Imaginary Portrait Of Diane Arbus (Shainberg, 2006). Less frequently drag queens are props for heterosexual cisgender men, usually those whose heterosexuality is well established, like on Trapper John, M.D. (CBS, 1981, S02, Ep6); The John Larroquette Show (NBC, 1994–1995, S01–S02); Fired Up (NBC, 1997, S02, Ep2); Playing By Heart (Carroll, 1998); Igby Goes Down (Steers, 2002); Boat Trip (Nathan, 2004); Are You There, Chelsea? (NBC, 2012, S01, Ep7); and Magic Mike XXL (Jacobs, 2015). Drag queen victims perform this role for the primarily cisgender male detectives starting in the 1990s (e.g. New York Undercover, Fox, 1994, S01, Ep12; Cold Case, CBS, 2003, S01, Ep7; Detroit 1-8-7, USA, 2011, S01, Ep15; Bones, Fox, 2014, S09, Ep23). Even main character drag queens primarily function as tolerance advocates for cisgender characters, relegating change to the interpersonal, not societal, realm in Torch Song Trilogy (Bogart, 1988); To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (Kidron, 1995, [Fig. 2.3]); The Birdcage

Fig. 2.3  Chi-Chi Rodriguez (John Leguizamo), Noxeema Jackson (Wesley Snipes), and Vida Bohema (Patrick Swayze), To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (Kidron, 1995)

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(Nichols, 1996); Flawless (Schumacher, 1999); Holiday Heart (Townsend, 2000); and Taking Woodstock (Lee, 2009).13 The identity of the actor also collapses distinctions between drag queens and transsexual women. RuPaul, for example, is a drag queen and male-­ identified, but has played drag queens (e.g. In the House, NBC, 1995, S02, Ep9) and female transsexuals (e.g. Any Day Now, Lifetime, 2000, S02, Ep22). The same is true of his Drag Race contestants Kelly Mantle (e.g. Felicity, The WB, 2000, S02, Ep21; NYPD Blue, ABC, 2003, S10, Ep15) and D.J. “Shangela” Pierce (e.g. Terriers, FX, 2010, S01, Ep9; The Mentalist, CBS, 2012, S04, Ep21). Trans feminine actors like Jazzmun Clayton and Alexis Arquette began their careers as male-identified drag queens so their roles similarly include both categories. Such casting is hardly the responsibility of actors of any identity seeking work, although well-known cisgender actors have been criticized directly.14 Granted, drag performers can usually approximate hegemonic femininity in any role better than a hypermasculine cis male actor like Mickey Rourke (Animal Factory, Buscemi, 2000), Ving Rhames (Holiday Heart, Townsend, 2000), or Wesley Snipes (To Wong Foo, [Fig. 2.3]). Yet I do not assume that casting a trans actor in a trans role itself increases the narrative’s validation of trans identity, as I later explain. What is notable about this brief list is how many of these actors are black. As the next section explains, RuPaul, Jazzmun, Pierce, Rhames, and Snipes are unfairly cast due to their race, not gender identity, since racist assumptions about black male physical dominance through characteristics like height and muscularity reinforce their male “realness” against their inauthentic female identity. The increased racial diversity of trans feminine characters in the 1990s and early 2000s could be attributed to an increase in all trans characters, thanks to mainstream awareness of the trans rights movement and influx of trans documentaries, starting with the critical and popular hit, Paris is Burning (Livingston, 1990). As historian Susan Stryker documents, the visibility and impact of rights organizations grew for a variety of reasons, such as the reconciliation between trans activists and LGBQ groups during the AIDS era and the new openness of third-wave feminists to intersectional and non-essentialist perspectives (Transgender, 151–172). Activists also sought to restructure divisions by popularizing the term “transgender.” Jason Cromwell explains it as a definitional option for those in the community “who do not fit into the categories of transvestite and transsexual” and an inclusive “social definition” which combined these groups with all “gender nonconformers,” including drag queens and

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kings (23, 26). Indeed, ethnographic studies like David Valentine’s demonstrate the tension between drag queens who identify as gay men and trans feminine persons in the same community, since, in his words, “‘drag’ can index a variety of practices, identities, desires, and organizations of gender and sexuality” (94). 1990s trans activists also benefitted from the organizational and outreach capabilities of the internet and the work of trans experts and grassroots organizers who generated change through their own professions and organizations, such as GenderPAC and Transsexual Menace, and within queer organizations, like Human Rights Commission and GLAAD. Such organizations in turn leveraged media of the more frequent employment discrimination suits, like those against Continental Airlines, Amtrak, and Archer Management Services, Inc., and for a Supreme Court case, Farmer v. Brennan (1994), on inmate discrimination. Others expose transphobic violence and media bias by capitalizing on mainstream attention to hate crimes, particularly deaths like Brandon Teena’s murder in 1993, Tyra Hunter’s death from negligence in 1995, and Rita Hester’s murder in 1998, which gave rise to the first Transgender Day of Remembrance in 1999. At the same time, a trans person’s race, ethnicity, and class affects whether and how the media responds. Although plaintiffs in the Amtrak and Archer suits were black trans women, like Hunter and Hester, documentaries in this decade tended to spotlight white activists, such as Loren Cameron (Transexual Menace; You Don’t Know Dick: Courageous Hearts of Transsexual Men, Cram, 1997); Leslie Feinberg (Outlaw, Lebow, 1994; Transexual Menace, von Praunheim, 1996); and Kate Bornstein (Adventures in the Gender Trade, Marenco and Mason, 1994; The Brandon Teena Story, Muska and Olafsdóttir, 1998), particularly those which aired on television: Metamorphosis: Man into Woman (Leeman, 1990), You Don’t Know Dick (1997), and Transgender Revolution (Davis and Heilbroner, 1998). Although privileged white cis filmmakers rightly faced accusations of racial and class exploitation when they profiled underrepresented minorities in films like Paris is Burning (Livingston, 1990) and The Brandon Teena Story, trans directors of color like Christopher Lee were hailed for their innovative style and diverse subjects, particularly Trappings of Transhood (Lee and Hurwitz, 1997), but struggled for broader recognition outside of the LGBQ film festival circuit (hooks; Duggan; Wahng). Identity differences within scripted trans representations similarly alter the character’s generic function as genres or narrative scenarios privilege

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white subjects and present non-white races and non-European ethnicities only in certain contexts. In short, like other surveillance institutions, televisual popular culture “allows for the inclusion and recognition of certain privileged white normative trans bodies … at the expense of marginalized trans communities, particularly those of color” (Fischer 72). Television trans victims of discrimination in relation to employment (e.g. L.A. Law, NBC, S05, Ep19, 1991; Eli Stone, ABC, 2008, S02, Ep9), marriage (Ally McBeal, Fox, 2001, S04, Ep10; Drop Dead Diva, Lifetime, 2010, S02, Ep8), or custody (Family Law, CBS, 2000, S01, Ep16; Veronica Mars, UPN, 2004, S01, Ep3) are exclusively white and primarily traditionally feminine trans women, as are the most sympathetic murder victims, whether transsexuals or drag queens (e.g. All in the Family, CBS, 1977, S08, Ep13; Diagnosis Murder, CBS, 1995, S03, Ep3; Bones, Fox, 2008, S04, Ep6). While their victimization is still ascribed to their gender nonconformity, even white characters whose gender presentation is not transnormative face more derision than their transnormative counterparts. For example, a beloved teacher’s fight to keep her job after transition fails, but thanks to the shock of the reveal, misgendering, and ridicule as “Mr. Doubtfire” and “Uncle Miltie,” Popular hardly portrays her case as plausible (WB, 2000, S01, Ep18). In contrast, when Drop Dead Diva’s civil attorneys win their client’s case against her former in-laws who contest her spousal inheritance, the judge affirms her marriage by calling them “two people … in love” and her father-in-law affirms her gender by gifting her heirloom jewelry. Unsurprisingly, the former trans woman is played, and presented, as a cis male actor in unconvincing feminine attire but the latter, while played by a trans feminine actor, is a glamorous, well-dressed feminine blonde. Non-white trans feminine characters in crime dramas are more likely derided as criminals, usually as sex workers, starting in the mid-1990s, from NYPD Blue (ABC, 1997, S04, Ep18) to Wicked City (ABC/Hulu, 2015, S01, Ep6). In the same vein, queer trans characters who are white are more likely to have their romance with cis characters affirmed (e.g. Faking It, MTV, 2016, S03, Ep4–10), as are heterosexual characters who are white, even when relationships end tragically (e.g. Soldier’s Girl, Pierson, 2003). Non-white heterosexual characters instead are often fetishized and physically abused by their romantic partners (e.g. Gun Hill Road, Green, 2011; Pose, FX, 2018, S01, Ep4, 7–8). Racial and class differences are thus highly consequential since physical embodiment is the primary means to differentiate trans and cis identities. In the 1990s, the most expansive trans film roles were villains, whether in

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comedies (Soapdish, Hoffman, 1991; Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, Shadyac, 1994; Naked Gun 33 ½: The Final Insult, Peter Segal, 1994) or dramas (The Silence of the Lambs, Demme, 1991; In Dreams, Jordan, 1999). All were played by cis white actors, as were the rare trans protagonists in transition storylines (The Adventures of Sebastian Cole, Williams, 1998; Boys Don’t Cry, Peirce, 1999). In contrast, trans feminine characters played by cis male actors are sex workers, often non-white, and presented as comedic props even in dramatic genres: Night on Earth, Jarmusch, 1991; American Heart, Bell, 1992; River Made To Drown In, Merendino, 1997; Mercy, Shepard, 1994; Blast from the Past, Wilson, 1999; Late Last Night, Steven Brill, 1999; Speedway Junky, Perry, 1999. A trans feminine sex worker who is also a person of color receives more scorn and ridicule because she encapsulates a variety of threats to heteronormative society. When a “streetwalker” played by Jazzmun Clayton towers over Christopher Walken in Blast from the Past, the momentary interaction relies on her dark-complexion, height, and muscularity to visually reference the threat to his white cis normativity.

The Drama of Being Trans By the 2000s, the proliferation of mainstream discourse exposing transphobic discrimination, harassment, and violence influenced trans dramatic narratives, though the majority still prioritize white, middle-class female transsexuals.15 The inclusion of melodramatic elements meant to heighten the affective impact of transphobia does not, by design, fully affirm a character’s gender authenticity nor expose cisnormative beliefs or institutional prejudice for two reasons. First, the dramatic arc centers on the dysphoric body-in-crisis, but ironically still displaces the pathos away from the trans character. Second, irresolution is common in this genre since the protagonist’s tragic circumstances remain, making them forever abject and powerless. For trans characters, this ending characterizes the state of being trans as irresolvable, their gender authenticity always indeterminate. Like other trans characters in other genres, their transition has no end regardless of their ability to access to medical technologies or achieve a cisgender aesthetic. Delineating the function of melodramatic elements can shed light on how trans irresolution heightens emotional subjectivity but distances substantive change. Melodrama has a long and complex history in American televisual media. Initially associated with emotionally-driven storylines

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detailing the psychological turmoil from romantic or familial conflict, feminist scholars argue melodrama is best understood as a modality applicable to any conflicted hero, whether the suffering mother, taciturn cowboy, or returning war veteran (Glenhill; Williams). Its difference is obvious when compared to the comedies profiled in Chaps. 3 and 4. Comedies similarly make trans identity the source of conflict for the cis characters to resolve, but comedic elements foreclose the possibility of humanizing the trans character, rendering her a flat character or prop. Melodramatic elements appear to do the reverse by dramatizing the character’s interiority and depicting their struggle against transphobia but are hampered by a cisgender superiority that producers are either unable or unwilling to discard. For example, even in dramatic films characterized by gritty settings where every character endures tragic circumstances, like substance addiction and poverty, the suffering of the trans feminine characters is particularly graphic and exploitative, whether they are a main character (Last Exit to Brooklyn, Edel, 1989; Journey to the End of the Night, Eason, 2006; Life is Hot in Cracktown, Giovinazzo, 2009; Powder Blue, Bui, 2009; All We Had, Holmes, 2016) or a minor one (Q&A, Lumet, 1990; Diary of a Serial Killer, Wallace, 1997; Velocity of Gary, Ireland, 1998; The Factory, O’Neill, 2012). Melodrama’s archetypal storyline, the family “in crisis,” is the most common for trans storylines because the central plot structures the crisis as both interpersonal in nature and valid from any number of competing viewpoints (Elsaesser 66–67). In short, as a modality, melodrama’s investment in interpersonal conflict valorizes multiple character perspectives, which avoids setting up characters as stark foils, a trend commonly used for trans characters in the horror and crime genres. At the same time, like horror and crime, family and romantic narratives individualize character conflicts and motivations and overlook or simplify societal forces, even when racial, class, or gender oppression is seminal to the conflict (Lavigne 395; Todd 26, 81; Kaplan 132–133). Any number of factors may be attributable causes, but overall, the insider/outsider positioning of those within the family (or couple) versus those outside means that “social threats, perceived or actual, take the form of internalized threats whereby cultural debates are played out on the level of individual choices” (Brunton 655, emphasis in the original). Guest or minor trans characters most obviously fill this depoliticized function as the tension and conflict from their transition is reoriented towards the regular or major character. This scenario may occur between

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adult siblings (e.g. Orphan Black,16 BBC America, 2014, S02, Ep8; Grey’s Anatomy, ABC, 2015, S11, Ep12; Chicago Med, NBC, 2016, S02, Ep3) or sibling-like adult friendships (e.g. Medical Center, CBS, 1975, S07, Ep1–2; The Education of Max Bickford, CBS, 2002, S01; Nip/Tuck, FX, 2003, S01, Ep12; Judging Amy, CBS, 2004, S05, Ep20; Taking Woodstock, Lee, 2009). Friendship conflicts are especially popular with recurring characters in ensemble teen dramas (e.g. Degrassi: The Next Generation, Teen Nick, 2010–2013, S10–13; Glee, Fox, 2012–2014, S03–05; The Fosters, Freeform, 2014, S01, Ep12–14; Rise, NBC, 2018, S01). A trans character’s secret progeny also appears frequently as a central plot storyline (e.g. Come Back to the 5 and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean, Altman, 1982; More Tales of the City, Gang, 1998, Ep4; Gaudi Afternoon, Seidelman, 2001; Ugly Betty, Fox, 2008, S03, Ep4; Star, Fox, 2018, S02, Ep13). Whether the trans characters have started or completed their transition, dramatic storylines are inherently problematic as they replicate the LGBQ “coming out” trope. This model positions the character’s sexual/gender difference as the source of tension or suspense while allegedly illuminating the suffering the character experiences as a result of that difference. As queer media scholarship documents, the diffuse narrative focus leads the dramatic arc to highlight “the reactions and feelings of heterosexual characters … [or] how the parents or friends come to terms with this new discovery and their process of acceptance towards the homosexual’s sexuality” (Robinson and Alston 40). Even when homophobic victimization is depicted, the actual agents at fault are obscured by the interpersonal conflict, as if the prejudice is merely a “problem for the homosexual character to overcome rather than widespread homophobia” (Berridge 313). The adoption of this model is perhaps why parent/child conflict over the child’s trans or gender-nonconforming identity17 is consistently popular, appearing with regularity on medical dramas which position the medical professional as a mediator (L.A.  Doctors, CBS, 1999, S01, Ep13; E.R., NBC, 2002, S09, Ep9; E.R., NBC, 2008, S14, Ep18; The Good Doctor ABC, 2018, S01, Ep14) or on family dramas as a parenting challenge for the cis main character (The Riches, FX, 2007–2008, S01–02; Gun Hill Road, Green, 2011; House of Lies, Showtime, 2012–2016, S01–05; Star, FX, 2016, S01, Ep6, 8; Better Things, FX, 2016, S01, Ep10; 3 Generations, Dellal, 2017; Good Girls, NBC, 2018, S01, Ep4, 7; Here and Now, HBO, 2018, S01, Ep2–10).18

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Trans narratives most aligned with the “coming out” structure use primary or protagonist characters to demonstrate onscreen the full trajectory of physical and hence gender transformation. Since romantic elements with these same elements are closely reviewed in Chap. 5, this section addresses narratives positioned as family dramas even when they contain romantic storylines (e.g. Normal, Anderson, 2003; Transamerica, Tucker, 2005; A Girl Like Me: The Gwen Araujo Story, Holland, 2006; Gun Hill Road, Green, 2011; The Fosters, Freeform, 2013–2018, S01–05; Transparent, Amazon, 2014–2017, S01–04) or non-family dramas that privilege familial relationships (e.g. Ugly Betty, Fox, 200–208, S01–03; Degrassi: Next Class, Teen Nick, 2010–2012, S10–12). I also include dramas with communities or workplaces that function like families (e.g. The L Word, Showtime, 2006–2009, S03–06; Life is Hot in Cracktown, Giovinazzo, 2009; Orange is the New Black, Netflix, 2013–2019, S01–07; Dallas Buyers Club, Vallée, 2013). Since the trans character’s “coming out” is usually the start, not the end, of their identity process, their embodiment becomes the locus of their suffering and their gender dysphoria their tragedy. So again, the melodramatic elements necessary to dramatize this family-in-crisis create two related but distinct outcomes: first, the dramatic rendering of the characters’ suffering must link to gender dysphoria, and second, dysphoria is an incessant problem that may humanize the subject but never affirm their gender authenticity. Only very recent dramatic narratives beyond the scope of this study center on trans characters who escape the abjection presumed by an inauthentic gender identity.19 Locating trans characters’ suffering in their body is a common melodramatic convention since emotionality is conveyed through visible and often exaggerated bodily “excess,” as Linda Williams asserts (169–170). Even though interpersonal conflict is the result, the conflict originates within the trans body itself, conceptualized as between one’s identity and body (usually a female self and a male physicality) rather than between the character and cisnormative society. As I have argued, cisnormativity should be blamed instead as it presumes gender identity is dependent on a visible and authentic hegemonic masculine or feminine external expression. To return to Williams’s thesis on melodramatic film bodies, the temporality of this “gender fantasy” (defined as “the prolongation of desire”) is neither “too early” (as in horror) nor “too late” (as in maternal melodramas) but, I argue, actually “never” (172, 170).

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A common means for relating bodily suffering, including dysphoria, is through the use of mirror scenes (Keegan par. 22). Mirror scenes are so ubiquitous that a transition story usually includes multiple, like 3 Generations and Gun Hill Road. In visual narratives the doubling of the gaze links the viewer and the character since the camera captures her gaze into the mirror and replaces her reflection. Yet a mirror scene represents diegetic self-surveillance while performing extradiegetic external surveillance, two linked but distinct types of gender surveillance which compare the character to the ever unattainable hegemonic ideal. By training the camera upon the character’s body, the narrative literally and figuratively reiterates the character’s inability to achieve gender authenticity. Normal’s Ruth gazes lamentably into the mirror still in male presentation but after she has shaved her armpits and put on perfume, as if to affirm that such minor changes have little effect. Other scenes demonstrate that feminine presentations alone do not affirm the trans character’s sense of self. When Transamerica’s Bree gazes into her bathroom mirror, her long hair and lacy nightgown do not alleviate her dissatisfaction, directed at her visible penis with “darn, darn, darn.” Vanessa’s visual transformation (Fig. 2.4) occurs in front of a mirror in Gun Hill Road, which starts with her nude flat chest and ends with her tucking her penis, as if to remind the camera that her female self is not “real,” a scene that is repeated when trans masculine character Ray binds his breasts in 3 Generations (Dellal, 2017). A

Fig. 2.4  Vanessa (Harmony Santana), Gun Hill Road (Green, 2011)

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mirror scene reveals the character’s gender history in the ensemble film Life is Hot in Cracktown (Giovinazzo, 2009) in a long shot of her gazing into the mirror as the camera pans from head to waist, where, when she lifts up her dress, her penis is visible. Like Bree, Marybeth’s unhappiness is also registered verbally, with a long sigh, as she tucks it in further. In The Dallas Buyer’s Club, trans feminine Rayon gazes at her near naked body in the mirror, now emaciated from late-stage AIDS and a drug habit. Although she defiantly declares while applying makeup, “I’m going to be pretty if it’s the last thing I do,” her unhappiness leads to tears. In The L Word Max disrobes in front of the mirror, stripping away his masculine presentation, including a soft packer, to reveal his breasts and vagina as he stares impassively into his own eyes (Showtime, 2007, S04, Ep5). The camera’s shifting range between a wide- and close shot mimics his inability to achieve wholeness. Granted, mirror scenes sometimes affirm rather than question the trans character’s gender identity, usually as shorthand for a revelatory transformation in gender presentation, like in Gun Hill Road, Normal, Ugly Betty (Fox, 2007, S01, Ep13), Orange is the New Black (Netflix, 2014, S01, Ep3), and Transparent (Amazon, 2015, S02, Ep2). Yet such scenes still reinforce the disconnect between the character’s gendered self and their appearance given this act’s signification as a self-­ surveillance technique. Moreover, the act itself may even confirm inauthenticity by spotlighting otherwise insignificant details, such as an extended close-up shot of her disgusted face after finding a single facial hair (Ugly Betty, Fox, 2008, S03, Ep3; OITNB, Netflix, 2014, S01, Ep3). This critique should not suggest that dramatizing the psychological toll of gender dysphoria is not worthwhile, even if Keegan is overly optimistic that mirror scenes can engender “a sympathetic experience of universalized dysphoric affect” (par. 22). Instead, it is the depiction of what is in conflict and for whom that is problematic. Mirror scenes are only one way that “the visual representations of trans identities … force the viewer to experience transsexuality as, above all else, an experience of the body” (Boucher 205). As this analysis of trans documentaries points out, how these changes are rendered also unfairly presents the means as “‘unnatural’ and substantially different from the variety of ways we [cis viewers] all mediate and shape our bodies” (Boucher 205, 206). To do so, physical transformation through surgery is graphically conveyed and stressed with before/after photographic montages (A.  Johnson, “Transnormativity” 479; Booth 122). Even after accessing such physiological changes, the narrative stresses the trans subject’s “longer, more painful, and more costly

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versions of journeys to authentic self-realization” (Lovelock 10). This “cost” is the narrative’s actual focus, from the physical trauma of body modification to the contested status of their gender. In documentaries, this cost is evidenced by interviews with family members, experts, or even narrative voiceovers, which, like their fictional counterparts, misgender them, question their gender legally or scientifically, and shift attention to contentious familial or romantic relationships (Booth 120–123; Sender 304–305). Fictional narratives, though, present the “longer, more painful, and more costly” journey to self-actualization with these same elements somewhat differently. Since casting usually proscribes dramatic visual transformations, many transition narratives focus on impediments to the character’s intended progression from hormone therapy to surgery, but these barriers are rarely institutional or economic. Instead, interpersonal relationships often double as the obstacles and the costs, even when conflicts within these relationships reference institutional or economic factors, like parental permission or medical price tags. The pain associated with physiological procedures is still vividly depicted, but objections by cis characters are given such weight that the trans character’s endurance becomes uncertain and their autonomy contentious. Like Richard Dyer’s “sad young [gay] man,” these melodramatic elements enhance a stereotype of trans identity already locked in “a state of impermanence or transience,” so that even though the trans character’s “hardship” may be “visualized empathetically and compassionately,” gender authenticity remains forever elusive (132; Padva 365). Despite Maura’s declaration early in the series Transparent, “I’m already transitioned. I’m trans” (Amazon, 2015, S02, Ep10), her ongoing medical transition is a central focus which requires constant negotiation both with family members, such as when heart disease imperils her gender confirmation surgery (2016, S03, Ep9), and new friends, like whether to have facial feminization surgery (S03, Ep7). Gun Hill Road’s main conflict is between teen Vanessa and father Enrique, who refuses to part with his “baby boy” and so characterizes Vanessa’s gender as a threat to his own masculinity  and a disregard for his authority and for their shared male identity. Enrique’s violent attempts to reestablish control lead to emotionally-­charged scenes, one when he cuts Vanessa’s hair and another when he forces her to have sex with a female sex worker. Her medical transition is also vividly enacted upon her body, especially closeups of her

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face gasping in pain when receiving illegal silicon injections or being coerced into anal sex by her cis boyfriend in exchange for financial support. Even guest characters are thwarted by obstacles to medical treatments which are framed as their only means to achieve or maintain their gender identity. Medical dramas do so by identifying drastic consequences if a trans feminine character continues hormone treatment (e.g. Royal Pains, USA, 2015, S07, Ep4; Heartbeat, NBC, 2016, S01, Ep7; The Good Doctor ABC, 2018, S01, Ep14) or goes through with GCS (e.g. Grey’s Anatomy, ABC, 2006, S03, Ep7; Private Practice, ABC, 2010, S04, Ep2). Dramatic intensity therefore creates a false dichotomy, as if her only choices are to endanger her life or end up “an unhappy man who’s stuck with a penis” (Grey’s Anatomy, 2006) or “bald, boobless, and bearded” (Gideon’s Crossing, 2001, ABC, S01, Ep6). Other episodes similarly frame medical procedures as a selfish choice, encapsulated by scolding cis doctors who refuse treatment (Medical Center, 1975, CBS, S07, Ep2; Grey’s Anatomy, 2006) or blame current health problems on her medical transition decisions (L.A. Doctors, CBS, 1999, S01, Ep13; E.R., NBC, 2008, S14, Ep18; Nurse Jackie, Showtime, 2012, S04, Ep6; Grey’s Anatomy, ABC, 2015, S11, Ep12; Chicago Med, NBC, 2016, S02, Ep3). Family and medical dramas thus incorporate the same melodramatic framework in which the transsexual character’s desire to transition leads cis characters to question their trans identity and choices. Cis characters condescendingly ask whether trans characters recognize that medical procedures like gender confirmation surgery are, as one states, “so damned irreversible” (Medical Center; Nip/Tuck, FX, 2003, S01, Ep9; Private Practice; The Good Doctor). Moreover, cis characters chide trans masculine characters about why they refuse to remain butch women (3 Generations; The L Word, 2006, S03, Ep9), while others condemn their friend for using unprescribed female hormones (Glee, Fox, 2013, S04, Ep19; Gun Hill Road). Others accuse the trans character of transitioning for other reasons, like to seek attention (Transamerica; 3 Generations; A Girl Like Me; Glee, 2012, S04, Ep5) or revenge (Ugly Betty, Fox, 2007, S01, Ep15, 17). Calling physiological transition a “mutilation” or “against God” similarly frames transition as a moral choice (Life is Hot in Cracktown; Grey’s Anatomy, 2013, S09, Ep13; 3 Generations; Star, Fox, 2017, S01, Ep3). Some narratives contain even more ridiculous behavior, like a mother who grabs her grown daughter’s crotch to tell her husband, “thank God, Murray. He’s [sic] still a boy” or a cis doctor who disputes his friend’s dysphoria to her face by protesting, “I know Bob Overland. And I’m

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going to save him [sic]!” (Transamerica; St. Elsewhere, NBC, 1983, S01, Ep12). The irresolution of both their dysphoria and the interpersonal conflict it creates are also interrelated. Death is one ambivalent resolution as it implies that trans identities are incompatible with cisnormative society, even in a fictionalized version of a young teen’s murder, A Girl Like Me: The Gwen Araujo Story (Lifetime, Holland, 2006). Gwen’s tension with her mother often suggests her culpability in her own transphobic victimization, whether by continuing to wear feminine attire after her mother transfers her to a new school or refusing her mother’s advice to disclose to her older cis male boyfriend. Therefore, the young men who murder her are shown as wrong in the extremity of the violence but appropriately upset at being deceived, while her mother becomes the untarnished victim even as she champions justice for Gwen. In medical dramas, at least four trans women attempt or commit suicide when her medical or physical transition is imperiled (E.R., NBC, 1994, S01, Ep9; Chicago Hope, CBS, 1996, S02, Ep16; Gideon’s Crossing, 2001, ABC, S01, Ep6), and one almost achieves the same result by attempting a DIY penectomy (Private Practice, ABC, 2010, S04, Ep2). In other instances, the characters’ inability to achieve “complete” physiological transformation due to their premature death is meant to be tragic, including Maura’s death the day of her gender confirmation surgery on Transparent (Amazon, S05, Ep1), Lili’s death from post-surgical complications in The Danish Girl (Hooper, 2015) and Adam’s death in a car accident on Degrassi: The Next Generation (Teen Nick, 2013, S13, Ep7). One series prolongs the character’s medical transition across multiple seasons. The L Word uses melodramatic juxtaposition to cast doubt on trans masculine Max’s desire for a bilateral mastectomy by paralleling it directly to another character’s mastectomy due to breast cancer. Episodes (2006, S03, Ep8–9) alternate between scenes in which Dana mourns the loss of her breasts while Max plans a fundraising party for his surgery. He ultimately cannot raise enough but also changes his mind, another way the series questions his gender dysphoria and discounts his suffering in contrast to Dana’s prolonged agony and eventual death (S03, Ep10). The following season, he is again asked about the surgery and responds with more ambivalence: “I don’t know if I’m going to go through with it, …. it’s an irreversible decision” (2007, S04, Ep12). When Max’s top surgery again becomes an option in season 6, it is merely a pretense for tests that reveal his accidental pregnancy (2009, S06, Ep2). This final season

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positions his gender dysphoria as selfish by again privileging the struggle of cis female characters, here trying to conceive, against the dysphoric trauma his pregnancy creates (2009, S06, Ep4, 6), usually by reiterating the notion that his pregnancy is a “gift” rather than a burden. By relying on interpersonal conflict, melodramatic trans narratives can also overemphasize relationships to displace other unanswered, more complex issues, like Max’s status as a male parent in his cis lesbian community on The L Word. Rise (NBC, 2018, S01) provides trans masculine Michael with an accepting theater teacher and (unseen) family, so peer harassment and ostracization are shown as more consequential for his cis friends. The quarterback is shunned for defending him at a party, and a girl friend’s negotiations with her boyfriend over an unplanned pregnancy are derailed (Ep4, 7). 3 Generations’ final scene celebrates trans masculine Ray’s hormone therapy with his formerly unsupportive grandmother and estranged father, but earlier scenes documenting transphobic peer harassment and romantic rejection are simply forgotten. Transamerica similarly ends in a reunion between post-GCS Bree and her grown son, Toby, but the conflict with her parents and the burgeoning romance with a cis man also conveniently fade away. In Gun Hill Road, Enrique’s violent behavior catches up with him, so the last scene has Vanessa dispassionately watching the police take him into custody. She may be better off without the abusive men in her life, Enrique and ex-boyfriend Chris, but happiness is hardly confirmed when a previous scene ends with a wide shot of her sitting alone at a busy club, looking dejected as others whirl around her. Unique returns in Glee a season after her transition creates havoc in her friendships, romantic life, and parental relationship to sing “I Know Where I’ve Been” (Fox, 2015, S06, Ep7), but the current status of these relationships, like the status of her physical transition, remains unaddressed and off-screen. Therefore, even in narratives which present the trans character’s transition as physiologically complete, interpersonal relationships dispute her gender veracity. For example, despite being the head of a women’s fashion magazine, Alexis’s female authenticity in Ugly Betty is consistently challenged with insults about her “big man hands” (Fox, 2007, S01, Ep15, 17) and feet (2007, S02, Ep9; 2008, S03, Ep3), her inferior makeup and fashion (2007, S02, Ep4; 2008, S03, Ep1), and epithets like “freak” (2007, S01, Ep16) and “tranny” (2007, S02, Ep3, Ep15). In OITNB, prison staff and fellow inmates misgender Sophia with insults

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“he-she-whatever” (S03, Ep11), “she-male” (S03, Ep12) and “freak” (S01, Ep3) and reference her “plastic pussy” (S01, Ep6). In such melodramatic narratives, the cis/trans difference remains a cogent lens, framing gender authenticity as open to interpretation even when trans actors play trans characters. For example, trans masculine Cole (Tom Phelan), appearing in season 1 of The Fosters, consistently defends his maleness to housemates in his female group home as well as other adults, but his assertive rejoinders to being misgendered appear combative and even misplaced (Freeform, 2012, S01, Ep12–13). His identity instead is presented as a complication for cis roommate (and main character) Callie’s life, like when his seizure from street hormones leads to Callie’s censure from their house mother for concealing information (Ep14) or when she walks in on Cole as he unwraps his chest binder in the bathroom, inciting a physical altercation (Ep12). Cole returns in season 3 “in a good place, finally,” as Callie explains, because he has utilized medical procedures, represented by an extended medium shot of his chest scars as the characters sunbathe on a beach (Freeform, 2015, Ep4). Callie’s cis male friend, AJ, is still incredulous, asking, “he did that on purpose?,” while gesturing to his own scarless chest. This scene ends with a crane shot that explicitly compares AJ’s and Cole’s chests as they lie topless on their towels, just as Callie’s statement reminds the audience to compare angry Cole in season 1 to happy Cole in season 3. OITNB provides parallel scenes of Sophia (Laverne Cox) at the mirror to again explicitly showcase her physiological transformation (Netflix, 2013, S01, Ep3). The camera shifts from the dysphoric Sophia (played by Cox’s twin brother, M. Lamar) in an incongruous masculine body and pink bra and panty set, to her post-­ transition nude body, panning up and down to accentuate each. Sophia even twirls as her entire body is framed within the shot, the camera capturing the hairless feminine curves from the front and back. Cox’s and Phelan’s trans bodies function as extradiegetic affirmation of physiological transformation, yet the trans actor’s physiological body is not a de facto valorization of the character’s gender authenticity. At the end of the episode meant to profile her amazing physical transformation, Sophia gazes with dismay at a prominent facial hair, a detail that is elevated to a threat of remasculization when she is denied female hormones (2013, S01, Ep3). This remasculization occurs in a later season when staff place her in isolation custody for her own protection after a dispute with another inmate leads to a violent and transphobic attack (2015, S03, Ep12). Her ongoing solitary confinement through season 4 then remasculizes her

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physically, shown through a lack of makeup and wigless short hair (2016, S04, Ep11). Her emotional and physical deterioration does highlight the unfair practice of isolating trans prisoners, yet it still frames Sophia’s femaleness as precarious and her dysphoria omnipresent. Her interpersonal relationships do as well. Even in the best of times, she is estranged from her fellow prisoners, telling her “only” friend, a cis white nun, “everybody acts cool most of the time, … [so] you start to feel like one of the girls. But then something turns and you realize you’re still a freak and you’ll never be one of them” (2015, S03, Ep12). On The Fosters, Cole’s reappearance functions again as a problem for Callie, when he accuses her of accepting a date to an LGBTQ alternative prom out of “pity,” not potential romance, claiming as proof, “the way you looked at me when I took my shirt off at the beach. Just say it. You won’t date me because you don’t see me as a guy.” Although she repudiates his accusation and points to her affection for him as a friend, the narrative once again puts his physiological state upfront as a reminder of how he differs from AJ, her cis male boyfriend, in the same way OITNB makes Sophia’s trans body consistently relevant. These televisual narratives’ melodramatic focus on the trans body and its irresolvable crisis privileges cis/trans difference, a difference that could have been undermined by paralleling the trans character’s experience of embodiment or surveillance to other characters’ crises without privileging one over the other, as in The L Word. For example, hormone therapy for cis women is explicitly mentioned in some scripts (e.g. Normal, Transamerica; OITNB, S01, Ep5) but again differentiated as medically necessary only for post-menopausal cis women rather than, for example, addressing common side effects. The title character of Ugly Betty is a cisgender woman whose “ugliness” is an alleged “fact” until her makeover in season 4 (ABC, 2009, Ep1–2). Yet neither Betty’s struggle to achieve hegemonic femininity nor the constant criticism she endures is ever compared to Alexis’. Similarly, The Fosters could have mentioned the stress of achieving hegemonic masculinity for any male-identified adolescent during Cole’s appearances, as other cis male characters exhibit similar physical insecurities, like Jesus when his wrestling teammates pressure him to try steroids to increase his muscularity (2014, S03, Ep11). As an ensemble drama, OITNB identifies the high costs other tragedies enact on cis female prisoners’ bodies during and prior to their imprisonment, whether from poverty, neglectful or abusive parenting, drug use, sexual assault, etc. All are absent from Sophia’s story. Her dysphoric body is her primary tragedy,

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her suffering’s dominant cause. Indeed, by disassociating her from the cisgender female black community in the prison and privileging her trans identity, the show “regards her experience of Black womanhood as inauthentic and dissimilar” (Thomas 15). Therefore, it is challenging to blame “transface,” used as an analogy for “blackface,” for cisnormativity in trans narratives. The term calls out producers who cast “a cisgender (nontrans) movie star who can be transformed to look like a transgender person through diet and cosmetics, [rather] than consider a [trans] minority actor with an authentic life experience for that role” (Reynolds). It entered popular nomenclature after two cis male actors, Jared Leto and Eddie Redmayne, received prestigious awards for their trans feminine roles in The Dallas Buyers Club (Vallée, 2013) and The Danish Girl (Hooper, 2015) respectively, but trans activists later criticized the casting of cis female Elle Fanning in 3 Generations and cis male Matt Bomer in Anything (James; Tannehill). This trend does overlook qualified trans actors who can better approximate and communicate the trans experience. Yet since televisual narratives focus on cis/trans physiological difference to dramatize the trans experience and use melodramatic elements to present their gender dysphoria as irresolvable, the above examples demonstrate that it is often irrelevant whether the actor— trans or cis—matches the physiology of the transsexual character’s assigned sex or gender identity. The only romantic comedy with a trans character, Boy Meets Girl (Schaeffer, 2014), suggests that cis/trans romances do not require a tragic ending nor the complications of gender dysphoria. Schaeffer’s film relies on romantic comedy staples but without transition clichés, such as a transformation scene or dramatic reveal. Instead, Ricky and new friend Francesca have a friendly conversation early in the film about her penis. When asked if she likes it, Ricky replies, “Yea? I do. But I wish I was born a genetic girl. I plan on getting the full surgery sometime. It’s just so expensive, and … it’s not really about hating my body. I’ve learned to live with it.” Schaeffer even presents Ricky’s maleness, not female identity, as inauthentic; for example, in one scene Francesca does not remember Ricky does not menstruate and in flashbacks Schaeffer casts cis female actors for her younger selves. This does not mean Schaeffer ignores Ricky’s embodiment; instead he highlights it during the romantic dénouement. Through a love triangle between Ricky, longtime best friend Robby, and Francesca, Schaeffer tracks Robby’s awakening that he loves Ricky once he experiences

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jealousy. He then tells her after he cajoles her out of a lake to reveal her nude body to him (and the camera). Schaeffer here, to use Halberstam’s description of another film, “opens the door to a nonfetishstic mode of seeing the transgender body—a mode that looks with, rather than at, the transgender body and cultivates the multidimensionality of an indisputably transgender gaze” (92). The gaze is only authentic because Schaeffer found a trans female actor, Michelle Hendley, who recognizes that, “there’s a lot of mystery associated with trans people. And I think that mystery can often lead to fear, which leads to people being judged. Why not just demystify the whole thing? Why not show people that, hey, even naked I’m just a person. There’s nothing terrifying or unknown about me” (Kurchak). As this book now moves to critique trans representations in other genres, Hendley’s observation is a crucial reminder that judgment and fear create legislative and interpersonal violence against the trans community, violence unlikely to disappear in the 2020s. At the end of The Celluloid Closet: Homosexuality at the Movies, Vito Russo similarly connects media representations with the callous disregard mainstream society and the government had displayed to the gay community in the midst of the AIDS crisis. To paraphrase him slightly, trans people “have always been visible. It’s how they have been visible in American televisual narratives that has remained offensive for almost [half of] a century” (Russo 325).

Notes 1. Intersexuality is often considered a “third sex” and includes a wide variety of conditions. For the connection between intersex conditions and gender regulation, see Fausto-Sterling. 2. Documentaries may include a GNC activist like Feinberg, as I later explain, but do not center such identities until the mid-2015s, such as in Transformation (Johnson, 2016) and We Exist: Beyond the Binary (Seger, 2018). See below for examples of scripted gender nonconforming characters. 3. See, for example, One Day at a Time (Netflix, 2015, S02, Ep3); 2 Broke Girls (CBS, 2015, S05, Ep4); Zoolander 2 (Stiller, 2016); Younger (TVLand, 2018, S05, Ep5). Although a regular GNC character, Taylor, debuted on the Showtime drama Billions (2017, S02, Ep1), some critics contend the series’ message on gender nonconformity is undermined by its setting (a hedge fund firm) (Boisvert 194–195). An exception is a GNC character, Ali, created by a GNC show runner, Joey Soloway, in the last

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two seasons of Transparent (S04–05, 2017–2019). The growing number of gender ­nonconforming characters in post-2018 film and television is discussed in the Conclusion. 4. The mid-1960s saw the formalization of this research into standardized practice, such as through the Harry Benjamin Foundation, later the Harry Benjamin International Gender Dysphoria Association, and clinics which treat transsexuality, like at Johns Hopkins University (Meyerowitz). 5. Chapter 5 explains in more detail how this stigmatization continues with the diagnostic category of autogynephilia. 6. Chapters 3 and 4 explain in more detail how this “surprise” for cis characters works in comedic genres. 7. A parallel ridiculing of a trans masculine character is rare but has occurred on shows known for their sexually explicit comedy, like Two and a Half Men (CBS, 2004, S01, Ep10). 8. Such representations are thus left out of Appendix B; a comprehensive list of cross-dressing cis male and female characters can be found in Moore. 9. Moody asserts that this occurs even when the cis male actors are black, despite playing white women, a situation that underscores the plot of White Chicks (53–55). 10. This is true for two of the three 1977 examples with trans feminine characters played by cis female actors: All That Glitters and The Jeffersons. Both were produced by Norman Lear, who by this time had addressed the feminist movement in other productions and consulted trans activists and celebrities, including Richards, prior to starting All That Glitters, which was produced a few months earlier than The Jeffersons’ trans episode (Lentz; A. Douglas). 11. Chapter 6 explains in more detail how this personification works in tandem with the criminalization of trans identities. 12. Again, televisual media maintains the presumption that drag queens always have a cis male identity, even though in the trans community, they may have a variety of gender identities (Rupp, Taylor and Shapiro; Crookston). 13. Independent films directed towards queer audiences, however, do not do so, such as Stonewall (Finch, 1994); Billy’s Hollywood Screen Kiss (O’Haver, 1998); Sordid Lives (Del Shores, 2000); Rent (Columbus, 2005); Any Day Now (Fine, 2011); and Saturday Church (Cardasis, 2017). 14. Recent examples of “trans face” casting can be found in later in this chapter (Reynolds; James). 15. Trans masculine characters are rare in twentieth-century mainstream televisual narratives and almost always unsympathetic (e.g. St. Elsewhere, NBC, 1983, S01, Ep13; The Golden Girls, NBC, 1987, S03, Ep7). 1990s versions are more sympathetic than earlier examples but, as Chap. 7 contends, present them as culpable in their victimization (e.g. NYPD Blue, ABC,

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1997, S05, Ep10; L.A. Doctors, CBS, 1999, S01, Ep13; Boys Don’t Cry, Peirce, 1999). 16. Granted, the “siblings” in Orphan Black are clones, but they consistently refer to themselves as sisters, perhaps why Tony, as a male transsexual, appears only once in five seasons. 17. This distinction is often not specified when the narrative series primarily appears to use the child’s difference as merely one of many parental “challenges” for the parent, such as on The Riches, FX, 2007–2008, S01–02; House of Lies, Showtime, 2012–2016, S01–05; Better Things, FX, 2016, S01, Ep10; Good Girls, NBC, 2018, S01, Ep4, Ep7; Here and Now, HBO, 2018, S01, Ep2–10. 18. In contrast, the French film Tomboy (Sciamma, 2011) and Belgian film Girl (Dhont, 2018) focus the majority of the film on the experiences of the trans child or adolescent. 19. See the conclusion for post-2018 examples.

Works Cited Adventures in the Gender Trade. Directed by Susan Marenco and Jay Mason, Green Dragon Productions, 1994. American Psychiatric Association [APA]. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, DSM 5. 5th ed. American Psychiatric Publishing, 2013. Arnold, Justin D., Amy E. Nelson, and Erin M. Loubier. “Transgender Surgery— Not the Benchmark for Gender Marker Determination.” JAMA Surgery, vol. 152, no. 12, 2017, pp.  1099–1100,  https://doi.org/10.1001/ jamasurg.2017.3432. Bailey, Marlon M. “Gender/Racial Realness: Theorizing the Gender System in Ballroom Culture.” Feminist Studies, vol. 37, no. 2, 2011, pp.  365–386. JSTOR, 23069907. Beauchamp, Toby. Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and U.S.  Surveillance Practices. Duke University Press, 2019. Becker, Ron. Gay TV and Straight America. Rutgers University Press, 2006. Berridge, Susan. “Raised Voices: Homophobic Abuse as a Catalyst for Coming Out in US Teen Television Drama Series.” The Handbook of Gender, Sex, and Media, edited by Karen Ross, Wiley, 2012, pp. 313–325. Billard, Thomas J. “‘Passing’ and the Politics of Deception: Transgender Bodies, Cisgender Aesthetics, and the Policing of Inconspicuous Marginal Identities.” The Palgrave Handbook of Deceptive Communication, edited by Tony Docan-­ Morgan. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019, pp. 463–477. Birrell, Susan, and Cheryl L.  Cole. “Double Fault: Renée Richards and the Construction and Naturalization of Difference.” Women, Media and Sport:

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Challenging Gender Values, edited by Pamela J.  Creedon, Sage, 1994, pp. 207–237. Boisvert, Stéfany. “‘Queering’ TV, One Character at a Time: How Audiences Respond to Gender-Diverse TV Series on Social Media Platforms.” Critical Studies in Television, vol. 15, no. 2, 2020, pp.  183–201,  https://doi. org/10.1177/1749602020914479. Booth, E.  Tristan. “The Provisional Acknowledgement of Identity Claims in Televised Documentary.” Spencer and Capuzza, pp. 111–126. Boucher, Michel J. “‘Do You Have What It Takes to Be a Real Man?’: Female-to-­ Male Transgender Embodiment and the Politics of the ‘Real’ in A Boy Named Sue and Body Alchemy.” Performing American Masculinities: The 21st-Century Man in Popular Culture, edited by Elwood Watson and Marc E. Shaw, Indiana University Press, 2011, pp. 192–232. The Brandon Teena Story. Directed by Susan Muska and Gréta Olafsdóttir, Zeitgeist Films, 1998. Brunton, Jaime. “Melodrama, Masochism, and Biopolitical Encounters in The Fosters.” Quarterly Review of Film and Video, vol. 34, no. 7, 2017, pp. 650–663, https://doi.org/10.1080/10509208.2017.1344054 Cassidy, Marsha F. “The Cinderella Makeover: Glamour Girl, Television Misery Shows, and 1950s Femininity.” The Great American Makeover, edited by Dana Heller, Palgrave Macmillan, 2006, pp. 125–140. Crews, Jr., Watson. “Sex Change Breaks Up Old Gang of His (Hers).” Sunday News. 22 Mar. 1964, pp. 1–3, 26. Cromwell, Jason. Transmen and FTMs: Identities, Bodies, Genders & Sexualities. University of Illinois Press, 1999. Crookston, Cameron. “Off The Clock: Is Drag ‘Just A Job’?.” Queer Studies in Media & Popular Culture, vol. 3, no. 1, Mar. 2018, pp. 101–115, https://doi. org/10.1386/qsmpc.3.1.101_1. D’Emilio, John. “The Homosexual Menace: The Politics of Sexuality in Cold War America,” in Passion and Power: Sexuality in History, edited by Kathy Peiss and Christina Simmons, Temple University Press, 1989, pp. 226–240. Douglas, Angela. “Norman Lear Set To Star Transex?” Berkeley Barb, 29 Oct.–4 Nov. 1976, p. 2. Douglas, Jennifer. “Why I Watch What Not To Wear, or, How Women Get in Gender Trouble.” Americana: The Journal of American Popular Culture, 1900 to Present, vol. 7, no. 1, 2008, n.p, americanpopularculture.com/journal/articles/spring_2008/douglas.htm. Duggan, Lisa. “Crossing the Line: The Brandon Teena Case and the Social Psychology of Working-Class Resentment.” New Labor Forum, vol. 13, no. 3, Fall 2004, pp. 37–44, 149. Proquest Academic. Dyer, Richard. The Culture of Queers. Routledge, 2002. Edwards, Timothy C. Cultures of Masculinity. Routledge, 2006.

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Elsaesser, Thomas. “Tales of Sound and Fury: Observations of the Family Melodrama.” Gledhill, pp. 43–69. Faderman, Lillian. Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers: A History of Lesbian Life in Twentieth-Century America. Columbia University Press, 1991. Fausto-Sterling, Anne. Sexing the Body: Gender Politics and the Construction of Sexuality. Basic Books, 2000. Featherstone, Mike. “Body, Image and Affect in Consumer Culture.” Body & Society, vol. 16, no. 1, 2010, pp.  193–221. Sage, https://doi.org/10.117 7/1357034X09354357. Fischer, Mia. Terrorizing Gender: Transgender Visibility and the Surveillance Practices of the U.S. Security State. University of Nebraska Press, 2019. Garber, Marjorie. Vested Interests: Cross-Dressing and Cultural Anxiety. Routledge, 1992. Girl. Directed by Lukas Dhont, Menuet Producties, 2018. Glascock, Jack. “Gender, Race, and Aggression in Newer TV Networks’ Primetime Programming.” Communication Quarterly, vol. 51, no. 1, 2003, pp. 90–100, https://doi.org/10.1080/01463370309370142. Gledhill, Christine. “The Melodramatic Field: An Investigation.” Gledhill, pp. 1–39. Gledhill, Christine, ed. Home is Where the Heart Is: Studies in Melodrama and the Woman’s Film. British Film Institute, 1987. Glover, Julian Kevon. “Redefining Realness?: On Janet Mock, Laverne Cox, TS Madison, and the Representation of Transgender Women of Color in Media.” Souls, vol. 18, no. 2–4, 2016, pp.  338–357. Taylor & Francis Online, doi: 10.1080/10999949.2016.1230824. Gossett, Che. “Blackness and the Trouble of Trans Visibility.” Gossett, Stanley and Burton, pp. 183–190. Gossett, Reina, Eric A.  Stanley and Johanna Burton, editors. Trap Door: Trans Cultural Production and the Politics of Visibility. MIT Press, 2017. Hairspray. Directed by Adam Shankman, performances by Nikki Blonsky and John Travolta, New Line Cinema, 2007. Halberstam, Jack. In a Queer Time and Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives. New York University Press, 2005. Hayward, Eva. “More Lessons from a Starfish: Prefixial Flesh and Transpeciated Selves.” Women’s Studies Quarterly, no. 36, no. 3–4, 2008, pp.  64–85, JSTOR, 27649785. Hooks, bell. Black Looks: Race and Representation. South End, 1992. Jack and Jill. Directed by Dennis Duggan, performance by Adam Sandler, Happy Madison Productions, 2011. James, Andrea. “Is Elle Fanning Taking a Role From a Trans Actor?” The Atlantic, 15 Nov. 2014 theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2014/11/is-­elle-­ fanning-­taking-­a-­role-­from-­a-­transgender-­actor/382635.

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Johnson, Austin H. “Normative Accountability: How the Medical Model Influences Transgender Identities and Experiences.” Sociology Compass, vol. 9, no. 9, 2015, pp. 803–813, https://doi.org/10.1111/soc4.12297. ———. “Transnormativity: A New Concept and Its Validation through Documentary Film About Transgender Men.” Sociological Inquiry, vol. 86, no. 4, 2016, pp. 465–492, https://doi.org/10.1111/soin.12127. Johnson, David K. The Lavender Scare: The Cold War Persecution of Gays and Lesbians in the Federal Government. University of Chicago Press, 2009. Kaplan, E.  Ann. “Mothering, Feminism and Representation: The Maternal in Melodrama and Women’s Film 1910–1940.” Gledhill, pp. 132–133. Katz, Jonathan Ned. The Invention of Heterosexuality. Dutton, 1995. Keegan, Cael. “Moving Bodies: Sympathetic Migrations in Transgender Narrativity.” Genders, vol. 57, Spring 2013, par. 1–29. Academic OneFile. Kennedy, Randall. Interracial Intimacies: Sex, Marriage, Identity and Adoption. Pantheon, 2003. Koshy, Susan. Sexual Naturalization: Asian Americans and Miscegenation. Stanford University Press, 2004. Kuper, Laura E., Robin Nussbaum, and Brian Mustanski. “Exploring the Diversity of Gender and Sexual Orientation Identities in an Online Sample of Transgender Individuals.” Journal of Sex Research, vol. 49, no. 2–3, 2012 pp. 244–254, https://doi.org/10.1080/00224499.2011.596954. Kurchak, Sarah. “’Boy Meets Girl’s Michelle Hendley: On Transphobia and Inclusivity in Film.” Consequence of Sound, 21 May 2015 consequenceofsound. net/2015/05/boy-­meets-­girl-­michelle-­hendley. Kutulas, Judy. “Liberated Women and New Sensitive Men: Reconstructing Gender in the 1970s Workplace Comedies.” The Sitcom Reader: America Re-Viewed, Still Skewed, 2nd ed., edited by Mary M. Dalton and Laura R. Linder, State University of New York Press, 2016, pp. 121–132. Lavigne, Carlen. “Death Wore Black Chiffon: Sex and Gender in CSI.” Canadian Review of American Studies, vol. 39, no. 4, Winter 2009, pp. 383–398, https:// doi.org/10.1353/crv.0.0047. Lentz, Kirsten Marthe. “Quality versus Relevance: Feminism, Race, and the Politics of the Sign in 1970s Television.” Camera Obscura, vol. 15, no. 1, 2000, pp. 44–93, https://doi.org/10.1215/02705346-­15-­1_43-­45. Lev, Arlene Istar. “Disordering Gender Identity: Gender Identity Disorder in the DSM-IV-TR.” Journal of Psychology & Human Sexuality, vol. 17, no. 3–4, 2006, pp. 35–69, https://doi.org/10.1300/J056v17n03_03. Levine, Elana. Wallowing in Sex: The New Sexual Culture of 1970s American Television. Duke University Press, 2007. Lovelock, Michael. “Call Me Caitlyn: Making and Making Over the ‘Authentic’ Transgender Body In Anglo-American Popular Culture.” Journal of Gender

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Studies, vol. 26, no. 6, 2017, pp.  675–687,  https://doi.org/10.108 0/09589236.2016.1155978. Marcel, Mary. “Representing Gender, Race, and Realness: The Television World of Americas Next Drag Superstars.” The Makeup of RuPaul’s Drag Race: Essays on the Queen of Reality Shows, edited by Jim Daems, McFarland, 2014, pp. 13–30. Mayer, Vicki. “Soft-Core in TV Time: The Political Economy of a ‘Cultural Trend’.” Critical Studies in Media Communication, vol. 22, no. 4, 2005, pp. 302–320, https://doi.org/10.1080/07393180500288428. McIntyre, Joanna. “’They’re So Normal I Can’t Stand It’: I Am Jazz, I Am Cait, Transnormativity, and Trans Feminism.” Orienting Feminism: Media, Activism and Cultural Representation, edited by Catherine Dale and Rosemary Overell, Springer, 2018, pp. 9–24. McRobbie, Angela. The Aftermath of Feminism: Gender, Culture, and Social Change. Sage, 2009. Metamorphosis: Man into Woman. Directed by Lisa Leeman, Public Broadcasting Service, 1990. Meyerowitz, Joanne. How Sex Changed: A History of Transsexuality in the United States. Harvard University Press, 2002. Miller, Lucy J. “Becoming One of the Girls/Guys: Distancing Transgender Representations in Popular Film Comedies.” Spencer and Capuzza, pp. 127–142. Mocarski, Richard, et  al. “A Different Kind of Man: Mediated Transgendered Subjectivity, Chaz Bono on Dancing With the Stars.” Journal of Communication Inquiry vol. 37, no. 3, 2013, pp.  249–264,  https://doi. org/10.1177/0196859913489572. Moody, David L. The Complexity and Progression of Black Representation in Film and Television. Lexington, 2017. Moore, F.  Michael. Drag! Male and Female Impersonators on Stage, Screen and Television: An Illustrated World History. McFarland, 1994. Mrs. Doubtfire. Directed by Chris Columbus, performances by Sally Field and Robin Williams, Twentieth Century Fox, 1993. Namaste, Viviane. Sex Change, Social Change: Reflections on Identity, Institutions, and Imperialism. Women’s Press, 2005. Outlaw. Directed by Alisa Lebow, DocuDrag Productions, 1994. Overall, Christine. “Sex/Gender Transitions and Life-Changing Aspirations.” “You’ve Changed:” Sex Reassignment and Personal Identity, edited by Laurie J. Shrage, Oxford University Press, 2009, pp. 11–27. Padva, Gilad. “Edge of Seventeen: Melodramatic Coming-Out in New Queer Adolescence Films.” Communication and Critical/Cultural Studies, vol. 1, no. 4, 2004, pp. 355–372, https://doi.org/10.1080/1479142042000244961. Page, Morgan M. “One From the Vaults: Gossip, Access, and Trans History-­ Telling.” Gossett, Stanley, and Burton, pp. 135–146.

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CHAPTER 3

The Comedic “Cis Surprise” (Friend Version)

Ha, ha, ha! Chip, you old son of a gun, you. You had me going. What a gag, what a pistol! Now put your real clothes back on before someone mistakes you for a woman. —Dan Fielding, Night Court (NBC, 1985)

Trans female actor Michelle Hendley, the lead in the romantic comedy, Boy Meets Girl (Schaeffer, 2014), points out in an interview, “there’s a lot of mystery associated with trans people. And I think that mystery can often lead to fear, which leads to people being judged” (Kurchak). In comedies like the NBC sitcom, Night Court, this mystery propels the plot, first by framing the trans character’s gender identity as a surprise for the cisgender character and then a problem they must solve. As a result, these transsexual characters confirm rather than challenge cisnormativity because their gender authenticity is judged to be inadequate. This comedic device is so prevalent that I split my analysis into two parts. This chapter analyzes the “friend” or desexualized version that arose first, while the next reviews its sexualized counterpart. Night Court’s version starts with Dan, a chauvinistic prosecutor, bragging about a visit with a former fraternity brother and “best friend,” whom he describes with hypermasculine awe as “beer blasting, panty raiding, full mooning Chip” (S03, Ep6). When Charlene appears in feminine attire, © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1_3

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Dan’s inability to recognize his old friend extends the moment of misrecognition for more than a minute, as Dan and his coworkers gape and the audience claps and titters. Despite her repeated insistence that “Old Chiperoo is Charlene now,” Dan responds with the above quotation. Indeed, he only believes her when she proclaims, “Dan, these are my real clothes. I am a woman… Completely,” holding her arms out with a smile. This overt reference to a “complete” gender transformation directs attention to her crouch, so that after one glance Dan stumbles away with his hand over his mouth. Night Court mines the moment for jokes beyond this visual gag by reductively framing her gender transition as castration. When Harry, his boss and moral foil, tells him to “take it easy,” Dan responds, “this is not his lucky rabbit’s foot that he lost. We’re talking an appendage!” A few minutes later, he then counters another colleague’s admonition, “this is your friend!” with “this is a gelding! My friend is in a bottle of formaldehyde somewhere!” As Night Court aptly demonstrates, the transgender characters’ gender history, rather than their gender identity, becomes the comedic crux. At the same time, the plot of this “old friend” reunion, like the camera’s focus on Dan’s face during the moment of misrecognition, centers not on her transformation—and it is almost always a “her”—but upon his personal crisis. Although the crisis ostensibly focuses on how the cis character confronts the psychological and emotional disconnect between the man they believed they knew and the woman their friend claims to be, the disconnect is actually created by their investment in binary physiology, particularly genitalia (as Dan so graphically confirms), and hegemonic masculine privilege—which is why it is almost always a “her.” The cis male character’s problem, in short, outweighs their trans feminine friend’s autonomy. Hendley’s observation about cis reactions to trans people is also useful because she aptly connects trans “mystery” to cis fear. Night Court, as a comedy, must defuse the anxiety Charlene’s new gender provokes in Dan since the mystery is located not in who Charlene is (Chip or Charlene) but what she is (man or woman). As the primary or main character, Dan’s reaction creates a similar anxiety in the audience (“is this person a woman?”), so Dan, like the narrative, must discount her perspective (“no, this person is not a woman”) and find her female identity lacking (pun intended). Night Court is therefore a representative example of how this cis/trans difference works in comedic genres. I address this genre first since comedy

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is still the most common venue for displaying trans representations across the decades from 1965–2018.1 Comedy has been described theoretically as the result of “incongruity and exaggeration, … a sense of things being out of place, mixed up or not quite right” (King 5). In narrative form, a “destabilization-restabilization” plot trajectory has been popularized, particularly within situation comedies or sitcoms like Night Court, where multiple settings and relationships offer a variety of ways to mix things up, but still neatly and happily resolve them (Neale and Krutnik 234–235; Silverblatt, Ferry and Finan 60). The “cis surprise” plot fits such a trajectory as well as a variety of settings and relationships. For example, the “old friend” reunion in Night Court’s workplace setting using all white characters is remarkedly similar to a sibling reunion on the black family comedy All of Us almost two decades later (UPN, 2004, S01, Ep17). I have included a less common but related variation, a “new” friend surprise, since it relies on the many of the same elements. My argument will explain first how the “destabilization” segment prioritizes the cis main character’s reaction, so that their anger, distrust, and discomfort with their friend’s gender—and the penis jokes—reestablish cisgender privilege and confirm the sex/gender binary by denying the trans person’s gender authenticity. In Night Court Dan tells Charlene, “Chip was my friend. Not you! To me, he was a god. A king! Well, the king is dead,” reiterating that his friendship is rooted in his admiration for Chip’s womanizing talents. Thus, as he tells Charlene, he believes that by denying their mutual investment in hypermasculine heterosexuality, her transition undermines his own identity: “you lied to me, damn it! You took all those years of sharing, of comradery, of listening to my most private thoughts, and then said, ‘just kidding!’” The restabilization or resolution of the conflict similarly discounts the trans character’s gendered difference by reestablishing the basis of the friendship upon its gendered sameness. These relationships are not merely gender-based, formed, as in this case, within segregated sex settings like a fraternity, but also prioritize stereotypically gendered traits as relevant to their bond. In Night Court, Dan and Charlene reconfirm their affection by accentuating characteristics that are conventionally gendered male. For instance, despite Charlene’s assertion that she “hated” the exhibition of heterosexual male dominance in college which required “hustling every girl I met,” she uses another stereotypically male trait, physical competitiveness and aggression, to mend their relationship. She first reminds Dan she was the “power forward” on their basketball team and then punches

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him in dramatic fashion, claiming “he got bitchy.” They end by reminiscing about Charlene’s dating hijinks in order to remind the audience that feminine attire cannot erase “beer blasting, panty raiding, full mooning Chip.” Casting a cis male actor to play Charlene further denigrates her cisgender aesthetic authenticity and questions the effects of medical transition. Most overtly, it becomes another way for the audience to affirm that her masculine “self” is inerasable. Cis friend surprise scenarios may initially destabilize the fixed gender binary and sex/gender alignment by acknowledging the existence of transsexuality, but they resolve by repudiating its ability to actually alter either.

the “cis” Surprise (friend Version) Comedy remains the most popular genre for television and film audiences across age, gender, and ethnicity through the 2010s.2 Genre theorist Alexander Dhoest asserts that comedy’s pervasive use of surprise is often created by defying narrative and sociocultural expectations (698). The longevity of situational comedy, the most common comedic television genre, has been attributed to its “ideological flexibility,” particularly since the 1970s, when networks introduced a socially conscious “relevance” which defied expectations by addressing controversial social topics like homosexuality (Gitlin 260–262). Sociocultural transgression, however, may be referenced but not necessarily affirmed since humor is often hostile, where some “groups triumph over others … [who] are debased, demeaned, disparaged, ridiculed, humiliated, or otherwise subjected to undesirable experiences short of truly grievous harm” (King 8; Bryant and Zillmann 270). Often the answer to “guess who,” in short, is “not one of us.” There is a tradition, then, of using humor to defuse the transgressiveness inherent in certain groups or identities, especially those who undermine the normative power of the majority. Feminist scholars have noted, for example, how comedy often ridicules and thus contains female power, whether in silent films of the early twentieth century, sitcoms in the 1950s, or late night television in the 1990s (Wagner 41–42; Mellencamp; Douglas 64–66). The “comic incongruity” and debased position of characters with a cross-sex gender expression has therefore been taken for granted in analysis of this genre, particularly because the adoption of feminine markers by a male-identified person is conceived as more incongruous due to the relinquishment of cis male privilege (King 141–142). Scholarly consensus

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for the “comic understandings” of temporarily cross-dressed characters is that the audience’s pleasure relies upon knowledge of the character’s sex or cisgender identity (Neale and Krutnik 38; Phillips 53; Garber 60, 70; Straayer 489). Tension between the “duped” characters the cross-dressed character fools and the knowing audience is deliberate because gender difference is affirmed not merely due to the resolution, which jettisons cross-­ sex behavior and returns the character to their “naturally” gendered self, but also by their “poor gender performances” as the other gender (Miller 135). The humor, as Chris Straayer asserts, takes for granted “physicality and a signaling of biological sex differences” since the cross-dressed character cannot actually “hide” who they really are, so humor also renaturalizes hegemonic gender roles, including heterosexuality (490). Cross-dressed characters, in turn, are “the objects of the humor rather than active participants in the humor” until their “real” gender is restored (Miller 129). The popularity of transgender characters in comedy thus makes sense when temporary cross-sex dress and behavior have been comedic standards in western popular culture even prior to the advent of television and film (Garber; Bullough and Bullough 227–252). Social transgression, though, is relative, so comedic televisual narratives found a new rationale for this cross-sex behavior due to the growing awareness of “transvestites” and drag queens in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Not surprisingly, the first examples appear in films rather than more conservative network television, including The Tiger Makes Out (Hiller, 1967), I Love You, Alice B. Toklas (Averback, 1968), Everything You Need to Know About Sex* (Allen, 1972), and, most famously, Rocky Horror Picture Show (Sharman, 1975). While heterosexual male crossdressers do not fully disappear, as evidenced by Barney Miller (ABC, 1975, S01, Ep9); Too Close for Comfort (ABC, 1985, S03, Ep8); Ed Wood (Burton, 1994); and Ready To Wear (Altman, 1994), drag queens proliferated instead, in conjunction to the overall rise in queer characters. Mistaken identity scenarios with drag queen characters therefore easily affirm the gender binary and normalize hegemonic gender roles because her femininity—and female “self”—can be just as easily removed and negated as for temporarily cross-dressed characters. A “new friend” cis surprise occurs first in an All in the Family episode (CBS, 1975, S06, Ep4), when Archie mistakes a drag queen, then called a “female impersonator,” for a cis woman (Fig. 3.1). Beverly fools Archie when he gives her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on the street, which occurs off-screen, so he only learns when she visits his house to thank him that she is male. Wife

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Fig. 3.1  Archie (Carroll O’Connor) and Beverly (Lori Shannon), All in the Family (CBS, 1975, S06, Ep4)

Edith provokes laughter when she agrees, “I never would’ve guessed that she was a man until she took his hair off.” The shock of the reveal recurs in an episode the next season when Beverly agrees to fool Archie’s friend Pinky on a blind date. Once again, Beverly confirms her sex by dramatically removing her wig, this time to assure Pinky’s fiancé that he is not cheating on her (1976, S07, Ep8). Significantly, although played by Lori Shannon, a gay drag queen, Beverly never mentions her sexual orientation in any of the three episodes she appears (S06, Ep4; S07, Ep8; 1977, S08, Ep13), and Mike explicitly explains to his father-in-law that she may not be gay in the first episode. This distinction makes Beverly’s gender presentation, not her sexual orientation, the cause of each plot’s destabilization and her “actual” male gender its resolution. Beverly’s male “sameness” wins Archie’s approval, notably in his proclamation, “for a dame, you’re

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one hell of a guy!” (1975, S06, Ep4). In the first episode, she earns his praise by lying to a reporter to avoid publicly outing him for resuscitating a man and in the second when she agrees to prank Pinky. A “new friend” cross-gender mistake with a drag queen later appears on the sitcoms Grounded for Life (WB, 2004, S03, Ep13) and Are You There, Chelsea? (NBC, 2012, S01, Ep7). Each not coincidentally relies again on the confusion of white, heterosexual men whose advanced age signifies their naiveté that drag queens or male cross-dressers exist. Both similarly resolve when he realizes his new romantic interest is a man so is more appropriately a friend than lover based on their shared masculine interests. In the former’s resolution, Walt plans to meet Carl—not “Carla”—at the local off-track betting parlor, and in the latter, Melvin happily introduces Chuck, no longer Sandy, to his daughter as another hockey-loving straight dad. “Old friend” reunions with drag queens similarly restabilize gender normativity by relying on common masculine traits. In the sitcom In the House, the cis male main character, former NFL player Marion, at first has considerable anxiety about childhood friend Kevin’s new drag career, but his acceptance is prompted by Kevin’s assertation that his gender transgressivity is only professional, as they can still pick up women together (NBC, 1995, S02, Ep9). Even when a drag queen is gay on The John Larroquette Show (NBC, 1994, Ep1, Ep19), John reaffirms their friendship with memories of college fraternity antics only when Artie is later dressed in masculine attire, not during their reunion at a drag club when Artie is en femme. Male physicality like height and a deep voice connects a father and son even when the drag queen is played by a cisgender woman, as seen on Friends (NBC, 2001, S07, Ep22–24), but casting then illogically leaves Helena en femme throughout the son’s wedding festivities. Yet drag queens and cross-dressing men, as I previously noted, are ridiculed more for the act itself (men poorly impersonating women) and the juxtaposition (women who are really men) than the intent (why men dress and act like women). Given the commonality of this plot device, I wonder how well American audiences could differentiate between “mistaken identity” scenarios involving temporarily cross-dressed main or regular cisgender male characters3 and the versions I describe here. For example, a cis male character who dresses as a girl or woman for a prank or contrived scenario on a Silver Spoons (NBC, 1983, S01, Ep14) or The Big Bang Theory (CBS, 2012, S05, Ep21) episode may be challenging to distinguish from a professional drag queen on Wings (NBC, 1997, S08, Ep16) or Are

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You There, Chelsea? (NBC, 2012, S01, Ep7) or a female transsexual on Night Court (NBC, 1985, S03, Ep6) or The Comedians (FX, 2015, S01, Ep1–2) when all appear to be a cis male actor in a dress and makeup. Yet, as the Friends example indicates, the actor’s gender identity is less relevant when the comedy destabilization depends on the same derogatory masculinization and the restablization upon her gender commonality with the cis male character. In all these cases, the presumed superiority of heterosexual gender normativity shines through. Cis surprise narratives are also familiar to audiences because they usually incorporate the “second-take” sight gags that unite many trans feminine characters in film and television comedies, including these temporarily cross-dressed cis male characters. These often momentary interactions use a formulaic shot-reaction shot sequence to align the cisgender character’s recognition with the audience’s: this “person” in feminine presentation is not actually a woman, as the extended moment of Dan’s misrecognition of “Chip’s” transformation demonstrates.4 “What” this person is (a man, not a woman) can be affirmed both diagetically and extra-diagetically in this moment due to their male physicality; “who” they are—or their function within the plot—is thus often irrelevant. Yet the cis surprise mistaken identity scenario requires more to ensure that the audience discounts transsexuals, particularly once televisual narratives began to cast cis women as fictional female transsexuals. Queer media analysis helps to explain why. As I mentioned, 1970s situational comedies began to address socially relevant issues, including homosexuality, by repackaging the “mistaken identity” plot. All in the Family (CBS, 1971, S01, Ep5) was again one of the first, in an episode when Archie learns his hypermasculine friend Steve is gay after mistakenly presuming that his daughter’s effeminate friend Roger is first. Stephen Tropiano points out that this plot device with gay and lesbian guest characters remained popular through the 1990s but the humor derives from each era’s anxieties, so the 1970s’ confusion revolved around the existence of queer people, but later decades grappled more with markers of queerness, whether through gender expression or roles (212–216).5 By the 1990s, Ron Becker attests, this scenario signified that stereotypical assumptions were “comically inadequate for determining whether a guy was gay or straight” (“Becoming” 238). On the surface, the “mistaken for straight” trope appears to promote a progressive agenda. Ironically, though, its failure to do so is obvious even in its first iteration. Archie cannot tell Steve is gay because he looks and

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acts as masculine as Archie himself, perhaps even more so due to his rugged style, pro football career, height, and muscularity. Their gender sameness negates their sexual orientation difference or at least sets up the presumption that their gender affinity can transcend it. This emphasis on sameness, still found in LGBQ representations today, is a key component of “homonormativity” and extends their gender similarities to include class (here working-class but usually professional or upwardly mobile), race (white), and relationship structure (monogamous), as other scholars have argued (Martin; Yep and Elia; Ng; Kohnen). As Lisa Duggan explains, this sameness, often represented, as in All in the Family, through interpersonal congeniality across the hetero/homosexual divide, has an ideological objective because it does “not contest dominant heteronormative assumptions and institutions, but upholds and sustains them, while promising the possibility of a demobilized gay constituency and a privatized, depoliticized gay culture” (179). This is especially true of guest gay or lesbian television characters, as Suzanne Danuta Walters points out, since heterosexual characters can show their acceptance of queer individuals without much reflection on homophobic institutions or the dominance of heterosexuality (97). Conflating other identity hierarchies with hegemonic gender roles is also a key component of transnormative representations. Since Chap. 5 addresses homonormativity’s impact on cis/trans romance, what is relevant in this example is how the friendship dynamic takes for granted the characters’ shared patriarchal affinities. Cross-sexual orientation homosocial bonding reinforces how “constructions of hegemonic masculinity [and femininity] remain thoroughly linked to heterosexuality and even more so to rigid notions of gender difference” (Becker, “Becoming,” 250; see also Avila-Saavedra, Doran, and Dhaenens). The restablization of this mistaken identity scenario, then, must negotiate between affirming the relevance of the identity difference (gay people do exist) and disregarding its impact on the majority’s dominance (but are in the minority for a reason). Yet comedy cannot acknowledge transsexuality exists without disrupting cisnormativity, since doing so would undermine sex/gender continuity and the naturalization of hegemonic gender roles.

RestAbilizing cisnormAtivity The “cis6 surprise” (friend version) cannot be explained as simply an extension of the “mistaken for straight” scenario. The latter, as noted, relies on the alleged truth that gender differences are based upon sex differences.

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The “mistaken for straight” trope, as a result, cannot be analogous to “mistaken for cisgender” since the former still affirms that the character’s identity is what they say it is: they are indeed queer. Discounting the relevance of queerness, in short, is not the same as discounting its existence. When the cis character is surprised to learn that their new or old friend is trans, the main character’s confusion and misrecognition may be similarly mined for comedic effect. In the end, however, their friend’s identity is presumed not to be what they say it is: they are “still” the gender (more accurately, their sex) they were assigned at birth. In fact, this formula is now reversed. By discounting the existence of transsexuality, this trope can deny its relevance—or threat—to cisnormativity. Charlene, in other words, is not a woman, despite now having a vagina, because her assigned sex (male) must always define her gender, and her behavior reiterates how her maleness can never be erased. “New” friend misrecognition is thus easier to resolve because the cis character’s long-term relationship with this friend is often viewed as irrelevant. As a result, these narratives are the most transphobic because the revelation of the character’s gender history automatically invalidates their gender identity, as seen in three 1980s sitcoms (WKRP Cincinnati, ABC, 1980, S03, Ep5; Gimme a Break!, NBC, 1983, S03, Ep7; The Golden Girls, NBC, 1987, S03, Ep7). These sexual cis surprise scenarios ridicule both the trans guest character, for presuming to impersonate the “wrong” gender, and the cis main character, whose sexual attraction is based on the assumption this person was “really” male or female. On WKRP, Herb’s problem is how to deflect the sexual attention of a female client after he learns she is transsexual (Fig. 3.2), while Nell’s is the realization that she has set her boss up with a transsexual in Gimme a Break! The reveal moments are similarly highlighted and extended in each episode by prolonging the camera’s focus on the cis character. For The Golden Girls this requires panning between characters multiple times to confirm each’s shocked reaction. Gimme a Break! replaces penis jokes with breast jokes during Melissa’s reveal. Nell appears stunned when Melissa tells her gender history, and the camera keeps her in focus as she repeats Melissa’s dead name multiple times while pointedly looking at her large breasts. Since the cis character’s reaction is more important than why the transsexual character transitioned, little screen time is provided for an explanation, and the trans character’s disappearance becomes the solution for the cis character’s “problem.” On both Gimme a Break! and The Golden Girls, this disappearance occurs literally after the reveal. In the latter, city council candidate Gil, perhaps the first trans masculine character in television

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Fig. 3.2  Nikki (Linda Carlson) and Herb (Frank Bonner), WKRP Cincinnati (ABC, 1980, S03, Ep5)

history, announces in a press conference that he is a transsexual. His reveal then fixes the cis character’s problem since the rest of the main characters now believe Blanche’s claim that she did not have sex with him, despite one’s “hunch” that there is “something I don’t like about him.” The fact that these three trans guest characters are all played by cis actors, Linda Carlson (WKRP) (Fig. 3.2), Victoria Carroll (Gimme) and John Schuck (Golden), shows that even if transsexuals have bodies and expressions that authentically fit their gender identity, their assigned sex is more relevant. Looks, in other words, are still deceiving because chromosomes never lie. Old friend reunions have more complex restabilization sequences due to their established relationships but their destabilization sequence is often also longer, though still replete with sight gags and breast or penis jokes which objectify the trans feminine character. On The Jeffersons (CBS, 1977, S04, Ep3), George’s reunion with Edie Stokes, an old friend from his Navy enlistment, provides a lengthy misrecognition scene because

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George assumes that, like in their earlier friendship, “Eddie” must be playing a trick on him. First he looks around her hotel room, presuming Edie is Eddie’s wife. When she says she is Eddie, he collapses with laughter on the bed, yelling, “What a costume! You really had me fooled this time!” His admiration for this “joke” continues as he opens the closet to reveal dresses and a drawer to find a bra. All of Us prolongs how long it takes one cis male character to break the news to another regarding his new “sister,” so that her brother—and the camera—continue to ogle first her rear and then her breasts (UPN, 2004, S01, Ep17). Married … With Children (Fox, 1994, S09, Ep10), a series known for its raunchy storylines, makes the scene even more sexually explicit. Al refuses to believe that “Thad” is now female, so she allows him to lift up her dress even though it occurs in front of a crowd of former high school teammates. As they stare at her genitals, which face off-camera, the camera lingers on their surprised faces as the audience hoots with laughter. As noted in Night Court, the “surprise” necessarily instigates anger in the cis male character because this scenario takes for granted that by changing gender, the trans character has ruined their previous affiliation, particularly when their bonding always occurred in sex-segregated environments, like high school football for Al, the Navy for George, and the fraternity for Dan. George refuses to see Eddie as female, yelling, “underneath all that makeup and that dress, you’re still Eddie. I know he’s in there somewhere!” and then angrily counters her assertion that she has “always been a woman” with “I let you undress in front of me for two years!” Married’s Al, still on his knees, expresses his disappointment in his friend’s transition first with, ”aw, Thad!” His angry response to his friend’s explanation, “I felt like a woman trapped in man’s body. I just got so tired of it” is, like Dan’s, graphic in its castration imagery: ”we get tired of our old cars, too, but we don’t do things like rip the doors off!” On Just Shoot Me! (NBC, 2000, S05, Ep6), Dennis is outraged to learn his childhood friend is now Brandi, exclaiming, “don’t say that Burt’s you, ‘cause that’s a lie, lady. That’s a damn lie!” Even family ties do not help. When Roni on All of Us tearfully tells her brother she needs his support to tell their parents, he sarcastically replies, “don’t you have a bra for that?” and then walks away, adding, “I can’t help you, lady.” The Jeffersons, though, is unusual—and not only because Edie is the first trans character of color in television history. It is one of the only sitcoms that does not center the humor on the trans woman’s genitals or breasts, as these other episodes exemplify. Just Shoot Me! relies on a visual

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gag to reference castration when Burt’s boss bites into a banana after meeting Brandi, telling Burt, “there’s something special about her. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Brother Dirk on All of Us, after Roni asks about his last divorce, retorts by asking if she can “explain the divorce from your penis.” The camera in turn mimics the cis character’s focus on her breasts for the audience. Burt’s other colleagues comment on them more than once, and Burt stares at them so intently that she allows him to touch them. Dirk’s coworkers and even Roni also gesture towards hers repeatedly before and after learning about her transition; at one point she enters wearing a bustier and then later shakes them in her brother’s face to proclaim, “this is who I am now.” Most of the jokes about a police officer’s transition on the short-lived sitcom, The Last Precinct (NBC, 1986, S01, Ep1–8) similarly center on sight gags and references to Mel’s breasts by her colleagues, displayed continuously in a custom-made police uniform and other low-cut attire. In Real Men (Feldman, 1987), a grown son even illogically grabs his own parent’s breast and exclaims to his cis partner, “would you look at the tits on this guy?” This trend not surprisingly casts well-endowed cis female actors like Victoria Carroll (Gimme), Jenny McCarthy (Just Shoot), Tyra Banks (All), Randi Brooks (Last Precinct) and Dyanne Thorne (Real) in the role, unlike Night Court and Married … With Children with cis male actors (Jim Bailey and Drew Pillsbury). But even drag queen guest characters are referenced by their genitals, such as when John asks his college roommate Artie on The John Larroquette Show (NBC, 1994, Ep1, Ep19), if he ever considered “getting the operation, you know, the lop-it-off-of-me,” and Chandler’s mother appraises Helena’s dress at the rehearsal dinner, asking, “don’t you have a little too much penis to be wearing a dress like that?” (Friends, NBC, 2001, S07, Ep23). The isolated examples that incorporate an old girlfriend who is now male, like on the sitcom Two and a Half Men (CBS, 2004, S01, Ep18), do little to alter the focus on the trans character’s genitalia, as the episode’s title, “An Old Flame with a New Wick,” makes clear. Again, since cross-sex friendships are allegedly impossible due to strict gender normative dichotomies, the problem created by the trans character’s new identity is only resolved once her masculine attributes reassure her cis male friend of their shared affinity. For Brandi and Burt, this affinity means a love of petty insults, video games, and nerf guns, while Al and his football teammates are reassured by Thad’s continued superiority as a quarterback even with her long hair and nails. For George, their friendship is validated only after Edie proves she is still “the master of the gotcha” or

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physically humiliating practical jokes at the end of the episode. A display of physical dominance similarly wins back Roni’s brother on All of Us after Roni shows up at his apartment to proclaim he is still a “little sissy ass punk.” The trans feminine character’s masculine characteristics therefore work to verify that her male sex, as assigned at birth, cannot be erased, even when physical masculine attributes are. Shared masculine traits are highlighted even when they do not facilitate a reunion. On Gimme a Break!, the tension is created because Nell’s tough police chief boss likes Melissa so much due to their love of sports, particularly a shared admiration for his favorite baseball player, Pee Wee Reese. Therefore, even the audience is meant to see the irony when, after the reveal and her disappearance, he laments to Nell, “we shared the same likes and dislikes. We even laughed at the same jokes. It’s going to hard to find another woman like him!” On Becker (CBS, 1999, S02, Ep7), John angrily responds when “new” friend Nikki, allegedly a friend of past roommate Chuck, tells him she is Chuck, even though he has already commented repeatedly on her masculine interests in “Chinese food, beer, [and] football.” Post-reveal, Burt hits on Brandi because she is similarly the perfect woman, but she refuses in a demonstration of her masculine strengths, like Roni and her brother, and physically battles him into submission. These women thus invalidate their own womanhood by “acting” like men even when the cis female actor confirms their authentic cis female aesthetic. Despite sometimes mentioning the loss of other friends (The Jefferson, Becker), these episodes rarely offer the audience insight into trans identities or transphobia. Again, like with gay and lesbian characters, the narrative focus remains on the neoliberal values of the cis characters—and the audience, who can then accept an “easily digestable Other” without interrogating institutional norms nor other hierarchies based upon race and class (Becker, Gay TV 133; Kohnen 154–155). In short, the implication is that the heterosexual main character can and perhaps should only accept the LGBQ guest character if they are “just like” them (Tropiano 192; Walters 16). The length some narratives go to avoid interrogating actual transphobia is sometimes shockingly explicit. The masculine commonality between a trans woman and cis man is what propels the friendship in The World According to Garp (1982) and similarly reiterates the main character’s liberalism. Yet their friendship allows Garp to further discount his mother’s feminist organization since Roberta is “the only normal person” he meets there, as if the reason is Roberta is not another humorless

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extremist is because the former NFL football player is not “really” a woman. Transphobic threats are similarly discounted, such as Roberta’s offhand comment when going through her hate mail that, “this one hopes I’ll get gang banged by the Oakland Raiders.” Mixed Nuts (Ephron, 1994) downplays the impact of familial rejection when trans feminine Chris leaves home on Christmas Eve after being ridiculed and misgendered by her family to find the office of a suicide hotline. Rather than affirm her identity, the otherwise empathetic employees each recoil in exaggerated horror after Chris’s feminine attire or behavior are recognized as incongruous with her male physiology (Fig. 3.3). Each film also casts a cis male actor who is taller than the cis male characters, so that their height difference is further exaggerated for comedic effect, like in a tango scene between Chris and cis male Philip. If the dates of these films or television episodes suggest that the cis reunion surprise itself is passé, 2010s sitcoms cover the same ground. The comedic mockumentary The Comedians (FX, 2015, S01, Ep1–2) started its only season with a reunion between cis male Billy and his former “genius” director, Jamie, whom Billy hires to resolve tension with his co-­ star, Josh, on a new skit show. The extended surprise sequence, referenced in Chap. 1, pans between shocked stares of all the primary cis characters, including Jamie’s ex-girlfriend. The young cis female protagonist in Young & Hungry (Freeform, 2016, S04, Ep7) finds her estranged “aunt” by

Fig. 3.3  Chris (Liev Schreiber) and Philip (Steve Martin), Mixed Nuts (Ephron, 1994)

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hunting down a person with the same name, Chris, and discovering he has the same tattoo. Yet the reveal moment again runs several minutes as Gabi verbally processes her shock to her friend, repeating, “That man is my aunt. That man is my aunt!” When the cis male main character’s new 13-year-old “little brother” reveals “I’m a girl even though you see me as a boy” on The Carmichael Show (NBC, 2015, S01, Ep4), Jerrod’s reaction is to change the subject and then return home to his family to disclose the information to them, enabling the narrative to extend the shock of the reveal to all the show’s main characters. Despite his girlfriend Maxine’s awareness that, for example, being transgender does not mean Jordan wants to “dress like a mini RuPaul,” Jerrod’s elderly parents both refuse to affirm Jordan outright. His mother argues she cannot pray for Jordan because God “may not even know they got these transgenders running around down here.“ When Maxine then questions why they are accepting of the queer community but not trans people, his father responds, “we are not against the transgender. But I’m just getting used to people being gay, and they done changed the rules on this one again. It’s too fast. Too furious.” Although crass penis jokes have disappeared, the gendered physiology of each is referenced numerous times. The network Young & Hungry uses Chris’s beard as a stand-in for his physiological transformation, like to justify his excuse for why Gabi did not recognize him when he attended her mother’s funeral. On The Comedians, Billy compliments her “nice tits,” but at another point everyone stares at her when the writers’ room rejects a skit because “people wouldn’t buy a guy in a dress and a wig.” Jerrod’s father references Jordan’s genitals to insist again that being gay is easier to accept than being trans because, “you can bounce back from being gay, but once you turn the ‘P’ into a ‘V’….” Another episode with a trans child, trans masculine Tom on Modern Family (ABC, 2016, S08, Ep2), might escape such a direct statement about his own genitals, but Jay tests his son’s and son-in-law’s tolerance by asking, “if, someday, Lily wanted to be ‘Lou’ and had the whole chop-chop, bing-bang thing, how would you be with that?” Such remarks continue to use the trans character’s gendered physiology, whether currently or in the future, as butt of the joke and, for trans feminine characters in particular, reduce their transition to a castration. 2010s sitcoms do allude to trans prejudice, like The Carmichael Show’s generational debate or Modern Family’s gay dads who compliment themselves for their child’s “tolerance” but conclude after Jay’s question that

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they are not “as open-minded as we think.” Yet institutionalized transphobia is not mentioned, even in episodes with children at the mercy of teachers and principals. Familial rejection may come up in Young & Hungry, but only to explain why Gabi has not seen Chris in decades, and its impact only extends to Chris’ relationship with his father. Despite The Comedians being a workplace comedy, transphobia does not appear to have affected Jamie’s career in the slightest. Her rationale for quitting as the director in the second episode is attributed to Billy’s fractious relationship with his co-star, not the constant stares, put-downs, and misgendering. The cis main characters move past their cis surprise, but the episodes hardly authenticate their guest trans character’s gender even as relationships are affirmed. Young & Hungry and Modern Family at least employ a trans masculine actors in the role, but The Comedians and The Carmichael Show again cast a cis male actor in a trans feminine role.

trAns Not-So-RegulAr RegulAr chArActers If trans guest or minor characters are by definition easily dismissible, do extended arcs or the inclusion of transsexual regular characters in comedies alleviate the isolated tolerance or reliance on hegemonic gender commonality? Not really, since these trans characters usually generate the same tension between what the cis character sees (a woman) and knows (a man) to propel the narrative. Regardless of how much more air time the trans character has to explain their gender dysphoria, the series still privileges a cisgenderist perspective and assumes a cisgender audience is “unwilling to accept a gendered identity if they are aware that it does not correspond to the anatomical sex” (Booth 112). Indeed, series characters heighten attention to this dichotomy by equating transsexual transition with interpersonal conflict, whether it occurs onscreen or prior to the timeline. Tellingly, sameness and difference operate differently. The transsexual woman’s masculine characteristics function less often to maintain ties to male friends and more often to explain the distance with female friends or family members. To further highlight the distinction between cis and trans women, these series still prioritize the trans character’s physical changes, constantly reminding the audience of their body’s “artificiality” regardless of whether the character is played by a cis or trans actor. Alexis Meade in Ugly Betty (Fox, 2007–2008) is a representative example of how a regular trans character functions in this capacity. Alexis’ introduction in season 1 is maximized for shock value: she returns after staging

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her own death, but also flirts with brother Daniel before revealing her identity (Fox, 2007, S01, Ep14). Although she provides an explanation of her gender dysphoria, her femininity is still consistently challenged even though she heads a women’s fashion magazine. She may share this responsibility with her cis male brother, but only her masculinity, not his, is considered a barrier, reiterated with comments about her “big man hands” (Fox, 2007, S01, Ep15, 17) and feet (2007, S02, Ep9; 2008, S03, Ep3), her height (2007, S01, Ep22; 2008, S03, Ep3) and critiques of her makeup and outfits (S02, Ep4). Her maleness is also used to explain her lack of female friends (2007, S01, Ep16; 2008, S02, Ep3). Most importantly, the series dramatizes her physiological “transformation” a number of ways. First photos of “Alex,” a different but presumably cis male actor (who is not identified), are shown in a number of episodes. In other episodes, filmic flashbacks explicate past familial conflicts, often staging “Alex” and “Alexis” interchangeably (Fox, 2007, S01, E17; Ep18; S02, Ep5). These cross-cuts between Alexis’ present and past selves invite the audience to critique her transformation and remind them why her presence remains problematic: her sex is and will always be male. This visual comparison is necessary since producers again cast, like Victoria Carroll on Gimme a Break! and Jenny McCarthy on Just Shoot Me!, a leggy blond in a tight dress, cis female actor and former model Rebecca Romijn (Fig. 3.4). An updated version of this tension occurs in the last two seasons of Difficult People despite avoiding flashbacks or photos to represent the character’s gender history (Hulu, 2015–2017). Lola is a colleague of Billy, one of the two primary cis characters, but the problems her trans otherness provokes is closer to a trans version of “heterosexual panic.” Becker defines this concept as the reinforcement of “the viewer’s unresolved prejudices, … proving that there is a fine line between celebrating gaynesss and celebrating gay stereotypes” (Gay TV 207). For example, Lola calls Billy an “entitled white cisgender piece of shit” (2016, S02, Ep5), threatens another cis gay man with, “listen to me, you entitled fucko. With one comment on Candis Cayne’s Instagram, I can bring you down faster than the second tower on Dick Cheney’s command” (2016, S02, Ep3), and states unequivocally, “if I have to hear one more cis person complain about their life, I’m going to kill myself” (2017, S03, Ep1). Cis women are also the target of her ire, such as a CPR instructor who is told, “go back to your cisgender transphobic women’s shelter” (2016, S02, Ep9). Difficult People privileges the cis/trans difference constantly with such comments, but the comedic premise lies in the fact that Lola is responding to

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Fig. 3.4  Alexis (Rebecca Romijn) and Daniel (Eric Mabius), Ugly Betty (Fox, 2007, S02, Ep14)

perceived rather than actual transphobia, such as someone using the word “guys” for a group or a negative Yelp review for bad service (2016, S02, Ep3; 2017, S03, Ep1). Moreover, Lola’s difficulty making friends is later revealed to be a difficulty with cis people, as she tells her trans feminine friends at their yearly reunion of their gender confirmation surgeries: “I spend all year around people I hate. This is the one weekend I actually look forward to cause you bitches mean something to me” (2017, S03, Ep9). Difficult People may be respectful enough to avoid calling the trans woman a “tranny,” “he-she” or “she-male” like Ugly Betty (2007, S01, Ep17, Ep20; 2007–2008, S02, Ep3, Ep4, Ep16; 2008, S01, Ep1), and casts trans feminine actor, writer, and comedian Shakina Nayfack. Yet when truthful comments about cis privilege are offered next to fake 9/11 conspiracy theories, as this Cheney remark indicates, her transphobic fears

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seem as unfounded as her view that “jet fuel can’t melt steel beams” (2016, S02, Ep1). I do not wish to dispute that Alexis, Lola, and other characters, like Sophia Burset on the dramedy Orange is the New Black (Netflix, 2013–2017), are ground-breaking trans characters. Their existence and connection reflect a clear and positive progression of trans characters on television, which many media scholars argue particularly about Burset and the casting of Laverne Cox (DeCarvalho and Cox; Poole; Lenning and Buist). The appearance of Lola and Sophia in these series also avoids a dramatic reveal of their identity prevalent a decade earlier on Ugly Betty, although it continues on other series.7 Moreover, Sophia is the first regular trans feminine character of color in a television series, and Cox uses her fame to advocate against transphobia, as I noted in Chap. 1. But these troubling patterns are still present in OITNB. Sophia is often denigrated in comedic fashion, called “tranny,” “freak-deaky” and “fake woman” (2013, S01, Ep3; Ep6), while the attention to her physiology is often emphasized through references, for example, to her “cyborg” or “plastic” “pussy” (2013, S01, Ep3; Ep6). Like Alexis, a cisgender male actor is cast to contrast Sophia’s male and female selves in flashbacks, here Cox’s twin brother, M. Lamar (Netflix, 2013, S01, Ep3). Even the ground-breaking dramedy, Transparent (Amazon, 2014–2017, S01–04), the first series with a trans showrunner, Joey Soloway, takes as its premise the effects of the transition of main character Maura Pfefferman on her ex-wife and grown children, as the name indicates, making it again, in some critics’ view, a “’coming to terms with’ a gender transition” story (Funk and Funk, 76; see also Parsemain and Seymour). This constant attention to the trans character’s gender identity, then, whether through visual or verbal references to her physical transformation, reiterates how her body’s “artificiality” is problematic to cis characters, whether Sophia’s fellow inmates, Lola’s coworkers, or Alexis’s and Maura’s families. Visual and verbal penis and breast jokes fill many of the episodes in Ugly Betty, so that Alexis ends her list of her physiological transformation to Betty by noting, “just to put the rumor to rest, they don’t save it in a jar” (Fox, 2007, S01, Ep15). Lola makes her own penis jokes, like telling a former cis porn actor, “mine was bigger” (Hulu, 2016, S02, Ep4). The Last Precinct’s transsexual regular character, Mel Brubaker, has her feminine physicality repeatedly integrated into the plot, such as an episode which sends her undercover in a negligée as “the distraction,” while ridiculing the men who fall for her allure (NBC, 1986, S01, Ep3).

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In films, the physical comedy is more graphic, such as the extended reveal of “Captain Winkie,” the penis of Lieutenant Lois Einhorn at the end of Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (Shadyac, 1994). These references, then, keep the character’s trans difference upfront regardless if their physiology and presentation are as traditional as another woman in order to make it a problem for the cis characters, a factor about them that apparently they can never forget—and they never let the audience do so either. The Last Precinct and Ace Ventura: Pet Detective provide a crucial distinction between the cis surprise friend version covered here and the sexualized version in the next chapter. The penis jokes and extended sight gags move beyond humiliating the trans women by negating their female authenticity. These narratives frame the trans feminine character as sexually aggressive and intent on using their feminine wiles to trick cisgender men. When they succeed, the stigma spreads to include the cis men who find them sexually attractive, another means to clarify the hierarchy of cis male heterosexual dominance, even though they are often played, as in these two cases, by conventionally attractive cis female actors. While not downplaying the transphobic intent in the cis friend version, the sexualized version of the cis surprise is often missing the congenial tone of these reunion narratives, as I explain, and instead ramps up the threat that transsexual women allegedly represent to heterosexual normativity. Ironically, then, even the sexist comradery in Billy’s parting remark to Jamie in The Comedians (FX, 2015, S01, Ep2) complementing “her nice tits” seems progressive compared to Ace Ventura’s final shot of cis men gagging in shock because Lois Einhorn, standing in her bra and panties, has a penis.

Notes 1. To avoid double-counting, I elected to include dramedies, or those which combine comedic and dramatic elements, usually for family or domestic narratives, in comedy. This trend continues even though, by the 2000s, the dramatic genres began to increase significantly faster in their use of trans characters, as crime dramas doubled and medical genres tripled the number of trans characters in these genres from the 1990s. See the Appendix for representative examples. 2. Comedy in 2018 remains the most popular television and film genre for audiences whether analyzed by race (Hollywood Reporter, “Favorability … by Ethnicity” and “Most Popular”), Age (Hollywood Reporter, “Favorability … by Age Group”; Morning Consult, “Most Popular”), or

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Gender (Morning Consult, “Favorability … by Gender” and “Most Popular”). No data for sexual orientation or gender identity was available. 3. Examples are numerous and cross decades. A cross-dressing protagonist appears in popular films Tootsie (Pollack, 1982), Mrs. Doubtfire (Columbia, 1993), White Chicks (Wayans, 2004), and Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son (Whitesell, 2011), and in as regular characters on television, including M*A*S*H (CBS, 1972–1983), Bosom Buddies (NBC, 1980–1982) and Work It (ABC, 2012). Those found in single episode or short arc in sitcoms cover a variety of audiences, including those for youth, like Silver Spoons (NBC, 1983, S01, Ep14); Saved by the Bell (ABC, 1989, S01, Ep5); Sister, Sister (ABC, 1995, S02, Ep12); Boy Meets World (ABC, 1999, S07, Ep11); Suite Life of Zack and Cody (Disney, 2005, S01, Ep2); and Bucket & Skinner’s Epic Adventures (Nickelodeon, 2011, S01, Ep2) and for adults like Perfect Strangers (ABC, 1989, S04, Ep19); Designing Women (CBS, 1990, S04, Ep24); Arrested Development (Fox, 2005, S02, Ep14–16), The Big Bang Theory (CBS, 2012, S05, Ep21). Additional examples can be found in scholarship analysis done by Garber; Phillips (51–84); and Miller. 4. As Chap. 2 explains in more detail, these examples cross decades and include Sharky’s Machine (Reynolds, 1981); Philadelphia Experiment (Raffill, 1984); Hollywood Vice Squad (Spheeris, 1986); Hard Time (Reynolds, 1998); Woo (Mayer, 1998); If You Only Knew (Snedeker, 2000); Eve (UPN, 2005, S02, Ep16); My Name Is Earl (NBC, 2007, S03, Ep2); Van Wilder: Party Liaison (Becker, 2002); George Lopez (ABC, 2003, S03, Ep2); George Lopez (ABC, 2005, S04, Ep17); Andy Barker, P.I. (NBC, 2007, S01, Ep6); Because I Said So (Lehmann, 2007); Men in Black 3 (Sonnefeld, 2012); Hot Pursuit (Fletcher, 2015); Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates (Szymanski, 2016). 5. Tropiano and Becker (Gay TV) list a number of sitcoms with this scenario, whether in the 1970s (Alice, CBS, 1976, S01, Ep2; Carter Country, ABC, 1977, S01, Ep3), 1980s (Cheers, NBC, 1983, S01, Ep16; The Golden Girls, NBC, 1986, S02, Ep5) or 1990s (Hearts Afire, CBS, 1994, S03, Ep5; Living Single, Fox, 1996, S03, Ep22; For Your Love, WB, 1998, S02, Ep9). 6. As Chap. 1 explains, I use the “cis surprise” as an alternated version of Jeffrey Escoffier’s “tranny surprise,” a term he uses to explain the narrative trajectory of pornographic films, since the original word remains a very pejorative term in the transgender and queer studies community. My altered term is meant to recall without duplicating this perjorative term to remind readers that it is cisnormativity that promotes the dehumanization of trans people through language as well as the concept and occurs frequently in popular culture regardless of whether either term is cited. 7. Since Difficult People and OITNB both debuted on streaming sites, Hulu and Netflix respectively, it seems less surprising that the dramatic or comedic reveal for recurring or regular characters continued on cable and network

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television, such as with Gisele on Blunt Talk (Showtime, 2015, S01, Ep1); Sheldon Beiste on Glee (Fox, 2015, S06, Ep7); Angelique on Penny Dreadful (Showtime, 2015, S02, Ep2); Trevor on Shameless (Showtime, 2016, S07, Ep4); and Cotton on Star (FX, 2016, S01, Ep1). One exception of a friend reunion without a dramatic reveal occurs on Queen Sugar (OWN, 2017, S02, Ep5) but notably, this character is trans masculine, not trans feminine, and interacting with his cis male old friend.

works cited Alice. Created by Robert Getchell, performances by Vic Tayback, Linda Lavin, and Denny Miller, “Alice Gets a Pass,” Season 1, Episode 2, CBS, 29 Sep. 1976. All in the Family. Created by Norman Lear, performances by Carroll O’Connor, Rob Reiner, and Philip Carey, “Judging Books By Covers,” Season 1, Episode 5, CBS, 9 Feb. 1971. Arrested Development. Created by Mitchell Hurwitz, performance by David Cross, Season 2, Episodes 14–16, Fox, 20 Mar.–3 Apr. 2005. Avila-Saavedra, Guillermo. “Nothing Queer about Queer Television: Televised Construction of Gay Masculinities.” Media, Culture, and Society, vol. 31, no. 1, 2009, pp. 5–21, https://doi.org/10.1177/0163443708098243. Becker, Ron. “Becoming Bromosexual: Straight Men, Gay Men, and Male Bonding on U.S.  TV.” Reading the Bromance: Homosocial Relationships in Film and Television, edited by Michael DeAngelis, Wayne State University Press, 2014, pp. 233–254. ———. Gay TV and Straight America. Rutgers University Press, 2006. The Big Bang Theory. Created by Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady, performances by Jim Parsons, “The Hawking Excitation,” Season 5, Episode 21, CBS, 5 Apr. 2012. Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son. Directed by John Whitesell, performances by Martin Lawrence and Brandon T. Jackson, Twentieth Century Fox, 2011. Booth, E.  Tristan. “The Provisional Acknowledgement of Identity Claims in Televised Documentary.” Spencer and Capuzza, pp. 111–126. Bosom Buddies. Created by Chris Thompson, Thomas L.  Miller, and Robert L. Boyett, performances by Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari, Seasons 1–2, NBC, 1980–1982. Boy Meets World. Created by Michael Jacobs and April Kelly, performances by Will Friedle and Matthew Lawrence, “What a Drag!”, Season 7, Episode 11, ABC, 3 Dec. 1999. Bucket & Skinner’s Epic Adventures. Created by Boyce Bugliari and James McLaughlin, performances by Taylor Gray and Dillon Lane, “Epic Girls,” Season 1, Episode 2, Nickelodeon, 1 July 2011. Bullough, Vern L. and Bonnie Bullough. Cross Dressing, Sex and Gender. University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993.

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Carter Country. Created by Phil Doran and Douglas Arango, performances by Victor French and Richard Jaeckel, “Out of the Closet,” Season 1, Episode 3, ABC, 29 Sept. 1977. Cheers. Created by Glen Charles, Les Charles and James Burrows, performances by Ted Danson and Alan Autry, “The Boys in the Bar,” Season 1, Episode 16, NBC, 27 Jan. 1983. Decarvalho, Lauren J., and Nicole B. Cox. “Queerness (Un)Shackled: Theorizing Orange is the New Black.” Feminist Theory and Pop Culture, edited by Adrienne Trier-Bieniek, Sense, 2015, pp. 65–76. Designing Women. Created by Linda Bloodsworth-Thomason, performances by Delta Burke and Meshach Taylor, “Foreign Affairs,” Season 4, Episode 24, CBS, 30 Apr. 1990. Dhaenens, Frederik. “Teenage Queerness: Negotiating Heteronormativity in the Representation of Gay Teenagers in Glee.” Journal of Youth Studies, vol. 16, no. 3, 2013, pp. 304–317, https://doi.org/10.1080/13676261.2012.718435. Dhoest, Alexander. “Genre.” International Encyclopedia of Media Effects. Wiley Blackwell, 2017. Doran, Steven Edward. “Housebroken: Homodomesticity and the Normalization of Queerness in Modern Family.” Queer Love in Film and Television: Critical Essays, edited by Pamela Demory and Christopher Pullen. Palgrave Macmillan, 2013, pp. 95–104. Douglas, Susan J. The Rise of Enlightened Sexism: How Pop Culture Too Us from Girl Power to Girls Gone Wild. St. Martins, 2010. Duggan, Lisa. The Twilight of Equality: Neoliberalism, Cultural Politics, and the Attack on Democracy. Beacon Press, 2003. For Your Love. Created by Yvette Lee Bowser, performances by Dedee Pfeiffer and Jason Bateman, “The House of Cards,” Season 2, Episode 9, WB, 19 Nov. 1998. Funk, Steven, and Jaydi Funk. “An Analysis of Transparent Through Dispossession.” Series: International Journal of TV Serial Narratives, vol. 2, no. 1, 2016, pp. 69–80, https://doi.org/10.6092/issn.2421-­454X/6165. Garber, Marjorie. Vested Interests: Cross-Dressing and Cultural Anxiety. Routledge, 1992. Gitlin, Todd. Inside Prime Time. University of California Press, 2000. The Golden Girls. Created by Susan Harris, performances by Bea Arthur and Lois Nettleton, Season 2, Episode 5, “Isn’t It Romantic?,” NBC, 8 Nov. 1986. Hearts Afire. Created by Linda Bloodworth Thomason, performances by Billy Bob Thornton and Charles Frank, “Birth of a Donation,” Season 3, Episode 5, CBS, 22 Oct. 1994. Hollywood Reporter. “Favorability of Selected Television Show Genres Among Adults in the United States as of November 2018 by Ethnicity.” 11 Dec. 2018a. Statista, Graph.

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Hollywood Reporter. “Favorability of Selected Television Show Genres Among Adults in the United States as of November 2018 by Age Group.” 6 Dec. 2018b. Statista, Graph. Hollywood Reporter. “Most Popular Movie Genres Among Adults in the United States as of December 2018 by Ethnicity.” Dec. 2018c. Statista, Graph. King, Geoff. Film Comedy. Wallflower Press, 2002. Kohnen, Melanie E.  S. “Cultural Diversity as Brand Management in Cable Television.” Media Industries Journal, vol. 2, no. 2, 2015, pp. 88–103, https:// doi.org/10.3998/mij.15031809.0002.205. Kurchak, Sarah. “Boy Meets Girl’s Michelle Hendley: On Transphobia and Inclusivity in Film.” Consequence of Sound, 21 May 2015, consequenceofsound. net/2015/05/boy-­meets-­girl-­michelle-­hendley. Lenning Emily, and Carrie L. Buist. “A Crisis Behind Bars: Transgender Inmates, Visibility and Social Justice.” Caged Women: Incarceration, Representation, & Media, edited by Shirley A.  Jackson and Laurie L.  Gordy. Routledge, 2018, pp. 35–46. Living Single. Created by Yvette Lee Bowser, performances by Erika Alexander and Karen Malina White, Season 3, Episode 22, “Woman to Woman,” Fox, 21 Mar. 1996. Martin, Jr., Alfred L. “It’s (Not) in His Kiss: Gay Kisses and Camera Angles in Contemporary US Network Television Comedy.” Popular Communication, vol. 12, no. 3, 2014, pp.  153–165, https://doi.org/10.1080/1540570 2.2014.921921. M*A*S*H. Developed by Larry Gelbart and Gene Reynolds, performances by Alan Alda and Jamie Farr, Seasons 1–11, CBS, 1972–1983. Mellencamp, Patricia. “Situation Comedy, Feminism, and Freud: Discourses of Gracie and Lucy.” Studies in Entertainment: Critical Approaches to Mass Culture, edited by Tania Modleski, Indiana University Press, 1986, pp. 80–98. Miller, Lucy J. “Becoming One of the Girls/Guys: Distancing Transgender Representations in Popular Film Comedies.” Spencer and Capuzza, pp. 127–142. Morning Consult. “Favorability of Selected Television Show Genres among Adults in The United States as of November 2018, by Gender.” 6 Dec. 2018a. Statista. Graph. Morning Consult. “Most Popular Movie Genres Among Adults in the United States as of December 2018, by Age Group.” Dec. 2018b. Statista, Graph. Morning Consult. “Most Popular Movie Genres Among Adults in the United States as of December 2018, by Gender.” Dec. 2018c. Statista, Graph. Mrs. Doubtfire. Directed by Chris Columbus, performances by Sally Field and Robin Williams, Twentieth Century Fox, 1993. Neale, Steve and Frank Krutnik. Popular Film and Television Comedy. Routledge, 1990.

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Ng, Eve. “A ‘Post-Gay’ Era? Media Gaystreaming, Homonormativity, and the Politics of LGBT Integration.” Communication, Culture & Critique, vol. 6, no. 2, June 2013, pp. 258–283, https://doi.org/10.1111/cccr.12013. Parsemain, Ava Laure. The Pedagogy of Queer TV. Palgrave Macmillan, 2019. Perfect Strangers. Created by Dale McRaven, performances by Bronson Pinchot and Mark Linn-Baker, “Just a Gigolo,” Season 4, Episode 19, ABC, 31 Mar. 1989. Phillips, John. Transgender on Screen. Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. Poole, Ralph J. “Towards a Queer Futurity: New Trans Television.” European Journal of American Studies, vol. 12, no. 12-2, 2017, pp. 1–23, https://doi. org/10.4000/ejas.12093. Saved by the Bell. Created by Sam Brobrick, performances by Dustin Diamond and Mark-Paul Gosselaar, “Screech’s Woman,” Season 1, Episode 5, ABC, 16 Sep. 1989. Seymour, Natasha. “Representing Transgender Embodiment in Film and Culture: Looking beyond the Transition Narrative in Amazon’s Transparent.” Somatechnics, vol. 9, no. 1, 2019, pp.  84–97,  https://doi.org/10.3366/ soma.2019.0266. Silver Spoons. Created by Martin Cohan, Howard Leeds, and Ben Starr, performances by Ricky Schroder and Jason Bateman, “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World,” Season 1, Episode 14, NBC, 8 Jan. 1983. Silverblatt, Art, Jane Ferry, and Barbara Finan. Approaches to Media Literacy: A Handbook. 2nd edition. Routledge, 2009. Sister, Sister. Created by Kim Bass, Gary Gilbert, and Fred Shafferman, performances by Jackée Harry and RuPaul, “Put It To the Test,” Season 2, Episode 12, ABC, 1 Mar. 1995. Spencer, Leland G., and Jamie C. Capuzza, editors. Transgender Communication Studies, Lexington, 2015. Straayer, Chris. “Redressing the ‘Natural’: The Temporary Transvestite Film.” Film Genre Reader IV, edited by Barry Keith Grant, University of Texas Press, 2012, pp. 484–509. Suite Life of Zack and Cody. Created by Danny Kallis and Jim Geoghan, performances by Victoria Justice and Dylan Sprouse, “The Fairest of Them All,” Season 1, Episode 2, Disney, 18 Mar. 2005. Tootsie. Directed by Sydney Pollack, performance by Dustin Hoffman, Columbia Pictures, 1982. Tropiano, Stephen. The Prime Time Closet: A History of Gays and Lesbians on TV. Applause, 2002. Wagner, Kristen Anderson. “Pie Queens and Virtuous Vamps: The Funny Women of the Silent Screen.” A Companion to Film Comedy, edited by Andrew Horton and Joanna E. Rapf, Blackwell, 2013, pp. 39–60.

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Walters, Suzanna Danuta. All the Rage: The Story of Gay Visibility in America. University of Chicago Press, 2001. White Chicks. Directed by Keenan Ivory Wayans, performances by Shawn Wayans and Marlon Wayans, Sony Pictures, 2004. Work It. Created by Andrew Reich and Ted Cohen, performances by Ben Koldyke and Amaury Nolasco, Season 1, ABC, 2012. Yep, Gust A., and John P.  Elia. “Racialized Masculinities and the New Homonormativity in LOGO’s Noah’s Arc.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 59, no. 7, 2012, pp. 890–911, https://doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2012.699827. Zillmann, Dolf and Jennings Bryant. “Responding to Comedy: The Sense and Nonsense of Humor.” Responding to the Screen: Reception and Reaction Processes, edited by Jennings Bryant and Dolf Zillman, Routledge, 2009, pp. 261–280.

CHAPTER 4

The Comedic “Cis Surprise” (Romantic Partner Version)

Everybody [will] go to see Raquel Welch rape some young actor with a dildo. —Gore Vidal on Michael Sarne’s Myra Breckinridge (1970)

The central figure in Michael Sarne’s comedy Myra Breckinridge (1970), based on Gore Vidal’s best-selling 1968 novel, is a trans woman seeking revenge on the heterosexual male community who made her ashamed of her homosexuality when she was living as male. Her revenge culminates in a highly sexualized and sensationalized scene, which is also the rationale for the film’s production according to Vidal, in which she anally rapes a heterosexual actor named Rusty. Despite being such a ridiculously unlikely situation, Myra Breckinridge continues to bias representations of trans women as sexual and romantic partners for cisgender men more than four decades later. By sexualizing the popular “cis surprise” comedic trope, Myra started a trend that is particularly egregious to trans civil rights. It delegitimizes cis/trans romances by making the trans person’s intentions and their cisgender partner’s attraction suspect and obscures the reality of sexualized violence against women, whether cis or trans. Myra’s legacy, in short, reveals how trans sexual predation and the invariance of the heterosexual/queer binary are used to reinforce heterosexual cisgender male power. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1_4

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Perverse Desires The scandalous presumptions behind cis/trans romance have been routinely evident in American popular media. One recent example demonstrates how this relationship is so egregiously taboo that it moves beyond the local orbit of a particular celebrity, here the New York hip hop community, into the larger public sphere. In September 2013 DJ Mister Cee, born Calvin Lebrun, resigned on air at HOT 97 after trans woman Dee (or Bimbo) Winehouse recorded him soliciting her for sex. Cee, a key figure in the New York hip hop community for over 20 years, had been arrested three times for soliciting, most recently the previous May when he propositioned a male police officer impersonating a trans feminine sex worker (Baron). Winehouse, a gossip blogger, apparently wished to expose Cee’s record, but her voice is notably absent in the ensuing media coverage. The press instead used Winehouse’s gender to pronounce Cee a gay man, which he first denied, then admitted, and then denied again (St. Clair; Baron). Press coverage spread beyond the hip hop media sphere to GQ, The Huffington Post and The New York Times, fueled by speculation over Cee’s sexual identity (Baron; Caramanica). This public debate recurred after former NFL player Hank Baskett’s alleged extramarital affair with trans model Ava Sabrina London in 2014 and rapper Tyga’s allegedly three-year affair with trans pornographic film actor Mia Isabelle during his highly publicized relationships with celebrities Blac Chyna and Kylie Jenner, most recently in 2015. These “sex scandals” could fit a variety of cultural perspectives, from homophobia in the hip hop or black community to the media’s obsession with celebrities and their sex lives. This discourse is also not recent phenomenon since similar speculation followed after 20-year-­ old Atisone Seuli was arrested in Eddie Murphy’s car in 1997 (“Transsexual”).1 Given the inflexibility of sexual orientation categories for the American public, the presumptive perversion or queerness surrounding cis/trans sexual and romantic relationships reveals not only the limitations in such categorical thinking but also the instability of male heterosexuality as the central nexus of sexual power and dominance. This pathologization of cis/trans sexual relations started in the mid-­ twentieth century, the product of a medical-psychiatric discourse which denied homosexuality as a legitimate option in order to gain respectability for female transsexuality. In reality, a trans person’s sexual orientation, like any person’s, is not merely defined by their sexual or romantic attraction

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to a person of a specific gender. Their attraction to another person is also dependent on their own gender identity, framed in a social context that provides meaning and value to romantic and sexual feelings, as well as their relationship with their own bodies (Kuper, Nussbaum, and Mustranski; Iantaffi and Bockting; Sanger). Hypothetically, a transsexual woman may be attracted to men prior to her social transition, but if she desired interaction with her male partner as a woman, not as a man, her sexual orientation may consistently be heterosexual just as her gender identity remained female. U.S. society, like most of the world, is also dependent on what Tam Sanger calls “heteronormative regimes of truth,” a term that explains both the privileging of heterosexual identity in institutions and discourses and how individuals formulate their own subjectivity (83). Trans persons may therefore identify as heterosexual, whether post or pre-social transition, as a result of “a fear of becoming further marginalized, and through a desire to fit in and to not have to worry about exclusion or derision any longer” (Sanger 85). Although hardly singular to one gender identity, the institutional and social validation of heteronormativity continues to frame transgender media representations and with it a trans person’s subjectivities and choices.2 Heteronormativity has pathologized erotic motivations for cross-­ dressing and with it, gender dysphoria. Early twentieth-century sexology defined homosexuals as gender inverts to conclude that cross-dressing was a physical manifestation of this psychological state. Mid-century researchers like Henry Benjamin therefore specified the distinction between “transvestism,” a “fetishistic” sexual disorder, and gender dysphoria (then called gender identity disorder), defining homosexuality as a contraindication for the latter until 1994 (Rosario 39; Fausto-Sterling 107; Rudacille 124–30). The 2013 version of the American Psychological Association’s Diagnosis and Statistical Manual, 5th ed. (DSM 5), did not revise any paraphilia (sexual) disorders, including “transvestic fetishism,” despite calls for change by clinicians and transgender activists, particularly Lynn Conway, Kelley Winters, and Julia Serano (Moser and Kleinplatz).3 Included in this section is an even more contested sexual disorder, autogynephilia, which pathologizes any sexual attraction for a female by anyone assigned male by birth, regardless if gender dysphoria also exists. Based almost exclusively on one clinician’s research, Ray Blanchard, that has been discredited elsewhere,4 the DSM 5 still distinguishes between two conditions depending on “the foci of the patient’s erotic interest”: “transvestic fetishism” for men who become aroused based on their fetish for

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“fabrics, materials or garments,” versus autogynephiliacs, whose arousal involves “the thought or image of themselves as women.” Putting aside the ridiculous notion that arousal by fabrics or garments is a sexual disorder, given the U.S. lingerie industry’s billion dollar annual revenue, the inclusion of these disorders in such an influential resource is a serious obstacle to the trans rights movement since it eroticizes cross-sex behavior and gender dysphoria. As noted by a number of current studies, trans women even today continue to downplay or deny a sexual element of their cross-dressing to access medical treatment (Davy and Steinbock 272; Whitehead and Thomas). The accompanying disorder for trans men, autoandrophila, may be less researched but is as impactful; a 2009 study of non-heterosexual identified trans men reveals that they personally recognized that gender identity and sexual orientation are distinct but most still felt conflicted about being able to explore or disclose their sexual attraction to men (Bockting, Benner, and Coleman 697–97). In a large study of the trans community, so many identified as heterosexual regardless of their stated attraction to more than one gender that researchers conclude, “heterosexuality as a sexually legitimate script seems to dominate the choices available to transgender individuals if they are to be seen as non-­ pathological members of our societies” (Iantaffi and Bockting 10). From a theoretical viewpoint, the continued relevance of autogynephilia reveals the lack of logic in the presumed connection between sexual orientation and erotic attraction. Sexual and romantic attraction in popular discourse is often explained in terms of feminine and masculine gender roles and expressions. One Google search yielded a variety of examples targeting the straight and queer community: “Do Men Like Girly Girls or Tomboys?;” “I’m a Fit Girly Girl Who’s Only Attracted to Other Fit Girly Girls,” “We Love Beards: The Hottest Lumbersexuals in Hollywood.” Conversely, genitals are usually the sole criteria “both to determine the genders of the people involved as well as the sexual orientation of the [sexual] encounter” (Schilt and Westbrook 460). Indeed, body modification for cisgender people such as “breast implants, circumcision, and laser hair removal” is so often connected to their sexual attractiveness that there is a clear “double standard in sexed body modification that encourages cisgender people to make their bodies agents of sexual desire, but discourages the same modification for those seeking transgender modifications” (Whitehead and Thomas 397). Moreover, autogynephilia pathologizes a heteronormative model, a male-identified (or assigned at birth) person’s attraction to femininity, by adding the illogical notion of self-attraction

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precisely in order to sexualize, and thus pathologize, male femininity. This rationale both disqualifies the obvious (“an eroticized self is a necessary component of attraction to another”) and includes the impossible (“identify[ing] the eroticized self as the source of the attraction”) (Bettcher, “When Selves,” 606). Autogynophelia is still being used today to discredit trans women’s identities across public discourse, whether directly in conservative media or indirectly on liberal media websites thanks to comment “trolls” (Tannehill).5 Popular discourse revels in its own anxiety over these contradictions since it is similarly illogical to presume that the person endangered by a trans woman’s ability to sexually attract a heterosexual man would be the male partner, unless what is endangered is his heterosexual privilege. Myra Breckinridge combines this medical condemnation of trans sexuality with the period’s sexual explicitness, related to its production during a rapidly changing sexual morality in the Vietnam era and a newfound Hollywood willingness to address edgy, counterculture topics to remain relevant and profitable (Benshoff and Griffin 93). In part this message reflects the sexual libertine attitudes of its novelist, since Vidal is famous for his sexual avarice with both men and women and rejects the heteronormativity and monogamy of his WASP upbringing in numerous essays, novels, and screenplays (Cotkin 248–49). Myra is also part of an aesthetic shift, Vidal’s deliberate attempt to harness elements from Susan Sontag’s 1964 essay on camp. Sarne, as director and screenwriter, expands the camp aesthetic with clips from the golden era of Hollywood in contexts that add sexual connotations to the original, such as Stan Hardy receiving a face full of champagne from a shaken bottle (Cotkin 243). Yet Myra is much bleaker and darker than the European and U.S. sex comedies that preceded it, like What’s New Pussycat? (Donne, 1964) and Candy (Marquand, 1968) (Feil; Cotkin 242). Unlike these films, Myra explicitly endorses bisexuality and homosexuality, but the message is undercut by the perspective that all sexual acts are about power and domination, not an expression of love.6 Granted, “free love” and homosexuality are only a few of the many contemporary controversies that Myra addresses. Whether its satirical style presents any of them well is questionable, but Myra’s treatment of transsexuality is unequivocally a failure. For Sarne and Vidal it is a plot contrivance to transform a meek male loser into a sexual bombshell, played by Raquel Welch. Whether Vidal7 or Sarne were cognizant of the many transsexual transition novels and autobiographies published in the US and UK starting in the 1950s is unclear, though Jorgensen’s story was

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fictionalized into a narrative film the same year as Myra (Diffrient 55–56). Myra’s reasoning for transition and gender confirmation surgery suggests not. Instead, this revenge fantasy of sexual assault further fans the flames of cisgender male heterosexual victimization when anal penetration turns heterosexual hunks into homosexuals (in the novel) or sexual submissives (in the film).8 Well-established as a gay writer after The City and the Pillar (1946), Vidal challenges the privilege of heterosexual men and critiques homophobia in the novel, since this is the source of Myra’s revenge fantasies. But his presumed sympathy for queer men does not transfer to cross dressers and trans women, as a 1975 interview demonstrates: “there is nothing more classically masculine than sex with your own kind. Those men who change their sex through surgery or like to live en travestie are something else again. A small category of misplaced identities” (Vidal and Stanton 227). Another biographer believes Myra’s characterization arose from an early sexual experience Vidal had with an older man who attempted to penetrate him (Cotkin 249). In 1978, Vidal claims that Myra was not meant to be “pornographic” and blames such misreadings for the film’s failure, since, as the epigraph points out, “the producers thought they had a sexy novel and everybody would go to see Raquel Welch rape some young actor with a dildo” (Vidal and Stanton 110). Thus Vidal clearly sees trans women as neither women nor men and their sexual exploits as unsexy, but conflates their apparent challenge to gender norms with the presumption that all men fear this sexual act. Myra’s graphic depiction of anal penetration as an explicit threat to male heterosexual power is most likely the reason the scene is mentioned repeatedly by the presumably heterosexual men who made and reviewed the film. For example, Rex Reed, who plays Myra’s male self Myron, describes the plot in Playboy as “a transsexual who rapes a young man with a leather dildo” (75). Time magazine calls the film “an incoherent tale of sodomy, emasculation, autoeroticism and plain bad taste,” singling out Myra’s “conquest” of Rusty as “a scene so tasteless that it represents some sort of nadir in American cinema” (“Some Sort”). A 2001 Vanity Fair article recalls the film’s troubled production, with multiple sources asserting that Fox studio executives’ fascination with this particular scene is the reason it was even produced (Daly 426, 428). It most likely is also behind the studio’s promotional tagline: “The Book that Couldn’t Be Written … is Now the Movie That Couldn’t Be Made!” (Daly 427).

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By making the violent perpetrator a trans rather than cis woman, since either could have strapped on a dildo, Myra makes explicit a long-standing fear of the beautiful woman with a penis, even though his protagonist lacks one. In Marjorie Garber’s interpretation, male viewers fear castration in addition to penetration, since “the dildo scene … drew attention to Myra/Myron’s voluntary castration, while Raquel Welch’s breasts called equal attention to what s/he [sic] had traded the phallus for” (114, emphasis in the original). Her viewpoint is compatible since it echoes Vidal’s: “to discourage homo or bisexual activity, [society] has put it about that a man who wants sex with another man is really a woman, and to the red-blooded American hetero, it is almost worse to be a woman than to be a fag” (Vidal and Stanton 227). The film has plenty of transphobia, though, beyond this particular scene: the camp aesthetic ridicules medical transition and promotes the dangerous view that transsexuals will readily revert to the sex they were assigned at birth to live happily ever after as another heterosexual middle-class couple, cured of transsexuality and homosexuality simultaneously. But Myra’s rape of blond hunk Rusty was and remains the film’s most iconic scene, represented in the trailer and the poster where Welch wears the same outfit, a cut-out one piece bathing suit with an American flag pattern, part of a series by famed photographer Terry O’Neill (Fig. 4.1). Myra therefore injects comedy into a figure from horror, the violent trans sociopath explained in more detail in Chap. 6, but also makes the horror explicitly sexual. Cultural anxiety in the 1950s, part of the “lavender scare,” previously focused upon male “sex perverts … [who] entice normal [male] individuals to engage in perverted practices” (qtd. in D’Emilio and Freedman 293). Conversely Myra ushers in an era where the locus of heterosexual male fear becomes the premise of “a straight man tricked by a beautiful woman who turns out to be ‘really’ a man” (Spade and Wahng 247, my emphasis). In other words, the panic over the vulnerability of heterosexual men who could be lured away from heteronormativity by queer men still assumes agency by the “victims” by placing blame, for example, on their internalized effeminacy, perceived as the inability to correctly access male privilege (see, for example, Schreiber). Being “tricked” sexually is more threatening to heteronormativity than being erotically enticed because the seduction scenario is the pinnacle of male heterosexual privilege and prowess: “scoring” with a beautiful woman. The realization that heterosexual males could be targets of sexualized violence is so threatening to cisgender male power that it justifies any and all

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Fig. 4.1  Myra (Raquel Welch) [photo by Terry O’Neill], Myra Breckinridge (Sarne, 1970)

transphobic violence, violence which allows such men to reinforce their cisnormative privilege in any scenario where a trans person’s gender identity could be viewed as dishonest. This sexualized intent has been described as “sexual deception” since the trans person’s gender history leads the cis partner to assume that they have been “lying about both their gender and their sexual orientation” (Schilt and Westbrook 454; see also Bettcher, “Evil”). As Serano succinctly notes, “the recurring theme of ‘deceptive’ trans women retaliating against men, often by seducing them, seems to be an unconscious acknowledgement that both male and heterosexual privilege is threatened by transsexuals” (38). This sexualized motivation, in fact, is the rationale both for trans murderers, as Chap. 6 describes, and trans victims, as Chap. 7 contends. Therefore Myra helped usher a decisive shift in American cultural views, which I address as the “cis surprise”9

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(romantic partner version). No longer content with a derogatory view of the trans feminine perpetrator, society began to disrespect her cis male partner as well.

The Romantic “Cis Surprise” Although the audience is aware of Myra’s gender history, her victim Rusty is not, so the humor arises from her ability to “trick” a straight man into sex as well as derision for his act, sex with a “man,” making it another version of the sitcom “cis surprise.” Indeed, reviewers defend the rape scene due to its campy sensibility, one explaining, “it is not the fact she rapes him, but how she does it” as well as its result: “unman[ing] Rusty requires a violent act because his masculinity is so embattled” (Eisner 261, 262). Myra may offer social commentary on sexual morality elsewhere, but this scene uses violence not to create sympathy for Myra’s victim but to make him part of the joke. By turning him into an effeminate “bottom,” the rape connects male penetration with demasculinization that in turn makes Rusty an object of ridicule, not empathy. This shaming is also related to the purpose of comedic elements to “create a communal bonding … which establishes a relationship of power, of inclusion and exclusion” (Neale and Krutnik 243, emphasis in the original). Their romance is not merely excluded from heterosexuality but also from love story tropes. This trajectory begins with the mistaken identity plot scenario common in comedies, but this sexualized version has since remained the most popularized image of trans people across genres. When Myra came out in 1970, sexy and sensationalized trans women had already begun to cross over into mainstream culture from the pulp market. Many of these images are meant to titillate more than deride, but like a photo of Raquel Welch overflowing her tight bikini as she penetrates Rusty, its transgressiveness is also part of the appeal to viewers’ prurient tastes. The “cis surprise” in comedies, of course, usually arrives well before the heterosexual male encounters another phallus, at least sexually. The comedic elements from Myra are still evident: since the sexual act would invalidate the male character’s heterosexuality, the reveal must come prior to genital sex so that cis audience will not queer the character beyond the episode or scene. This scenario is even predicated on the assumption that heterosexual audiences, like the male character, find the possibility of being attracted to a trans woman before learning her gender history comedic but after to be repulsive. Hence some narratives uniformly depict a

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“gag” response by the male character to visually demonstrate the “correct” response of a heterosexual male at the possibility of encountering another erect phallus. This occurs most famously in the UK film The Crying Game (Jordan, 1992) but also in American media like Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (Shadyac, 1994), BASEketball (Zucker, 1998), and The Hangover, Part II (Phillips, 2011).10 Sexual interactions between cis male and trans feminine characters are only sometimes dependent on her conventional sexual attractiveness, but when included lead to traditional sexual banter between the two before the reveal, often privileging the man’s dominance in the interaction. Afterwards, the “joke” is on him for pursuing a “man,” though he can reassert his cisnormativity by denying her female legitimacy, usually at the expense of her humanity. Even when his “confusion” is brief, as I explain, the comedic tone depends on her depersonalization since cross-dressed characters are almost always “the objects of the humor rather than active participants in the humor” (L. Miller 129, 130). Casting a cis female actor as the trans feminine character, more often than not traditionally feminine, curvy, and clad in sexualized attire, requires one trajectory towards rejection since her sexual attractiveness is so enhanced prior to the reveal. This situation has been a consistent feature of network television sitcoms for decades, first in the 1980s on WKRP in Cincinnati with Linda Carlson (ABC, 1980, S0, Ep5) and Gimme a Break! with Victoria Carroll (NBC, 1983, S03, Ep7). 1990s examples include Evening Shade with Diahann Carroll (CBS, 1984; S04, Ep17); Married … with Children with Krista Allen (FOX, 1996, S10, Ep17); Wings with Christina Moore and Maria Cina (NBC, 1997, S08, Ep16); and Becker with Julie Caitlin Brown (CBS, 1999, S02, Ep7). In the 2000s episodes continued on Just Shoot Me! (NBC, 2000; S05, Ep6) with Jenny McCarthy; All of Us with Tyra Banks (UPN, 2004, S01, Ep17); It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia with Brittany Daniel (Fig.  4.2) (FX, 2005, S01, Ep4); Entourage with Natasha Alam (HBO, 2007, S04, Ep4); Reno 911! with first Debra Wilson (Comedy Central, 2008, S05, Ep7) and then Minnie Goode (2009, S06, Ep1). And finally, in the 2010s such characters show up on Californication with Suzanne Elise Freeman (Showtime, 2012, S03, Ep5); Two and a Half Men with Paula Marshall (CBS, 2013, S11, Ep9); and Love That Girl! with Anastacia McPherson (TV One, 2014, S04, Ep31).11 Repeated references to her “hotness” are often affirmed by other cis characters and reinforced by extended shots of her cleavage or rear end, at least for younger actors like Alam, Allen, Banks,

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Fig. 4.2  Mac (Rob McElhenney) and Carmen (Brittany Daniel), It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FX, 2005, S01, Ep4)

Daniel, Freeman, McCarthy, and McPherson. Hollywood creates similar situations in Real Men with Dyanne Thorne (Feldman, 1987), Soapdish with Cathy Moriarty (Hoffman, 1991), Ace Ventura: Pet Detective with Sean Young (Shadyac, 1994), Naked Gun 33 ½: The Final Insult with Anna Nicole Smith (Segal, 1994), Dude Where’s My Car with Teressa Tunney (Leiner, 2000), Grilled with Sofia Vergara (Ensler, 2006) and American Crude with Missi Pyle (Sheffer, 2007). Casting such actors already well-known for her sexual attractiveness enables producers to provide an acceptably erotic figure for cisgender male heterosexual viewers. Whether she appears for only an episode, a single scene, or a short arc, her function as a comedic prop more than a fully developed character is often instigated by the reveal. To overcome the visuals of her feminine physique, the narrative repeatedly references her male physiology, often in graphic detail. Early episodes used innuendo, such as the laughter that follows Ginger’s admission that

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despite previously being a mechanic, “I was never really that attached to my tools” (Evening Shade) or a work colleague eating a banana while commenting on the “stunning young woman” in the lobby (Just Shoot Me!). Later shows, especially ribald cable sitcoms like Entourage, are explicit: “Anika’s got a bigger stump than you, Drama.” On Reno 911! the male deputy confides in his female partner in their car, “she’s a dude. I swam in high school with him… Used to have the second largest cock I’d ever seen at the time” (Comedy Central, 2008, S05, Ep7). If the trans feminine character does not disappear after the reveal, the cis female actors are often masculinized considerably. Vergara is de-glamorized with less makeup and attire, but most do so more explicitly with a dubbed lower voice (Ace Ventura; Dude, Where’s My Car?; Californication) or a prominent penis prosthetic (It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia; Dude Where’s My Car?; American Crude). Her traditionally masculine attributes are sometimes presented as appealing to her partner, particularly her sexual dominance (e.g. WKRP in Cincinnati, Two and a Half Men, Real Men, Soapdish) or preference for sports or physical banter (e.g. Gimme a Break!, Becker, Just Shoot Me, All of Us, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia). This contrast, though, still reiterates the gender binary since his expectations are shattered by the reveal based on the premise that a “real” woman would never exhibit such behavior. But the depersonalization occurs differently when the trans feminine character is a cisgender male actor dressed in feminine attire, as her sexual attractiveness is sacrificed for the visibility of male physiology, such as a low voice, flat chest, or visible “bulge.” Often she is played by a drag performer in sitcoms from the 1980s in Bachelor Party with Christopher Morley (Israel, 1984) to the 2010s in Mike & Molly with Christopher Aguilar (CBS, 2013, S04, Ep2). This type of “pathetic” passing serves to assuage the audience’s anxiety that they would never “confuse” a trans woman for a cisgender one while also ridiculing the character’s confusion (Serano 38–39). Casting a masculinized cis male actor also enables other cis male characters to recoil from her immediately, such as in Arrested Development (Fox, 2004, S01, Ep14), Son of a Beach12 (FX, 2001, S02, Ep1), and Mike & Molly (CBS, 2013, S04, Ep2), fueling the contempt of his misperception. Sexualized interaction with a “man in a dress” is a common momentary gag in numerous comedic television shows and films, again from the 1980s and 1990s (Once Bitten, Storm, 1985; Jocks, Carver, 1986; Night on Earth, Jarmusch, 1991; Late Last Night, Brill, 1999) to the 2000s (Who is Cletis Trout?, Ver Wiel, 2001; Now You Know, Anderson,

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2002; American Wedding, Dylan, 2003; Arrested Development, Fox, 2004, S01, Ep14; Eve, UPN, 2005, S02, Ep16; Half and Half, UPN, 2005, S04, Ep7; How I Met Your Mother, CBS, 2010, S06, Ep5; Men in Black 3, Sonnefeld, 2012). Such scenes provide a shortcut for writers and directors but also rely on the comedic fears that Myra raises, so the cis male character’s rejection is often explicitly depicted, as is his disgust. Yet her lack of sexual attractiveness shifts the dynamics of the interaction. Whereas cis male sexual aggressiveness is normalized when faced with an attractive potential female partner, now the narrative emphasizes her sexual aggressiveness towards him in order to create the sexual exchange. This depiction sets up the false premise that a trans feminine person seeks cis male sexual companionship regardless of the situation. In Once Bitten, for example, an interaction between the young cis male character and the trans character at a bar shifts from his surprised question, “are you a guy?” to her response as she grabs his thigh under the table: “does it matter?” When the cis male character in American Wedding visiting a bar realizes that the trans feminine person grabbing his rear is not cis female, he stops politely rejecting her advances and instead yells, “Oh, my God! What the fuck is going on?” The settings here may logically suggest such behavior, but other times, the inappropriateness of the situation itself again casts her aggressiveness as extreme, whether it occurs during his job (WKRP; Real Men; Son of a Beach; Mike & Molly) or as he enters his apartment (Who is Cletis Trout?). The cis male character’s reaction is necessary to establish the fear and disgust that the encounter is presumed to incite in the cis audience. The comedy of the situation is extended when the cis male character is unsure how to avoid the trans feminine character’s sexual advances. While the plot may contrive a situation where cis male characters need her help (e.g. 3,2,1… Frankie Go Boom, Roberts, 2012), it makes more sense that comedic writers turn to sex worker characters instead. The trope of the sex worker in televisual media has a long and complex history13 related to how sex work itself challenges systemic and interpersonal male control over female sexuality. Indeed, comedic use of the trans feminine sex worker fits a theory from feminist and queer media studies which explains how transgressive identities are contained as potential threats to masculine and heteronormative power. As identified by feminist scholar Patricia Mellencamp and later expanded by queer scholar Sasha Torres, the site and situation of the transgressive female figure, whether feminist or queer, is contained by the humor which reasserts the primacy of the domestic sphere (for the

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outspoken woman in 1950s sitcoms) or heteronormative spaces (for lesbians in 1990s sitcoms). Indeed, Torres’ observations about guest lesbian characters can be applied almost directly to this analysis; narrative containment only works if trans feminine characters are “sufficiently different from the other female characters [so] that every one—both within the diegesis and outside of it—can tell the difference. Such minoritizing representations tend to rely on the assumption that [trans feminine] sexuality is so different from heterosexuality as to be unrepresentable; what [trans women] do in bed, in this discourse, is truly unimaginable” (Torres 180, emphasis in original). The trans feminine sex worker, as I explain, does not always act aggressively or even assertively towards the primarily white, cisgender male character for these reasons, since her presence and occupation alone presume a sexual invitation framed as a threat. At the same time, starting in the 1980s, her depersonalization is emphasized through those masculine traits that she retains but are further enhanced by any non-­ white racial markers. A brief scene in the blockbuster comedy Risky Business (Brinkman, 1983) is a representative example and perhaps the progenitor, the first non-white trans feminine sex worker in American comedy.14 Early in the film, the heterosexual, white teen male protagonist, Joel, calls a sex worker to visit after his parents have left on a trip, but he finds out when she arrives that Jackie is a black trans woman. This exchange heightens the comedy by Joel’s confusion regarding how to proceed. He paces through his house on the phone with a friend as Jackie stands alone on the porch, blandly commenting, “I know we could get along real well. But hey, it’s your hard-earned money, right?” Jackie’s masculinity is emphasized through her deep voice, muscular build, and height, facilitated by the casting of cis male actor Bruce A. Young (Fig. 4.3). Jackie’s brief appearance threatens Joel’s white cis heterosexual privilege, which is only reestablished by his affair with a white cis female sex worker, whom, Jackie asserts, is “what every boy off the lake wants.” This statement normalizes Joel’s sexual appetite for the cis audience in light of his “mistake,” while his fear of Jackie connects with his fear of perversity, broadly defined as interracial sexual relations, homosexuality, and sexual violation, playing into the centuries old stereotypes of miscegenation and the black rapist (A. Davis). Indeed, the comedic horror of the trans sex worker propositioning the cisgender white male protagonist, who often responds, like Joel, with fear and trepidation, recurs enough times to become its own trope. Network sitcoms tend to be tame in comparison to films and cable shows since the

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Fig. 4.3  Joel (Tom Cruise) and Jackie (Bruce A.  Young), Risky Business (Brickman, 1983)

characters’ presence is taken as a proposition (Caroline in the City, NBC, 1997, S02, Ep19; Frasier, NBC, 1999, S06, Ep11; Outsourced, NBC, S01, Ep21). In contrast, a trans exotic dancer physically flirts with and then intimidates the young male protagonists in Dude, Where’s My Car?, even if this bullying is played for laughs for the PG-13 audience (Leiner, 2000). Later R-rated films made this aggression sexually explicit, such as exposing her penis unsolicited: Anger Management (Segal, 2003), American Crude (Sheffer, 2008), Passenger Side (Bissonnette, 2009), and The Hangover, Part II (Phillips, 2011). Galaxia (cis male actor Woody Harrelson) in Anger Management is even more extreme, rubbing her nipples and gyrating against male characters. Even when the cis male character knows he has solicited a trans feminine sex worker, which occurs in Never Again (Schaeffer, 2001), the masculine physique of cis male actor Michael McKeon send him into panic. He angers first by claiming she looks nothing like her newspaper ad, “a beautiful Playboy model type woman,” yelling in frustration, “fuck, I have no idea what you are!” The scene concludes when he threatens her with a raised fist when she tries to touch him, and his “mistake” again leads him back to an appropriate cis female sexual partner. The cis male character’s anger appears even when he is the sex worker and the trans feminine character the client; when Ray

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learns Kyla’s history, he initially refuses to go on a second “date” with her, proclaiming, “I’m not fucking a guy!” (Hung, HBO, 2011, S03, Ep7), but agrees because it is non-sexual. Similarly, when an undercover deputy is reluctant to be fellated by a trans feminine sex worker, she grabs his arm and drags him off camera (Reno 911!, Comedy Central, 2009, S06, Ep1). The aggressiveness of these examples is notable since almost all are white or Asian and many display visible penises, prosthetic or otherwise. Black actors, including Jackie in Risky Business, are much less aggressive, showing how racialized characteristics become a stand-in for aggressive behaviors, even when cis female actors like Ciera Payton (Californication, Showtime, 2012, S05, Ep5) or trans feminine actors like Jazzmun Clayton (The 40 Year-Old Virgin, Apatow, 2005) and Laverne Cox (Bored to Death, HBO, 2009, S01, Ep1) are cast. The black trans women who interact with the white male characters in these texts, played respectively by Evan Handler, Steve Carell, and Jason Schwartzman, are tall women with dark complexions and muscular arms. Camera angles, lighting, blocking, and voice enhancement further accentuate her hypermasculinity and his demasculization, so that their interaction becomes another means to emphasize his masculine inadequacy compared to other cis male characters. In The 40 Year-Old Virgin, like Risky Business, Carell’s character’s masculinity, but not his physical safety, is threatened by the presence of this black “man,” even though she has entered his life by mistake, but his fear reiterates that the threat is “real.” Similarly, after Handler’s character learns the gender history of the sex worker who fellates him, he sobs alone in the back seat as his friends, one white and one black cisgender men, respond to his literal tears of shame with ridicule that “of course” they both knew she was a “tranny hooker.” Although the black trans feminine sex worker in the sitcom Blue Mountain State acts more aggressively towards a black college football player than his white friend, the camera captures his disgust and shame despite the illogical premise that receiving fellatio from her enables his team to win (Spike, 2010, S01, Ep4). The black player, like the black police officer in Reno 911!, tries to recoup masculine prowess by blaming their white friend for receiving “a blow job by a dude” (Comedy Central, 2009, S06, Ep1). The threat of aggressive male sexuality is a de facto assumption for black trans feminine women, none of whom act as aggressively as their white counterparts.

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From Victim to Chaser Californication’s plot demonstrates how it is the cis male partner’s demasculinization, not any “misunderstanding,” that is the comedy’s focus. Again, the fragility of masculinity is reiterated by this “reversal” in traditional gender roles in cis/trans relations: the increase in the trans feminine character’s masculinity after the reveal automatically decreases his.15 The comedy here is thus dependent on the fact that presumably a cisgender heterosexual man would never find a trans woman sexually attractive, as the “chaser” is meant to suggest. Despite academic discourse, particularly in trans studies, that asserts the need for new terms to depathologize cis/ trans sexual attraction and relationships, popular culture, particularly comedic genres, continues to rely on these outdated notions (Davy and Steinbock; Tompkins; Westbrook). Those in most major cities were aware of “street queens” by the late 1960s, a fluid mix of drag impersonators and trans women practicing sex work, who were more racially diverse and economically impoverished than the transsexual women making headlines, like Christine Jorgensen (Meyerowitz 190–191). By the early 1960s tabloid venues like The National Insider produced sensationalized stories about trans feminine exotic dancers, profiling Hedy Jo Star, for example, with sexually explicit photographs, which in turn created an audience for their autobiographies, including Star’s I Changed My Sex! (1964) and Carlson Wade’s She-Male: The Amazing True Life Story of Coccinelle (1963) (Meyerowitz 198–199). Mainstream publications like Esquire and Look soon followed the trend, prompting even more sexually explicit autobiographies, including Vivian Le Mans Take My Tool (1968), Lyn Raskin’s Diary of a Transsexual (1971), and Patricia Morgan’s Man-Made Doll (1973) (Escoffier 271; Stryker 85–87). Granted, pulp tabloids had published salacious content for a decade, such as “The Queen of the Strippers is a Guy!” and “Hubby by Day … Stripper by Night,” but the willingness of trans feminine exotic dancers like Coccinelle, Star, and Bambi to pose nude raised awareness of trans feminine sex workers and further established what activist Serano calls, “the most popular assumption about trans women,” that they “deliberately transform ourselves into women to invite male sexualization and sexual advances” (B. Davis; 258). Given both Sarne’s and Vidal’s sexual liberalism in the cities of London and Los Angeles, they were most likely fully aware of trans feminine sex workers.

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Men who seek trans women for sexual interaction are “chasers;” although the original term, “tranny chaser,” has also been applied to cis female and trans people with that preference, I have not found its use in any other context in popular media (Pfeffer 602; Tompkins).16 This term colloquially (but not always) specifies those men who prefer women with a penis, and most, like Mister Cee, maintain a heterosexual identity (Weinberg and Williams 378; Operario, et al. 21; Mauk, et al. 797–799). Granted, some partners do fetishize her genitalia and gender identity, either citing it as the source of his attraction (e.g. “I like tits and I like dicks”) or her sexual expertise (e.g. “most real [sic] women haven’t been taught how to give good head”) (Operario, et  al. 23; Weinberg and Williams 379). The genre of pornography which targets cis heterosexual men also integrates the pejorative term “she-male” rather than transgender to denote trans women with a penis, allegedly being the “fourth most popular category of adult web sites” (Mauk, at al. 797; Ogas and Gaddam 217). As previously noted, my term “cis surprise” is an alteration of “tranny surprise,” which Escoffier uses to explain the narrative suspense that hinges upon the “reveal” (274). In pornography, this moment occurs when the trans woman’s penis becomes visible, often in a close-up. The “surprise” is followed by “an internal conflict [in the male partner that] is often perfunctory” and quickly resolved by her seductive powers (Escoffier 274). The most common narrative in the pornographic genre, therefore, replicates the story of the trans feminine sexual predator but with a happier ending (pun intended). The resolution of the cis male partner’s conflict, though, is exactly what is missing in popular media, but significantly so is the requirement that he willingly participated in the sexual encounter after this “surprise.” Narratively there is little distinction between storylines where the cis male partner knew prior to the sexual interaction (Rescue Me, Fox, 2004, S01, Ep6; It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, FX, 2005, S01, Ep4 [(Fig. 4.2)]; The Longest Yard, Segal, Segal, 2005; Two and a Half Men, CBS, 2013, S11, Ep9; Shameless, Showtime, 2013, S02, Ep9) and those who did not (Bachelor Party, Israel, 1984; Real Men, Feldman, 1987; Woo, Von Scherler, 1998; American Crude, Sheffer, 2008; Double Down, Callahan, 2001; The Hangover, Part II, Phillips, 2011; Californication, Showtime, 2012, S05, Ep5). Each is shamed by de-masculinizing epithets and insinuations. Even more illogically, there is hardly a distinction between the acts themselves or the genitalia involved, whether a non-penetrative sexual act for the male partner, vaginal sex, or just kissing. In most contexts, a chaser

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label increases the contempt for cisgender male characters, already humiliated and emasculated as foils for their more masculine costars, like Stu (The Hangover), Frank (Shameless), Charlie (Californication), Mac (Its Always Sunny) (Fig. 4.2), Garrity (Rescue Me), Bill (American Crude) and Brett (Double Down). Alan and his girlfriend, for example, are repeatedly shown through plot scenarios and visual gags (Fig. 4.4) to reverse traditional heterosexual roles of passivity and dominance. In almost none of these scenarios is the trans woman ever developed as a character beyond her performative function as a prop, literally, indicated most often by a post-surprise disappearance. On dramatic television shows, chasers are ridiculed somewhat differently since their sexual interaction with a trans woman is reconfigured as scandalous, though again by emasculating and queering his heteronormativity. This scenario creates the dramatic downward slope for a main male character in at least two television series pilots. The first, on ABC’s short-­ lived series Big Shots, starts when CEO Duncan (Dylan McDermott) tells his friends he has been arrested for solicitating a trans sex worker, fearing

Fig. 4.4  Alan (Jon Cryer) and Paula (Paula Marshall), Two and a Half Men (CBS, 2013, S11, Ep10)

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it will go public (2007, S01, Ep1). Although Duncan claims to have received fellatio from her unaware of her history, he is ridiculed by the other cis male characters through multiple episodes, who often substitute a pejorative term for her name. More recently, Blunt Talk’s (Starz, 2015, S01, Ep1) main character, celebrity talk show host Blunt (Patrick Stewart), is arrested with Gisele (Trace Lysette), leading to a public debate about Blunt’s sexual orientation despite having interacted only with her breasts, not her penis. He loses his job after the press denounces him as “a moral imbecile and a sexual degenerate.” By delineating carefully in the plot that the cisgender male character had no contact with his trans feminine partner’s penis, though, each narrative maintains his heterosexual privilege even while concurring that her penis queers the sexual situation into scandal. This situation, when a heterosexual man is discovered prior to or after a sexual encounter with a trans woman, has been used to ridicule or blackmail a heterosexual male character in a dramatic context in the film, The Last Seduction (1994), and shorter story arcs in a variety of series since the early 2000s: First Monday (CBS, 2002, S01, Ep1); Veronica Mars (UPN, 2006, S02, Ep13); Entourage (HBO, 2007, S04, Ep4), Sons of Anarchy (FX, 2012, S05, Ep5) and Ray Donovan (Showtime, 2013, S01, Ep2; 2015, S03, Ep4). The last two heighten the transgression with references to other “perverse” sexual practices, like foot fetishism and BDSM.  Regardless of whether penetrative sex does occur, though, the scandal scenario confirms rather than denies the male character’s queer status, particularly when more masculine cis characters, like Ray Donovan’s title character, calls the trans woman “a guy with an Adam’s apple the size of my fist” (2013, S01, Ep2). As transgender rights has gained momentum in popular discourse, more sympathetic storylines have been generated for transgender characters, but barriers usually remain that position the romance as doomed to fail, as the next chapter explains, in dramatic genres. By distancing cis/ trans sexual interactions and relationships from romantic elements, comedic narratives instead invalidate these relationships as positive or loving in any context, stigmatizing them as perverse fetishes. The only film to ever address a heterosexual cis/trans relationship in a romantic comedy is Eric Schaeffer’s Boy Meets Girl (2014). Another notable exception includes All That Glitters, a syndicated 1977 sitcom/soap opera, produced by Norman Lear. This short-lived late-night series premiered the first regular trans character and documents her romance with a cis male partner, concluding

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the series run with their wedding. Due to its unavailability and poor ratings,17 it is most often used to support Lear’s reputation as a founder of “relevance” television (Gitlin; Lentz) and, in Hadleigh’s words, a “pro-­ gay feminist … who did more than anybody to combat gay stereotypes on television” (156), in conjunction to the other shows he produced and developed in the 1970s, like All in the Family (CBS, 1971–1979) and Maude (CBS, 1972–1978) (Capsuto; Tropiano). Boy Meets Girl also failed commercially, never finding a studio distributor despite the fact that Schaeffer was already an accomplished director. Both failures suggest that whether in the 1970s or the 2010s, the mainstream media industry remains incapable of creating a “happyily ever after” scenario for a cis male and trans female couple. Myra’s example, in contrast, is unfortunately more cogent for cisgender Americans, living on within current debates about sexual predation of women and girls in public bathrooms by the trans community. These “bathroom” bills require the public to utilize the bathroom that corresponds to the sex they were assigned at birth, an illogical concern since there has never been a reported case of sexual violence attempted by a male cross-dresser or trans feminine person in a public space (Schilt and Westbrook 46; Bianco; Maza and Brinker; Steinmetz). This fear of trans feminine sex predators, despite the gender shift of the victim, obfuscates the fact that they are more likely to be the victims, not the perpetrators. Mic.com studied transgender murders from 2010–2016 to discover that the majority of victims, 72%, were trans women or gender nonconforming persons on the feminine spectrum (Talusan). More (35%) were murdered by sexual or romantic partners than strangers (23%), such as Mercedes Williamson, age 17, murdered by her boyfriend in May 2015 and Elisa Walker, age 20, murdered by her boyfriend in October 2014; in each case, the boyfriend feared fellow gang members would discover their sexual relationship (Talusan; Walker). The Human Rights Campaign and Trans People of Color Coalition issued a joint report in November 2017 documenting twenty-five murders during that year, a record high, similarly finding that 87% of victims since 2013 were trans women (Lee 34). Ridicule of the cis chaser therefore also contributes to transphobic violence and public policies. While transphobic violence has many factors, it is undeniable that until trans women are validated in popular culture as human beings worthy of love, respect, and visibility with and by the cis men who love them, Myra Breckinridge’s legacy will continue.

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Notes 1. Other scandals regarding transgender women include the affair between college student Elle Schneider and Luke Worrell in 2011 (Crook); music producer Jazze Pha’s extramarital affair with Shayla Stacks in 2013 (Berry); and allegations that affairs with two trans women contributed to the breakup of Jennifer Lopez and boyfriend Casper Smart in 2014 (Tate). Rumors that he had an affair with a trans woman have also circulated about rapper Kanye West in 2017, NBA star Dwight Howard in 2018, and rapper Young Buck in 2021. 2. For additional academic research on the variety of ways transgender people and their partners identify, see also Galupo, Mitchell, and Davis; KatzWise, et al.; Platt and Bolland. 3. This is most likely because a pro-autogynephilia psychologist, Kenneth Zucker, was chosen to lead the committee to revise “Sexual and Gender Identity Disorders,” and he chose Blanchard to lead the revision of the paraphilia section. Its inclusion, in other words, was a foregone conclusion. Zucker has since been fired from his Toronto clinic, based on his questionable therapy for trans and gender variant children. It should be noted that regardless of the allegations that the scientific work of Blanchard and his followers is sloppy and inconsequential, Blanchard’s transphobic attitudes are well known; in a 2013 interview he admits that he always believes transsexuals are the gender they were assigned at birth and only included androphilia in the DSM 5 to avoid being seen as “sexist” since he does not believe it exists (Cameron). In other words, he believes that cross-dressing and gender dysphoria are always sexual disorders, as he repeated in another interview: “transsexualism can’t be understood without reference to sex” (Cameron; Allen). 4. See, for example, Lev; Moser and Kleinplatz; Moser; and Nuttbrock, et al. 5. Conservative media examples include Allen; Chapman; Gregory; and McHugh. Comment trolls appeared in reviews of The Danish Girl (Hopper, 2015) in The Guardian (Von Tunzelmann) and Transparent in AV Club (Fero), celebrity coverage of Caitlyn Jenner and the Kardashians (Associated Press; Griswald; Murphy), and news articles on transgender policies even in conservative publications, like Stars & Stripes (Tritten and Druzin) and The Indianapolis Business Journal (H. Miller). 6. This is perhaps why one trans author who sees Myra as a positive role model is Kate Bornstein, as Bornstein is also a strong advocate of BDSM (78). 7. My review of Vidal’s many interviews and essays have not found any references to any “real-life” research or inspiration regarding Myra Breckinridge except for the name similarity with his mother’s friend, Bunny Breckinridge,

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whom Vidal describes, when asked in 1974, “was she a transsexual or just a big queen?,” “Just a big queen” (Mitzel, Abbott, and Gay Study Group 30). 8. At least one queer man, film critic Parker Tyler, found the scene ridiculous specifically because of Rusty’s reaction, whether becoming homosexual in the book or Letitia’s sexual slave in the film: “Myra’s victim, Rusty … is chastened, tearfully submissive, and relieved after the anal rape, not outraged and physically sickened. A really revolted hetero male (in life or art) would have liked to turn on Myra, when released from his bonds, and beat the silicone out of her” (180). 9. See Chaps. 1 and 2 for a longer explanation for how I developed this term, which to meant to put the onus of the “surprise” from the trans to the cis character as a reminder that it is cisnormativity that promotes the dehumanization of trans people through language as well as the concept. 10. It is impossible to determine how many times a joke has been made referencing “gagging” or “vomiting” as a response to even a suggestion that a woman might have a penis, such as on Ally McBeal (Fox, 2000, S04, Ep2). Unlike this episode, many references that belittle cis/trans sex occur without the presence of a trans character, so are more challenging to track. Some recent television shows that have done so in the 2010s include Blue Bloods (CBS, 2010, S01, Ep10); Episodes (Showtime, 2011, S01, Ep4); 2 Broke Girls (CBS, 2011, S01, Ep8); Broad City (Comedy Central, 2015, S02, Ep7); Veep (HBO, 2017, S06, Ep9); and Jack Ryan (Amazon, 2018, S01, Ep3). The physical gag appears to be more common in cartoon television shows, which is outside of the scope of this book, but relevant examples can be found in Riese Bernard’s article. 11. The rise of this scenario played out during the early 1980s in the press when Caroline (Tula) Cossey, a 27-year-old British model who had been featured as an extra “Bond girl” in For Your Eyes Only (Glen, 1981), was outed as a trans woman (Nichols). 12. The drag performer is Alexis Arquette, who identified as such until 2004, when she transitioned medically. 13. This history is explained in more detail in Chap. 6. 14. Earlier examples (Saint Jack, Bogdanovich, 1979; Cruising, Friedkin, 1980; Sharky’s Machine, Reynolds, 1981) were in dramatic contexts and cast either Asian or white actors. 15. The only two comedic televisual examples with a trans masculine/cis female relationship do not masculinize the cis female partner in the same way. Instead, both Gaudi Afternoon (Seidelman, 2001) and Little Evil (Netflix, Craig, 2017) hypermasculinize the trans character and hyperfeminize the cis character, as if presenting the couple as butch/femme rather than cis/trans. Given the fact that the trans masculine character’s personal

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identity is rarely discussed but instead implied by casting a cis female actor, Lili Taylor and Bridget Everett, neither film legitimizes the relationship from this context despite the premise that each is committed and loving. 16. Some trans activists and scholars have also argued for a positive reclamation of the term “tranny” in this context, cis/trans sexual relationships; see, for example, Altadonna; McClennan; Sepulveda; and Serano. 17. Since the series is not available on streaming sites nor ever released on VHS or DVD, this analysis is based on the sixteen episodes are available through the Library of Congress (Halterman).

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Mitzel, John, Steven Abbott, and the Gay Study Group. “Gore Vidal: The Fag Rag Interview,” Conversations with Gore Vidal, edited by Gore Vidal and Richard Peabody, University of Mississippi Press, 2005, pp. 16–35. Morgan, Patricia. The Man-Made Doll. Carol Publishing Group, 1973. Moser, Charles. “Blanchard’s Autogynephilia Theory: A Critique.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 57, no. 6, 2010, pp.  790–809, https://doi.org/10.108 0/00918369.2010.486241. Moser, Charles and Peggy J.  Kleinplatz. “DSM-IV-TR and the Paraphilias: An Argument for Removal.” Journal of Psychology and Human Sexuality, vol. 17, no. 3-4, 2006, pp. 91–109. Murphy, Sara. “Kylie Jenner Calls Gift from Caitlyn ‘Inappropriate.’” Refinery29, 6 Dec. 2015. refinery29.com/2015/12/98937/caitlyn-­jenner-­kylie­jenner-­present. Neale, Steve and Frank Krutnik. Popular Film and Television Comedy. Routledge, 1990. Nichols, James Michael. “This Trans Supermodel was Outed in the ‘80s, Lost Everything, and Became a Pioneer.” The Huffington Post, 19 June 2016, huffingtonpost.com/entry/trans-­supermodel-­1980s-­caroline-­cossey_us_575b03d ce4b0e39a28ad822e. Nuttbrock, Larry, et  al. “A Further Assessment of Blanchard’s Typology of Homosexual Versus Non-Homosexual or Autogynephilic Gender Dysphoria.” Archives of Sexual Behavior, vol. 40, no. 2, Apr. 2011, pp. 247–257, https:// doi.org/10.1007/s10508-­009-­9579-­2. Ogas, Ogi and Sai Gaddam. A Billion Wicked Thoughts: What the World’s Largest Experiment Reveals about Human Desire. Dutton, 2011. Operario, Don, et al. “Men Who Have Sex with Transgender Women: Challenges to Category-Based HIV Prevention.” AIDS and Behavior, vol. 12, no. 1, Jan. 2008, pp. 18–26. Pfeffer, Carla A. “Making Space for Trans Sexualities.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 61, no. 5, 2014, pp.  597–604, https://doi.org/10.1080/0091836 9.2014.903108. Platt, Lisa F., and Kayla S.  Bolland. “Relationship Partners of Transgender Individuals: A Qualitative Exploration.” Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, vol. 35, no. 9, June 2018, pp.  1251-1272, http://doi: 10.1177/0265407517709360. Raskin, Lyn. Diary of a Transsexual. Olympia, 1971. Reed, Rex. “Myra Goes to Hollywood,” Playboy, Aug. 1970, pp. 71–86. Rosario, Vernon A.  II. “Trans(Homo) Sexuality? Double Inversion, Psychiatric Confusion, and Hetero-Hegemony.” Queer Studies: A Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Anthology, edited by Brett Beemyn and Mickey Eliason, New York University Press, 1996, pp. 35–51. Rudacille, Deborah. The Riddle of Gender: Science, Activism, and Transgender Rights. New Anchor Books, 2006.

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Sanger, Tam. Trans People’s Partnerships: Towards an Ethics of Intimacy. Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. Schilt, Kristen and Laurel Westbrook. “Doing Gender, Doing Heteronormativity: ‘Gender Normals,’ Transgender People, and the Social Maintenance of Heterosexuality.” Gender & Society, vol. 23, no. 4, Aug. 2009, pp. 440–464, https://doi.org/10.1177/0891243209340034. Schreiber, Flora Rheta. “I was Raising a Homosexual Child.” 1963. The Columbia Reader on Lesbians and Gay Men in Media, Society and Politics, edited by Larry Gross and James D. Woods, Columbia University Press, 1999, pp. 164–169. Sepulveda, Vera. “Confessions of a Bisexual Shemale.” Diamond, pp. 19–25. Serano, Julia. Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity. Seal Press, 2007. “Some Sort of Nadir.” Rev. of Myra Breckinridge. Time, vol. 96, no. 1, 6 July 1970, p. 72. Spade, Dean and Sel Wahng. “Transecting the Academy.” GLQ, vol. 10, no. 2, 2004, pp. 240–253. St. Clair, André. “After Mister Cee: In Wake of His Recent Revelations, Black Transgender People Deserve Community Acceptance.” The Grio, 18 Oct. 2013, thegrio.com/2013/10/18/after-­mister-­cee-­in-­wake-­of-­his-­recent­revelations-­black-­transgender-­people-­deserve-­community-­acceptance. Star, Hedy Jo. I Changed My Sex! Novel, 1963. Steinmetz, Kay. “Why LGBT Advocates Say ‘Bathroom Predators’ Argument is a Red Herring.” Time, 2 May 2016, time.com/4314896/transgender­bathroom-­bill-­male-­predators-­argument. Stryker, Susan. Queer Pulp: Perverted Passions from the Golden Age of the Paperback. Chronicle, 2001. Talusan, Meredith. “Unerased: Counting Transgender Lives,” 8 Dec. 2016, Mic. com, mic.com/unerased. Tannehill, Brynn. “How To Spot Anti-Trans Concern Trolls.” Huffington Post, 12 Aug. 2015, huffingtonpost.com/brynn-­tannehill/how-­to-­spot-­antitrans-­ con_b_8055816.html. Tate, Amethyst. “Jennifer Lopez Talks Casper Smart: Did He Cheat with Transgender Models?” International Business Times, 19 June 2014, ibtimes. com/jennifer-­l opez-­t alks-­c asper-­s mart-­d id-­h e-­c heat-­t ransgender-­m odels­1606452. Tompkins, Avery Brooks. “’There’s No Chasing Involved’: Cis/Trans Relationships, ‘Tranny Chasers,’ and the Future of a Sex-Positive Trans Politics.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 61, no. 5, 2014, pp. 766–780, https:// doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2014.870448. Torres, Sasha. “Television/Feminism: Heartbeat and Prime Time Lesbianism.” The Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader, edited by Henry Abelove, Michèle Aina Barale, and David M. Halperin, Routledge, 1993, pp. 176–185.

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“Transsexual Prostitute Arrested in Eddie Murphy’s Car.” CNN, 2 May 1997, www.cnn.com/SHOWBIZ/9705/02/murphy. Tritten, Travis J. and Heath Druzin. “Transgender Decision Raises Question of Combat Jobs.” Stars and Stripes, 15 July 2015, stripes.com/transgender­decision-­raises-­question-­of-­combat-­jobs-­1.357902. Tropiano, Stephen. The Prime Time Closet: A History of Gays and Lesbians on TV. Applause, 2002. Tyler, Parker. “Mother Superior of the Faggots and Some Rival Queens.” 1972. Film Theory: Critical Concepts in Media and Cultural Studies, edited by Philip Simpson, Andrew Utterson, and K.J. Shepherdson, vol. 3. Routledge, 2004, pp. 171–182. Vidal, Gore. Myra Breckinridge. 1968. Penguin, 1997. Vidal, Gore and Robert J. Stanton. Views from a Window: Conversations with Gore Vidal. Lyle Stuart, 1980. Von Tunzelmann, Alex. Rev. of The Danish Girl. The Guardian, 13 Jan. 2016, www.theguardian.com/film/2016/jan/13/the-­d anish-­g irl-­t ransforms-­ fascinating-­truths-­into-­tasteful-­safe-­drama. Wade, Carlson. She-Male: The Amazing True Life Story of Coccinelle. Epic, 1963. Walker, Shavonne. “Angel Arias pleads guilty to second-degree murder of Elisha Walker.” The Salisbury Post. 13 June 2017, salisburypost.com/2017/06/13/ angel-­arias-­pleads-­guilty-­second-­degree-­murder-­death-­elisha-­walker. Weinberg, Martin S., and Colin J.  Williams. “Men Sexually Interested in Transwomen (MSTW): Gendered Embodiment and the Construction of Sexual Desire.” Journal of Sex Research, vol. 47, no. 4, 2010, pp.  374–383, https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490903050568. Westbrook, Laurel. “Transforming the Sex/Gender/Sexuality System: The Construction of Trans Categories in the United States.” Introducing the New Sexuality Studies, edited by Nancy L.  Fischer and Steven Seidman, 3rd ed., Routledge, 2016, pp. 33–42. What’s New Pussycat? Directed by Clive Donner, performance by Peter O’Toole, United Artists, 1965. Whitehead, Jaye Cee, and Jennifer Thomas. “Sexuality and the Ethics of Body Modification: Theorizing the Situated Relationships among Gender, Sexuality and the Body.” Sexualities, vol. 16, no. 3–4, June 2013, pp. 383–400, https:// doi.org/10.1177/1363460713479755. Winters, Kelley. “Transvestic Disorder, the Overlooked Anti-Trans Diagnosis in the DSM-5.” GID Reform Weblog. 26 May 2011, www.gidreform.wordpress. com/2011/05/26/transvestic-­disorder-­the-­overlooked-­anti-­trans-­diagnosis­in-­the-­dsm-­5.

CHAPTER 5

Dramatic Romance and the Value(s) of Tragedy

It is my imagined self, the one who is beautiful and loving and worthy of being love, that is my guiding force. My inspiration. I can only hope to become the person that Barry imagined me to be. I pray for the courage that it will take to become a real live soldier’s girl. —Calpernia Adams, Soldier’s Girl (Pierson, 2003)

The “cis chaser” model usually avoids romance genre elements since romance intentionally humanizes both partners by presenting them as models to emulate, not disrespect. Romance relies on this affect to create and sustain the audience’s investment in the characters and “assist in the comprehension and interpretation” of the storyline (Plantinga 5). As the epigraph points out, this fantasy of enduring and transformative love is still valid even if partners are separated by death or circumstance. Soldier’s Girl fictionalizes the 1999 murder of Barry Winchell by fellow Army enlisted service members at Fort Campbell, Kentucky due to his romantic relationship with Calpernia Adams, a trans woman he met at a drag bar in Nashville. As I explain, this film legitimizes their love with romantic genre elements, including sexual reciprocity. But the obstacle that dooms them, transphobic violence, also preempts the possibility that cis/trans romance can exist, a significant difference in the traditional romance formula that again upholds cisgender heteronormativity even while projecting empathy for the trans character. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1_5

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Passion as Validation Romance in popular media is more than just popular. It has a hegemonic or ideological function; it establishes the centrality of romantic love to happiness but also affirms passionate sex within only some contexts. Modern romantic narratives validate sexual desire primarily within monogamous, heterosexual relationships, the pinnacle of acceptable sexual practice in modern society, but through gender-specific roles (Rubin 13–14). Analysis by feminist scholars Tania Modleski and Janice Radway specifies how romantic fiction in the 1980s promoted passionate reciprocity within scenarios in which a male partner “awakens” the female’s sexual desire while she “tames” his violent and/or promiscuous nature. Heteronor­ mativity is replicated in normative gender roles and expression through each’s function in the partnership, too; she is an irresistible sexual object, only accessing her sexual agency through her male partner’s desire, while his sexual agency is taken for granted. Rosalind Gill argues that popular media can integrate modern realities for women like careers, previous sexual partners, and economic independence without modifying the formula significantly, so that the idealized focus remains “the promise of transcendent love and sexual satisfaction” (236). Televisual sex scenes similarly perform an ideological function. As Linda Williams observes, mainstream and pornographic genres both rely on extended shots of intermingling body parts enhanced by visual and auditory elements like lighting, music, closeups, and camera angles in order to replicate the sensuality of sexual encounters within a recognition that the sex presented “is not a stable truth … [but] a constructed, mediated, performed act” (2). In other words, these elements allow viewers to displace the awkward or intense physical experience with a romantic simulation. As a visual medium, this simulation then uses “verbal, facial, and bodily expressions of pleasure and contentment” to promote the act and enhance its meaning within the relationship, which is again gendered (Grodal 32). While each partner seeks sexual satisfaction, the profound emotional experience transforms the male lover into a stable and monogamous partner (Jeffers McDonald 158). This expectation thus presents emotional intimacy as the component women use to turn “sex” into “love,” but the reverse is also true: if the woman expects to maintain emotional intimacy with her partner, she must maintain their intense sexual pleasure, ensuring that in both equations, always-happily-sex creates the romantic happily-­ ever-­after (Johnson 359–360).

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This combination has been noted by scholars for a variety of television shows (Dhaemens and Van Bauwel; Kim, et  al.) and films (Grindon; Johnson; Todd) within both comedic and dramatic genres, so that regardless of the setting, tone, or demographic target audience, the formula remain highly visible in traditional media. Recent romance-driven plotlines include Scandal (ABC, 2012–2018), Outlander (Starz, 2014–present), and The Good Place (NBC, 2016–2020) for television, and Beauty and The Beast (Condon, 2017), A Star is Born (Cooper, 2018) and The Big Sick (Showalter, 2017) for film. The “happily-ever-after” ending for conventional romantic comedies is not necessary in dramatic genres where “the couple’s love is desperate and all consuming … [and] usually brief because they are often unsanctioned” (Grindon 10–11; Todd 25). But in these and many other examples, the development of a romantic relationship drives the narrative, so that “viewers and the protagonist often experience the relationship as initially characterized by choice and fraught with tension but transformed into one characterized by commitment and relaxation as the two people surrender to destiny” (Grodal 35). Measured by sociologists as the “eros love style,” research demonstrates male and female heterosexual audiences covet the passionate, romantic love in this genre (Galloway, Engstrom, and Emmers-Sommer 702). This “eros love style,” though, still exempts a cis person’s sexual or romantic attraction to a transgender individual despite increased discourse in the 2010s that challenges the characterization of such interactions as perverse or non-romantic. After Mister Cee was outed in 2013, transgender activists Laverne Cox and Janet Mock responded on HuffPost Live to the unfair characterizations of male partners (“Laverne Cox”). Media attention accelerated in 2015, sparked by later scandals involving Tyga and Hank Baskett and Caitlyn Jenner’s transition, so that even mainstream publications The Washington Post, USA Today, and Time sympathetically addressed the dating challenges for heterosexual trans women (Mock; Hesse; Grisham; Bartow and Jenner). The majority argue that the “chaser” context intentionally discredits transamorous attraction as loving or romantic, also referred to as its own sexual orientation, skoliosexuality (Anderson-Minshall). Mock explains on her blog, “we tell men to keep their attraction to trans women secret, to limit it to the internet, frame it as a passing fetish or [sex worker] transaction… It’s important that we begin truly accepting trans women as who they are, women.” This notion, that pathological connotations should be removed because trans women’s gender identity makes their male partners heterosexual, has

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been rarely addressed in visual narrative media. Instead, trans female characters in U.S. films meant to be sympathetic have been consistently desexualized, as seen in The World According to Garp (Hill, 1982), Mixed Nuts (Ephron, 1994), The Adventures of Sebastian Cole (Williams, 1998), Woman on Top (Torres, 2000), Taking Woodstock (Lee, 2009), The Dallas Buyers Club (Vallée, 2013) and All We Had (Katie Holmes, 2016).1 Since most are played by cisgender male actors,2 such as John Lithgow (Garp), Clark Gregg (Sebastian Cole), Harold Perrineau, Jr. (Woman on Top), Liev Schreiber (Mixed Nuts and Woodstock), and Jared Leto (Dallas), this omission intentionally signifies their inappropriateness for cis male attraction. Desexualizing trans feminine characters unfortunately occurs even in films when a romantic storyline is integral to the plot. Transamerica (2005) cast a cisgender female actor, Felicity Huffman, as a female transsexual, but director Duncan Tucker still sidesteps physical touch within Bree’s burgeoning romance with Calvin (Fig. 5.1). The two do not even touch or kiss goodbye, despite joint reassurances that they will reunite, though Bree’s unwillingness to disclose may signal this unlikelihood. Due

Fig. 5.1  Calvin (Graham Greene) and Bree (Felicity Huffman), Transamerica (Tucker, 2005)

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to a prosthetic penis, Bree’s disclosure is a “cis surprise” for her adult son Toby instead. Even more confusing is why Toby later sexually propositions Bree, except that it forces her to admit their parental connection. This tactic further disrupts any heterosexual endorsement of Bree’s relationship with Calvin because Toby’s bisexuality has already been established, effectively queering Bree since it is unclear why Toby is attracted to her (Abbott 39). More than ten years later, the two leads in Anything (McNeil, 2017) display few romantic sparks. Outside of a few quick caresses and one kiss, trans feminine Freda and cis male widow Early declare their love verbally but unconvincingly, even though the affair is allegedly life-changing. This lack of physical intimacy again undermines the narrative logic, perhaps due to the fact a cis male actor, Matt Bomer, again plays the trans woman.3 Musical Chairs (Seidelman, 2011) at least casts a trans feminine actor, Laverne Cox, as Chantelle, and her romance with an older man, Wilfredo, includes actual touching, but this results from their ballroom dance partnership, not romance. Even an admission of love illogically concludes without a kiss, replaced by a caress on the cheek. This omission is ironic given the film’s intention to affirm erotic romantic relationships between physically disabled and able-bodied characters. Yet again, the director apparently found visible passion for the cis/trans couple too transgressive for screen time even as he affirms that trans women are worthy of a cis man’s love. Sympathetic romantic storylines do not appear on network television4 until 2000 with a three episode arc on Fox’s legal dramedy, Ally McBeal. By the 1990s, producers were already allowing pre-disclosure romantic kisses since most trans feminine characters, like on Ally McBeal, were played by cis female actors. Cindy McCauliff (Lisa Edelstein) is introduced as a client but soon begins dating a cis heterosexual male partner, Mark, yet immediately the comedic tension of the “reveal” takes over, since other characters learn she is “a woman with a penis” prior to Mark (Fox, 2000, S04, Ep2). Initially he seems compassionate when she discloses her history, saying, “as hard as I try, I can’t see you as anything other than a woman. A woman I want to continue to see,” but he is eventually rejects her because, “I could never be sexual with you” (Fox, 2000, S04, Ep3, 4). The negative reaction of his male and female coworkers, including one who tells him to “dump it,” validate his transphobic reductionism. If the storyline ended there, it would be unremarkable, since the trope of a trans woman doomed to a loveless life after disclosure has been a constant throughout the 1980s (The Love Boat, NBC, 1982, S05, Ep15),

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1990s (Chicago Hope, CBS, 1995, S01, Sp18; Beverly Hills 90210, Fox, 1996, S06, Ep19); and 2000s (The Education of Max Bickford, CBS, 2002, S01, Ep12; Cold Case, 2004, S02, Ep3). Mistresses seems to be the first to reverse the gender equation in season 4 but with the same result, since the cis female character displays passion for her trans male partner only prior to disclosure (ABC, 2016, S04, Ep2–4). The “could have been” tragedy is actually another version of the cis surprise reunion, when a heterosexual character seeks out or accidentally encounters a previous romantic partner whose new gender identity now prevents a heterosexual romance. Swoosie Kurtz won an Emmy for portraying a shocked ex-­ girlfriend reunited with her now female high school boyfriend on Carol & Company (NBC, 1990, S01, Ep2), while recurring characters are placed in similar positions on Chicago Hope (CBS, 1995, S01, Ep18); Any Day Now (Lifetime, 2000, S02, Ep22); Two and a Half Men (CBS, 2004, S01, Ep10) and Necessary Roughness (USA, 2011, S01, Ep6). These depictions might recognize trans identity exists but still present romance as an impossibility for heterosexual characters. Yet Ally McBeal brings Lisa back in a later episode to hire the law firm to sue the state in order to legally marry her cis male fiancé, perhaps the first positive endorsement of a cis/trans relationship in a fictional storyline on network television (Fox, 2001, S04, Ep12). Ex-boyfriend Mark even calls Lisa “a beautiful woman” in an impassioned plea to the judge. Although their case fails, a senior partner performs the wedding anyway, which concludes in a passionate kiss. The series wavers between affirming the couple as “same-sex” or heterosexual, particularly since Lisa’s fiancé has almost no lines, but this ending does suggest that a cis/trans romance can lead to happily ever after, at least off screen. Usually when dramatic televisual narratives validate the cisgender male character’s feelings for his trans feminine lover, they endorse stereotypes about cis chasers since he is often an immoral criminal, not a wealthy attorney like Mark. Such partners include a sexually avarice ex-felon (Transparent, Amazon, 2015, S02), murderer (Sons of Anarchy, FX, 2014, S07), drug dealer (Outsiders, WGN, 2016–2017, S01–2), supernatural hedonist and murderer (Penny Dreadful, Showtime, 2015, S02), violent crack addict (Life is Hot in Cracktown, Giovinazzo, 2012) and, in the earliest example, bank robber (Dog Day Afternoon, Lumet, 1975). The transgressiveness of the relationship is visually confirmed by the casting of cisgender male actors—Walton Goggins (Sons), Jonny Beauchamp (Penny), and Chris Sarandon (Dog Day)—to play trans women. When

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female actors are cast, whether trans (Alexandra Billings on Transparent) or cis (Kerry Washington in Life), she exposes her male genitalia instead. Penny Dreadful uses the trans woman’s male physicality, including her penis, to discount her female identity and queer the relationship, as reviews note (Eidelstein; Lea). In their first sex scene, Angelique disrobes as the camera dwells on frontal nudity, but rather than move towards a passionate embrace, the camera merely cuts to Dorian’s mischievous smile, as if in appreciation of her large penis (Showtime, 2015, S02, Ep2). Later in the season, Dorian defends her against a group of men who publicly accuse her of theft and call her a “little freak,” but immediately in the next scene she appears in male attire, confronting the depths of Dorian’s love by asking if he “prefer[s] the freak” (S02, Ep5). Although he declares, “I care for who you are, not what you wear,” the sex scene that follows, the most passionate one in their romantic arc, showcases Angelique’s masculine physicality with frontal shots of her breast-less chest as she is penetrated from behind. This scene’s queerness is further highlighted by its juxtaposition with sex scenes of two cis heterosexual couples. Since Dorian murders her after he becomes obsessed with a cis female woman, his status as a “chaser” seems confirmed; he did indeed prefer her “freak” genitalia until it no longer was as appealing as a “real” woman’s vagina (S02, Ep8). A similar scenario plays out in the FX series, Star, when trans feminine Cotton cannot sustain a relationship with loving and supportive Elliot (FX, 2017, S01, Ep9), only with abusive Omari, who eventually kills Elliot and almost murders Cotton (FX, 2017, S02, Ep9). Although intimate partner violence is a realistic danger for trans woman, these examples again infer that only immoral cis men love trans women. A few narratives have addressed the cis chaser pathology more directly. Trans feminine bloggers Raquel Willis on Buzzfeed and Charley Reid on Huffington Post confirm the commonality of this situation, having dated men who “had no problem having sex with or hanging out with a trans woman, but didn’t really see their value as actual [romantic] partners” (Willis). The first occurs in the independent drama, Gun Hill Road (Green, 2011). Despite being unable to sustain sympathy for the trans character, director Rashaad Ernesto Green initially presents Chris’s attention as genuine. Chris is transfixed by Vanessa’s poetry slam performance and does not hesitate later when she discloses her status as a “transsexual” who still has her “thing.” His lack of repugnance for her dysphoric body is refreshing but short-lived. Chris callously demands anal sex as compensation for his financial support but specifies his lack of interest in her sexual

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pleasure because he “doesn’t want to see that shit.” This sex scene, their only one, is intentionally unromantic, the camera focusing on Vanessa’s pained face, turned away from Chris as she bends over the bed. Chris fulfills the warning of Vanessa’s friends about his intentions when he refuses to defend her against passing men who shout transphobic slurs. Vanessa immediately breaks up with him, yelling, “Oh, so I’m good enough to fuck? … But I ain’t good enough to be your girl?” Yet the film ultimately suggests that being trans bars Vanessa from finding romance; in her final shot, she sits alone and silent at a club where others flirt around her.5 The trans women on Pose similarly endure negative treatment in season 1 from their cis male boyfriends, one of whom who ends their relationship and his financial support when she has GCS surgery, and the other who admits his attraction to her was based on “secrecy” and transgression (Fox, 2018, S01, Ep7).6 One fictional narrative examines this situation from both viewpoints: Transparent (Amazon, 2014–2019). In a season 2 episode, the younger trans feminine friends of main character Maura Pfferman, Davina and Shea, debate Shea’s hook-up the night before with a cisgender male Marine, whom Davina labels a chaser and Shea “transamorous” (2015, S02, Ep3). The debate shifts to Maura and Davina later in the season (2015, S02, Ep7) when Davina’s cis boyfriend is released from prison and rejoins his girlfriend at her home where Maura is staying. Sal makes inappropriate remarks about the bodies of his girlfriend and Shea and offers to lend Maura money to surgically feminize her appearance. But when Maura raises her concerns about Sal to Davina, her friend responds angrily, “Mind your own goddam business…. I’m a 53-year-old ex-prostitute, HIV-­ positive woman with a dick. I know what I want and I know what I need.” The obvious narrative sympathy with Davina as well as Shea’s previous proclamation that “I like getting fucked” demonstrates that a popular media narrative can validate rather than pathologize, ridicule, or sensationalize a trans woman’s sexual relations with a cisgender man. At the same time, Sal’s obvious flaws combined with Maura’s class bias makes the affirmation more ambiguous. The series could have explicitly validated Davina’s relationship if Sal and Davina had lovingly interacted outside of Maura’s disapproving gaze, much as Maura does later with Vicki, her lesbian lover (2015, S02, Ep10). While Vicki remains loving and committed throughout season 3 (Fig. 5.2), Sal’s return in season 4 further emphasizes his immorality when he breaks up with Davina after she becomes too ill to work and leaves her homeless (2017, S04, Ep5). Just as Sal’s interest

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Fig. 5.2  Maura (Jeffrey Tambor) and Vicki (Anjelica Huston), Transparent (Amazon, 2015, S02, Ep10)

in other trans women, including Maura, is sexualized, Maura’s son Josh has a brief affair with Shea until she doubts his intentions, proclaiming, “I’m not your fucking adventure! I’m a person” (2016, S03, Ep6). These poignant storylines do realistically depict that, as Shea states in this episode, “dating while trans is a shit show,” but the series misses multiple opportunities to depathologize heterosexual cis/trans relationships and trans feminine attraction by cis men.7 The first affirming and passionate heterosexual cis/trans romance with a regular character in a televisual drama occurs on Dirty Sexy Money (ABC, 2007–2009), which, unlike Ally McBeal, maintains a stable viewpoint of their romance as heterosexual, at least within the relationship. The series has the distinction of having a recurring trans character, Carmelita Rainer, played for the first time by a trans feminine actor, Candis Cayne, a practice followed by later series Star and Transparent. Carmelita’s relationship with cis male boyfriend Patrick is the first—and for over ten years8 the only—loving and respectful cis/trans couple whether queer or heterosexual on prime-time television. The fact that its male partner fits the pinnacle of male heterosexual privilege, being a powerful, wealthy, and handsome politician, both underscores his family’s objections and elevates his moral standing. Patrick’s unyielding commitment is validated by a number of

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traditionally romantic scenes, including lengthy shots of the couple kissing, prone, in bed, with Carmelita wearing lingerie or appearing naked. Such visual images take advantage of Cayne’s conventional beauty as a white, curvy blonde, a bonus reiterated in the series’ press (Wiseman; “Baldwin”; J. Weiss). Yet the relationship ends thanks to Patrick’s jealous wife and Carmelita’s murder, another “doomed true love” scenario that, as explained below, maintains the incompatibility of cis/trans relationships by shifting blame away from the cis partner to obstacles even when transphobia is to blame, unlike this storyline. But regardless of the cause, death’s effect remains the same: the world is not ready for cis/trans happily-­ever-afters.9

Doomed to Death (or Friendship) Death is an obvious choice for romantic tragedy. Indeed, two influential films about real-life transphobic murders use traditional romantic elements to establish the trans character’s humanity for cis audiences: Boys Don’t Cry (Peirce, 1999) and Soldier’s Girl (Pierson, 2003). As I explain, however, this empathy does not translate into an affirmation of their gender identity or heterosexual relationship since reviews often misgender the trans main character and queer the romance. This is not an unexpected result since directors cast a cis actor for each role, cis female actor Hilary Swank as trans man Brandon Teena and cis male actor Lee Pace as trans woman Calpernia Adams (Fig. 5.3). But the question still remains whether their romantic love can be fully validated if the romance-ending violence is presented as inevitable. As previously mentioned, Soldier’s Girl (Pierson, 2003), written by Philadelphia screenwriter Ron Nyswaner, fictionalizes the murder of Barry Winchell by his fellow soldiers by privileging Winchell’s perspective, using interviews with Winchell’s parents and Adams. Adams confirms both considered their relationship heterosexual, but her claims are discounted by the film’s media promotion (Rowe). Most reviews queer them, placing their relationship in a “gray” area between “straight” and “gay” (Gilbert), calling Winchell “ostensibly straight” (Rooney), or defining the film’s premise as “an obvious indictment of the military’s ‘Don’t ask, Don’t tell’ (DADT) policy regarding sexual orientation” (Reed). Granted, the murderous soldiers in Winchell’s unit were compelled by homophobia, and Barry10 fears a DADT dishonorable discharge. But the titles demonstrate each director’s use of romantic elements to affirm their relationship even

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Fig. 5.3  Calpernia (Lee Pace) and Barry (Troy Garity), Soldier’s Girl (Pierson, 2003)

if heterosexuality, as these reviews indicate, remains an inflexible category for cis viewers. The parallels between Soldier’s Girl and Boys Don’t Cry (Peirce, 1999), both based on real-life murders sparked by a cis/trans relationship, are noted in some reviews (Gilbert; Rooney). However, unlike Winchell, Lana Tisdel, the last girlfriend of Brandon Teena, may not have known his gender history when they began dating. Press coverage of the murder in 1993, the trials of Tom Nissen and John Lotter in 1996, and the documentary The Brandon Teena Story (Muska and Olafsdottir, 1998) therefore focus upon Lana and previous girlfriends with lurid fascination. For example, they claim Tisdel “did not recoil in horror” when she learned that Brandon was “really a woman,” and that “several young women Brandon dated and

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deceived, including an ex-fiancé, speak with affection and still insist on calling her ‘he’” (Holden 5; Perigard 043). Like cis male “chasers,” the cisgender press must pathologize why a heterosexual cis woman would date a trans man, blaming sexual naiveté, emotional damage from “domestic abuse and sexual molestation,” and confusion about sexual orientation (Dunne 52; Konigsberg; Minkowitz 26). Writer and director Kimberly Peirce seems intent on refuting this view of Tisdel as innocent victim or accidental lesbian by producing “a tragic love story, which is the heart of the movie, the point at which everybody can enter.”11 Each film’s multiple scenes of passionate sex fit the heterosexual romantic genre but also demonstrate how the cis partner’s growing love is linked to their willingness to accept their partner’s gender identity and body, not despite their body—or more specifically, their genitalia. For Lana, the reveal is Brandon’s female jail cell, but she still refutes his explanation: “Shut up! That’s your business. I don’t care if you’re half-monkey or halfape.” In their next sex scene, she asks to pleasure him sexually—“I want to touch you the way you touch me… to make you feel what I feel”—though he refuses. Barry’s desire for Calpernia is obvious when he views her on stage and then embraces her afterwards. He makes a similar request in their first extended sexual encounter, telling Calpernia after she fellates him, “I want to make you come.” Each director thus recognizes the need to establish not only the cis partner’s sexual desire but, more importantly, their concern with their partner’s satisfaction, distancing them from “chasers” like Chris in Gun Hill Road. Peirce provides an innovative solution to the problematic timing of Brandon’s disclosure. During their first sexual encounter prior to Brandon’s arrest, the camera pans down to reveal Brandon’s dildo as he penetrates Lana and then cuts to Lana’s puzzled face. Peirce then uses a POV shot down Brandon’s shirt to show his bound breasts. Lana’s scrutiny continues afterwards as she touches his crotch and then his face. By jump cutting between the sex scene and Lana’s bedroom where Lana is later questioned by her friends, Peirce again privileges Lana’s viewpoint. She coyly refuses to answer their question if they “did it” by answering “what do you think?” but also lies: “then we took off our clothes and went swimming.” Although the narrative focus might appear to confirm the truth of Brandon’s biological sex with Lana’s bodily inquiry, this fact is “not presented as costly disavowal, as tragic misrecognition” (White, “Girls,” 220). Lying to her friends is not an evasion nor regretful self-­ rationalization as she displays neither disgust nor uneasiness, enabling

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Peirce to endorse Brandon’s male identity even in a situation when Brandon could be stereotyped as a sexual “deceiver” (Serano 37). The fact that each trans character acquiesces to their partner’s requests to pleasure them is even more important since the genre uses mutual sexual satisfaction to endorse passion as a requirement of transcendent love. In Boys, the last sex scene occurs after Brandon’s release from the hospital due to his sexual assault by John and Tom. Lana asks about his past and reiterates their fantasy of running away together. She also praises Brandon as “pretty,” but says, “I don’t know if I’m gonna know how to do it,” an oblique cunnilingus reference, which, some critics argue, means she categorizes sex with him as “different … [than] having sex with a man” (Willox 420; see also Esposito, 237; Halberstam, Queer 90). However, I disagree that Brandon’s male identity has been undermined. First, the camera stays on Lana’s face, not Brandon’s body, so his breasts are not visible, showing Peirce has “direct[ed] the [camera’s] gaze away from Brandon’s transsexuality” (Cooper 57). Second, the post-coital scene presents them lying topless, face to face, another sign of their sexual reciprocity, and finally, she restates her love, displaying no regret. Soldier’s Girl goes further than Boys by explicitly depicting their sexual reciprocity. Their first sexual encounter integrates traditional romantic elements—lengthy shots of the two kissing and undressing, culminating with a close-up of Barry’s face, lying prone while Calpernia kisses him down his chest and then contorting in pleasure as she fellates him off camera. Immediately he tells her, “I want to make you come,” which she smilingly refuses. In the same setting for their final sex scene, their positions are reversed as he refuses her protests that he will “spoil everything” if he encounters her penis. The last love scene in each film integrates another romantic element, an “us against the world” mentality, since they have already received threats from their attackers (Todd 28). Thus, they are even more impactful because each cis partner reaffirms the stability of their partner’s gender identity against hostile denials. In Boys, Lana does so to her mother and friends in front of Brandon, even though her lie, “I seen him in the full flesh. I seen [his penis]. I know he’s a man,” does not prevent their first sexual assault to expose his vagina. Barry disputes Calpernia’s assertion that a vaginoplasty will make her “more myself,” claiming, “you don’t need this” as he caresses her lovingly. Explicit verbal confirmations are necessary to dispel the belief that either is too naïve or unwilling to acknowledge their physiology. The films may further confirm their heterosexual identity when neither cis partner is shown enjoying oral sex while referencing their sexual inexperience with the act.

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This complex balancing act therefore does not require either director to elide the potential interpretation of same-sex genital interaction as “queer.” Instead each film includes a moment of self-doubt. In Boys Lana’s hesitation is subtle, since, after telling Brandon they will run away together, she gazes at him with surprise when he enters her bedroom, asking why his hair looks different. A moment later, she turns away when he tries to kiss her. While this slight may be interpreted as another moment in the film when “the camera’s gaze scrutinizes Brandon’s body, presumably searching for markers, … incompatible with ‘boy,’” Brandon instead interprets her fear more logically about leaving home (Esposito 238). Soldier’s Girl has a more straight-forward conversation that explicitly addresses Barry’s sexual orientation. Calpernia, in a jealous response to his refusal to attend her pageant, asks him if he is seeing someone else, “a boy or a girl?” When he says he doesn’t “know what I am,” she exclaims he will “not use [her] to find out!” The directors’ decision to make such moments transitory, though, is more significant than their presence in the romantic trajectory. These momentary reservations remind the cis audience that each cis partner is fully aware of the definitional limitations in heterosexuality but moves past their concerns. Of course, given their factual origin, the audience probably knows the relationship’s outcome. On one hand, presenting their love as enduring beyond death is another romantic convention, particularly with each film’s “flashbacks and voiceover narration” (Todd 31). The last scene in Boys shows Lana driving a car, presumably leaving her small town as they had planned, with a voiceover of Brandon’s last letter to her that ends, “I’ll be waiting for you. I love always and forever.” When his voiceover concludes, the camera frames a close-up of her smiling face. Soldier’s Girl returns to the opening scene of Calpernia performing onstage, but now the audience realizes that this is the pageant that takes place the same night Barry is murdered. Her voiceover concludes with an avowal of her enduring love, as seen in this chapter’s epigraph. On the other hand, these final moments move beyond convention. Since gender identity, like sexual orientation, is unfairly considered a choice, these voiceovers confirm the remaining partner’s lack of regret. Unfortunately, though, the transphobic violence is still presented as an inevitable result, so ultimately neither asks more of its cisgender audience beyond a condemnation of the degree, not the presence, of transphobia. Therefore, regardless of whether the cis audience accepts or rejects the director’s affirmation of the trans character’s gender authenticity, cisnormativity is reestablished by the impossibility of cis/trans love.

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Post-death transcendence is more literal in Ryan Murphy’s anthologized horror series, American Horror Story, when season 5, Hotel (FX, 2015–2016), includes a romance between trans feminine Liz Taylor and Tristan, a younger cis man. Again played by a cis male actor (Denis O’Hare), Liz’s medical transition is presumably prohibited by her inability to leave the hotel, which is under the control of the Countess, a powerful vampire, but this does not cloud her strong female identity (Bell). Liz is a loyal employee because the Countess kills her transphobic co-workers and affirms her female authenticity (FX, 2015, S05, Ep5). Therefore, Liz’s romantic relationship with Tristan, one of the Countess’ many lovers, is presumably doomed upon its introduction in episode 6. Granted, the initial scene of their romance is loving and sensual, on par with the series’ other explicit sex scenes. Their dialogue also makes their devotion—and Tristan’s acceptance of her female identity—overt; Tristan reiterates “I’m not gay,” as Liz confirms, “I’m a hetero girl” (FX, 2015, S05, Ep6). Like these previous examples, viewers of the series most likely expect a violent end, which occurs when the Countess kills Tristan in front of Liz, leaving Liz to lament his absence for the rest of the season, another trans woman doomed to a loveless life. Their ghosts reunite in the last episode after Liz herself dies, as if to suggest that cis/trans romances can only exist in another supernatural realm (FX, 2015, S05, Ep12). A more common way romantic narratives maintain cisnormative bias is to use post-transition failure to end the romance. Although some logically place the failure in the cis partner’s consistent sexual orientation, others also presume that the trans feminine partner has switched her attraction from female to male persons.12 The disgust trans women exhibit from male sexual advances is reversed in post-transition scenes for films like The Christine Jorgensen Story (Rapper, 1970) and The Woman Inside (Van Winkle, 1981). These early models fit the psychiatric-medical rhetoric which requires full genital transition and a post-operative heterosexual identity (Califia 54–55; Meyerowitz 192–193). Yet post-transition romances are similarly rejected as impossible. Centralizing the pre-transition marriage as the romantic barrier to enduring love occurs first in a television adaptation of Renée Richards’ best-selling autobiography, Second Serve (1983), in 1986. Second Serve does not benefit from casting a cis female actor, Vanessa Redgrave, since there are no loving scenes between the couple even when Richards lived as male. A later example, the HBO film Normal (Anderson, 2003), does includes a sex scene between a middle-aged trans woman, Ruth, and her

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wife Irma during the course of her transition—perhaps because Ruth is played by cis male actor Tom Wilkinson. Ruth’s transition is a problem for her parents, children, and wife, so the film provides Irma multiples scenes to showcase her anger at Ruth’s disclosure. Irma allows Ruth to return when Ruth turns suicidal after her father’s rejection, but this reconciliation does not rekindle their passion. Instead, the only sex scene is a poignant goodbye to their heterosexual relationship on the eve of Ruth’s gender confirmation surgery. The transition is presented as the obstacle to their happily-ever-after, despite their final scene of cohabitation with their preteen daughter. Irma’s love, like Crystal’s in Orange is the New Black, now presumably transcends sexual desire to become a desexualized friendship. Cisnormativity is then reestablished when each woman takes a new cis male lover, Irma with Ruth’s ex-boss and Crystal with her pastor (Netflix, 2013, S01, Ep9). The melodramatic balancing of a wife’s selfless suffering against her “husband’s” selfish transition anchors The Danish Girl (Hooper, 2015). The film constructs its own version of Danish painter Einar Wegener’s transition to Lili Elbe in the 1920s, discounting earlier views of Einar as asexual prior to transitioning with scenes that establish their passionate compatibility (Hoyer; Ebershoff). The film’s most sexually explicit scene, however, connects Einar’s burgeoning female identity with a coital gender role swap. An earlier playfulness showcasing Gerda’s feminism is now replaced by Gerda’s dominance and Lili’s submission. She removes Lili’s male clothing to discover her own silk slip, prompting her controlling attitude and physically dominant position on top, which also enables the camera to stay focused on Gerda’s nudity. A later sex scene foreshadows their relationship’s failure when Gerda again initiates sex, first by kissing Lili and then trying to fellate her out of camera range. Although the camera focuses on Lili, she contorts not in pleasure but in pain, crying, “no!” and ending the moment. The script emphasizes the scene’s purpose: “The attempt at intimacy is over, failed. Einar’s full of guilt, distress. Gerda’s hurt, lost” (Coxon). Thus, romantic failure is synonymous with non-­ cisnormative sexual interactions. Even Lili characterizes their marital dissolution as her fault: “I don’t think I can give you what you want…. I don’t know how much longer we can go on like this.” The film might affirm Lili’s female authenticity, but this melodramatic focus on Gerda’s suffering turns an early transition biography into a romantic tragedy. Even her surgeon confirms for Gerda, “I can help your husband. But he won’t be your husband when I’ve finished.” Once again, the cis partner is given

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a romantic replacement, Einar’s childhood friend Hans, while Lili’s burgeoning romance with a cis man fails since he is a gay man and only interested in cross-dressing Einar, not female Lili. Since Lili dies after undertaking a final surgery, even the transcendence of their love is depicted as sisterly friendship. Cis/trans romances between trans masculine and cis female characters have hardly succeeded where their counterparts have failed. Adam’s on-­ again/off-again romance with Becky on the long-running Canadian series Degrassi: The Next Generation (popular with U.S. audiences through Teen Nick) ends with his death in a car accident (2013, S13, Ep7). Granted, Adam has multiple relationships with cisgender girls during the three seasons he appears (2010–2013, S10–12), but his transgender identity is consistently a barrier for cis friends and girlfriends due to transphobic peers and adults. Even his final relationship is only somewhat successful. First his transition is its main obstacle at the start due to Becky’s conservative Christian beliefs (2012, S12, Ep19). Adam must constantly reassures her of their heterosexuality, particularly when the tension is transferred onto her family, who refuse to affirm him as male (2012, S12, Ep21–22, 28). Their teen romance is primarily played out through kisses, but the omnipresent melodrama in this teen drama creates another conflict, Adam’s jealousy about her friendship with a cisgender boy (2013, S13, Ep5). Even though his death in a car accident is meant to exemplify the dangers of texting and driving (S13, Ep6), it also frees Becky to start a cisnormative relationship and presumes that cis/trans love cannot endure. Aaron, another trans masculine character with a cis girlfriend, appears on another melodramatic teen drama, which, like Degrassi, is also heralded for its many queer characters: Freeform’s The Fosters (2013–2018). Aaron’s characterization over the series’ last two seasons (2016–2018) does critique transphobic institutions, like Aaron’s arrest without matching legal identification (2018, S05, Ep14). But nothing is more significant in his story arc than his romance with Callie, a cis female teen adopted by an interracial lesbian couple. Their romance starts gradually, as does Aaron’s introduction to the audience, since disclosure occurs after their first kiss and in his third appearance (2016, S04, Ep6). The friendship rightly riles her boyfriend, AJ, who at first discounts Aaron’s competition due to his gender history until Callie asserts: “Aaron’s no less of a man than you are. Just because he’s trans would never stop me from dating him” (2017, S04, Ep11). It is season 5 that led the press to call their romance “groundbreaking” and television “history,” when they start

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having sex (Romero; DeVoe). The series emphasizes less Aaron and Callie’s difference from other young heterosexual couples, like Penny Dreadful, than their similarity, though their discussions about trust and communication specify Aaron’s trans status (2017, S05, Ep4). As one reviewer notes about their first sex scene a few episodes later (2017, S05, Ep7), its occurrence is “a pretty big deal … [but] it’s just nice to have a story about two young people who took things slow until they were both ready to move forward” (Fremont). Unfortunately, this loving moment is short-lived, as their romance later ends due to Aaron’s jealousy over AJ (2017, S05, Ep9). Since The Fosters retains Aaron and Callie’s friendship, it is unclear if their breakup is simply another casualty in the heroine’s ongoing emotional turmoil, but the passing mention of Amanda, another cis female girlfriend, at least avoids dooming him to loneliness. But like Degrassi, The Fosters cannot sustain an unproblematic cis/trans heterosexual relationship, as if, once again, the trans character loses relevance without transphobic conflict. The tragic end of these cis/trans romances in the majority of visual media does not negate their significance within the romantic drama genre per se. Indeed, “the ultimate separation of the passionate lovers (usually due to circumstances beyond their control)” is a hallmark of the genre, if not the central feature distinguishing it from the romantic comedy genre, which often ends in marriage or cohabitation (Todd 26, 27). However, these “circumstances” usually refer to events beyond the lovers’ control, like war, disaster, mortal illness, or supernatural elements, or to persons, usually parents, whom the lovers can then easily defy, unlike institutional oppression (Todd 26, 81).13 Even though these examples document systemic transphobia in the law, health care, or military, such institutions appear as unmovable, abstract obstacles, allowing the audience to witness and empathize with the tragedy without having to examine their own cisnormative assumptions or challenge transphobic policies or practices. Conversely, when the trans character is faced with harassment, violence, or death, the tragic outcome is attributed to a violent few. Thus, rather than a depersonalized circumstance like World War II or an iceberg tearing the lovers apart, these tragic romances overpersonalize the circumstances in order to appeal to the average cisgender viewer. Cisnormativity remains unchallenged while the cis audience can feel confident that as long as they do not rape or murder a transgender person, they are not transphobic.

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Show Me the (Queer) Love As noted, many of the heterosexual cis/trans love stories end these relationships through violence or post-transition failure, so each validates the importance of sexual passion in a different way. The meaningfulness of the sexual act either validates or invalidates their compatibility as a heterosexual couple. When the focus is upon a same-sex cis/trans relationship, their sexual passion registers differently. For queer theorists like Michael Warner, “the frank refusal to repudiate sex” is a necessary component of the modern gay rights movement (75). In the history of televisual representations, however, queer passion proved initially too risky for mainstream film and television. Coming out narratives in the late 1970s and early 1980s deliberately avoided sex and romance to downplay stereotypes of gay promiscuity and sexual avarice, as did later AIDS-era films like Philadelphia (Demme, 1993) and The Birdcage (Nichols, 1996) (Gross). Television doomed gay characters to a paltry love life on both dramas like Melrose Place (Fox, 1992–1999) and sitcoms like Spin City (ABC, 1996–2002); same-sex weddings of supporting characters in the 1990s on popular shows like Northern Exposure (CBS, 1994, S04, Ep21) and Friends (NBC, 1996, S02, Ep11) avoided even a ceremonial kiss (Tropiano 124–125; Gross 91–92). Drag queen protagonists were also consistently desexualized, even when their past relationships are crucial to the plot, shown in To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (Kidron, 1995), Flawless (Schumacher, 1999), and Holiday Heart (Showtime, 2000).14 The new century is heralded as a definitive shift in popular media’s coverage of same-sex romance, enabled by niche series on cable television channels, particularly The L Word (Showtime, 2004–2009), Six Feet Under (HBO, 2001–2005), Noah’s Arc (LOGO, 2005–2006), and Queer as Folk (Showtime, 1999–2005). Queer scholars, though, question their ability to disrupt heteronormativity since the melodramatic conflict inherent in the genre often prevents a “happily-ever-after conclusion” (Demory 77; Brown and Westbrook; Chambers 85–103; Yep and Elia). Same-sex desire was still less visible in network television, even on the popular Will & Grace (NBC, 1998–2005), yet eventually network dramas with ensemble casts could take more chances, such as in Grey’s Anatomy (ABC, 2005– present), E.R. (NBC, 1994–2009), and Brothers & Sisters (ABC, 2006–2011). In a post-Lawrence v. Texas (2003) landscape, U.S. popular media eventually affirmed romance as another realm of equality that should be accessible to all couples. This is not to suggest that same-sex

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storylines follow conventions of traditional romantic narratives, even today. Eroticism in same-sex relationships continues to be muted or invisible when compared to heterosexual couples in the 2000s (Kuorikoski 57–58; Bond 109–112; Raley and Lucas 30–31; Moddelmog). The eroticism between the doomed male lovers in Brokeback Mountain (Lee, 2005) is an important exception, but one that replicates rather than confronts heteronormative attitudes. Straight female audiences flocked to the film as they already prefer “a certain type of gay man… [who] is white, masculine, straight-acting, good-looking, and, therefore, sympathetic” (McBride 97). The pre-Stonewall setting and tragic ending are similarly attractive, since heterosexual “audiences can shed a tear for the tragically unfulfilled love between men, affirming the humanity of the two protagonists … [but the conclusion] leaves intact all the inequalities and ideological barriers that stand in the way of the social acceptance of love between two men” (Piontek 129). The success and sexual eroticism of Todd Haynes’ Carol (2015) recalls these same critiques. The pre-Stonewall America setting again confirms rather than denies the “impossibility of their romance,” ultimately refusing a “homo-normative world of happily ever after” (White, “Sketchy” 12, 17). Such films, then, represent less a benchmark for shifting American morality than a demonstration that “the only thing … U.S. filmgoers … like more than a love story is a story of star-crossed lovers,” particularly when they can deflect the need to confront institutional oppression and pretend homophobic violence is in the past (McBride 960). It is not coincidental, as I previously explained, that doomed love stories are still the most common means for trans characters to inhabit a romantic narrative. Even in the latest decade, onscreen same-sex couples have not necessarily validated queer passion. Narrative popular media as a whole continues to relegate same-sex relationships to a desexualized sphere in drastic contrast to their heterosexual counterparts, a pattern visible in 2010s shows like Modern Family (ABC, 2009–2020) and Happy Endings (ABC, 2011–2013) (Martin; Cavalcante). Same-sex couples instead gain legitimacy by validating the heterosexual norms of monogamy, upward mobility, and conventional gender expression, through “homodomesticity … an assimilationist conservatism in the asexual, depoliticized, and domesticated version of gayness it advances” (Doran 102; Avila-Saavedra; Khamis and Lambert 121–123). Domesticity neutralizes the politically unpalpable queerness of the relationship to advance a more acceptable asexual monogamous and domestic couple, also seen in recent films The Kids Are All

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Right (Cholodenko, 2010) and Love is Strange (Sachs, 2014), but even gay teens have few scenes to represent their passion in Love, Simon (Berlanti, 2018) and Call Me By Your Name (Guadagnino, 2018).15 Their acceptance into the heterosexual mainstream requires distancing from their own queer community through a deliberately “apolitical and domesticated framework” (Cavalcante 464). Three recent television series that present same-sex romance erotically also demonstrate the continued gap between the slow but steady increase in explicit same-sex romance narratives and the paucity of cis/trans ones. Ugly Betty (ABC, 2006–2010), Glee (Fox, 2009–2015) and Orange is the New Black (Netflix, 2013–2019) are heralded for their affirmation of same-sex relationships, but their trans feminine characters remain desexualized (Lehman 93, 95–97; DeCarvalho and Cox; Sarkissian 151–154; Kohnen 29–31). Indeed, the frank and varied depictions of same-sex sexuality seem incongruous with its celibate trans characters. Neither Ugly Betty’s Alexis Meade (Rebecca Romijn), Glee’s Unique Adams (Alex Newell), nor OITNB’s Sophia Burset (Laverne Cox) are ever provided a valid, passionate romance with either a male or female character in the series; Unique may have crushes (Fox, 2013, S04, Ep13), Alexis a lover only when he is paid by her father (Fox, 2007, S01, Ep21), and Sophia her wife (Netflix, 2013, S01, Ep3), but none are given the opportunity to express sexual desire for another person or have that person reciprocate in kind. Casting is an irrelevant factor as these three present the range of choices for a trans feminine character: a cis female actor (Romijn), a cis male actor16 (Newell), and a trans woman (Cox). Ironically, Nip/Tuck’s budding relationship between a recurring trans feminine character and a regular cis lesbian character also ends due to the trans woman’s heterosexuality (Nip/Tuck, 2003, S01, Ep9). As Hilary Malatino summarizes for OITNB, “trans feminine sexuality remains an unbreachable frontier for the writers and directors” (103). It makes more sense, then, that passion between transitioning trans masculine characters and lesbian-identified cis female characters appear primarily in queer contexts construed to validate same-sex female sexuality. The independent comedy, Itty Bitty Titty Committee (Babbit, 2007), focuses upon a radical lesbian-feminist activist organization which accepts trans masculine Aggie, since, as one activist explains, “Aggie gets a free pass for being born with a clit.” However, the main character, a new lesbian recruit, sleeps with him to attract the attention of her actual cisgender romantic interest, Sadie, then immediately rejects him. The film thus

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presents Aggie as outside her partner network, even as it allegedly validates his membership within her friend network. The film’s inclusion of a trans man within a lesbian community may be tangential but references a debate described as the “Butch/FTM borderlands” by Hale and Halberstam in 1998 (see also J. T. Weiss; Hansbury; Noble). The Showtime series The L Word in season 3 (2006) covers this controversy more extensively with a transitioning trans masculine male character who joins a wealthy, white lesbian community through his romantic partner.17 In each case, Aggie and Max’s connection to the queer female community is treated as either irrelevant or ambivalent. Max’s rationale for gender transition is consistently viewed as suspect, even beyond direct statements like “why can’t you be the butchest butch in the world and keep your body?” (2006, S03, Ep9). His move to L.A. is criticized as taking advantage of girlfriend Jenny (2006, S03, Ep7), his hormone therapy is illogically presented as an impetus to intimate partner abuse (2006, S03, Ep9), and his envy for a heterosexual cisgender man’s wife and child (2006, S03, Ep9) and desire for a stable job at a “boring” tech company (2006, S03, Ep10) are similarly denigrated, even when he loses his job due to a transphobic boss. The series instead affirms Jenny’s belief that he desires heteronormativity, as she frames his gender authenticity as a de facto rejection of queerness when she accuses him of forgetting that, “you’re always going to be one of the others. You’re like us” (2006, S03, Ep10; Deller 176). Since Max’s gender identity is positioned as antithetical to the queer community, even his same-sex relationships with cis male lovers Billie and Tom fail, another way his male authenticity is disputed (2006, S03, Ep7; 2009, S06, Ep4). Max’s initially stable romantic relationship with Tom (2008, S05, Ep9) sets up their happiness as transitory since Tom abandons him after Max’s unplanned pregnancy (2009, S06, Ep4, 6). Still the only trans masculine pregnancy in a scripted film or television series, Max’s parenthood again “undermine[s] his masculinity and reclassif[ies] him as” female (Beirne 34). The series not only denies Max a happily-ever-after, but also his male identity, a situation reinforced by the casting, as with Aggie, of a cis female actor (Daniela Sea and Lauren Mollica respectively). Later same-sex male relationships actually model passionate and supportive cis/trans relationships. The MTV sitcom Faking It (2016, S03, Ep4–10) and Showtime’s dramedy Shameless (2016, S07, Ep4–10; 2017–2018, S08, Ep1–12) add a recurring trans male character, both played by trans male actor Elliot Fletcher, as a love interest for regular cis

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male gay characters. Neither Noah (Faking) and Trevor (Shameless) is ambivalent about his queer or masculine identity. Perhaps predictably for a teen sitcom, Noah’s identity is initially a “cis surprise” in Faking It; after Shane’s flirtation with a new boy ends in a passionate kiss (2016, S03, Ep7), Shane becomes convinced that “he’s hiding something,” which leads to Noah’s disclosure (S03, Ep8). Shameless similarly introduces the mutual attraction between Ian and Trevor before Trevor discloses, but, as a cable series, Shameless does so more explicitly and profanely. Trevor, in fact, has assumed that Ian knew his history because Ian admires his “charm,” a pendant with the trans symbol, so he responds angrily when Ian expresses surprise that Trevor’s “dick” is “made of silicone” (2016, S07, Ep4). Neither cis male gay man responds appropriately afterwards. Ian asks, “you’re a chick?” and repeatedly references Trevor’s genitalia. Although Shane initially affirms, “it doesn’t change the way I feel about you,” he spends the next episode obsessively wondering, as he later tells Noah, if dating him would “take away my gay card” (2016, S03, Ep9). Noah then rejects Shane since, as Noah rightly points out, “you don’t see me as fully male” (S03, Ep9). Yet each series demonstrates for the cis audience that the “cis problem” of trans identity is more logically a problem the cis character must resolve on his own. Trevor delivers a Trans 101 lesson for Ian and the audience by introducing him to his friends from “the LGBTQIA center,” including a self-identified, “gender-fluid heteroromantic demisexual mutt” and “cisgendered girl-fag” (S07, Ep4), so the inclusion of a trans community makes Trevor more realistic than Shane, Aggie, or Max. Ian’s equivocation, though, remains focused on Trevor’s genitals over the next few episodes. He tells a work friend, “I really like the guy. And he’s hot … [but]I don’t know if I can suck silicone cock” (S07, Ep5) and then his siblings that he’s been “making out with a guy with a vagina …. I’m trying to wrap my head around it” (S07, Ep6). Shane, in contrast, never disrespects Noah’s request that only Noah discloses his gender history to their mutual friends, but Noah only believes Shane’s apology after Shane stands up for Noah in front of his transphobic brother, declaring that Noah “is a dude and always has been. You know how I know? Because I’m super (BLEEP) gay, and I couldn’t be more gay for your brother” (S03, Ep10). Ian eventually discusses his concerns about “silicone cocks” with Trevor as their sexual relationship moves forward, eventually overcoming his concerns in a sexually explicit discussion of trust and communication parallel to The Fosters’ PG version (S07, Ep9). Similarly, by placing their fight and

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reconciliation in context with another same-sex couple, Sabrina and Amy, who are similarly reunited in this episode after a series of relationship conflicts, Faking It asserts that, like The Fosters, cis/trans romantic relationships are as legitimate in their sexual identities as cis relationships. Although Faking It immediately ended its run after this episode and Shameless later ends Trevor and Ian’s relationship due to Ian’s unstable mental health, both series remain a model of validated cis/trans romance. At the same time, both Faking It and Shameless can keep their relationship under the queer umbrella. Although each belongs there given the character’s sexual identity, this decision is less controversial for queer cis audiences who follow these shows and may not require Trevor’s LGBTQIA lecture. At the same time, when characters like Ian have previously dated cis women, the audience does not have to authenticate the trans character’s gender to validate the romance. In contrast, Sense8 (Netflix, 2015–2017) offers a more radical approach by suggesting that the boundaries between queer and heterosexual are more flexible and fluid without invalidating the trans character’s womanhood. Nomi’s cisgender girlfriend Amanita (Fig. 5.4) never questions either’s lesbian orientation nor waivers in her view of Nomi as a woman, and the most explicit scene of transphobia in the first season occurs when Amanita defends Nomi’s female

Fig. 5.4  Nomi (Jamie Clayton) and Amanita (Freema Agyeman), Sense8 (Amazon, 2015, S01, Ep2)

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authenticity to her lesbian friends. Thus, Amanita’s morality is actually enhanced by her willingness to stand with and defend her partner’s gender identity and sexual orientation to her own community, rather than accept the situation as “strange” or at least confusing, like Ian and Shane, as well as the cis male partners on Sons of Anarchy (FX, 2012,  S05, Ep5), The Outsiders (WGN, 2016, S01, Ep1) and Life is Hot in Cracktown (Giovinazzo, 2009). This commitment is not the only reason Sense8’s cis/ trans romance is revelatory. Although a part of the series’ endorsement of queer sexuality, Nomi and Amanita’s “transcendent love” models for the other characters, queer and heterosexual, how passion, commitment, and trust characterize the ideal relationship. The series even ends with the couple’s wedding and concludes with a series of scenes in which each major character has joyful and loving sex with one or more partners at the same time as Nomi and Amanita (S02, Ep12). Since Sense8’s creators are two trans women, Lana and Lily Wachowski, this narrative endorsement follows other prominent trans celebrities and activists who argue that cis/trans romantic relationships should be less stigmatized, including Janet Mock and Caitlyn Jenner, many of whom are heterosexual (Bartow and Jenner).18 These authors rightly point out that due to the rigidity of the sexual orientation dichotomy, a trans person is always and unfairly perceived as a threat to heteronormativity. Mock and Laverne Cox’s response to the Mister Cee scandal may have helped promote the importance of including trans feminine voices in this conversation, particularly because it is their own relationships and identities which are under scrutiny (“Laverne Cox”). Despite support for and from the larger queer community, their critique rightly places blame on a rigid a traditional heterosexual model that should be expanded rather than queer all sexual combinations outside of cisgender heterosexuality.

Notes 1. Nicole Richter asserts that such non-sexual relationships can still “alter dominant codes of what intimacy is supposed to be,” as friendship can create “individual freedom and happiness,” but friendship, no matter how poignant, cannot never displace the cultural dominance of passionate love (165, 166). 2. An interesting exception is an early British comedy-drama, Different for Girls (Spence, 1996), as the childhood friends who reunite as adults develop a romantic relationship, even though the trans female protagonist,Kim, is played by a cisgender male actor (Steven Macintosh).

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3. In contrast, the trans gay man involved in the romantic duo in the German film Romeos (Bernardi, 2011) is played by a cis male actor, Rick Okon, which perhaps is why the film displays more explicit sexual interactions. 4. Chapter 4 discusses the cis/trans romance on All That Glitters in 1977 but it aired on late night syndication. 5. This is the last scene where Vanessa presents as she wishes, with a feminine gender expression. For the rest of the film, she wears male clothes to interact with her parents as “Michael.” 6. As the conclusion points out, Pose in later seasons presents a positive and affirming cis/trans romance between Papi and Angel, culminating in their wedding (FX, S03, Ep6, 2021). 7. Assassination Nation (Levinson, 2018), a violent teen dramedy, does as well with its teen protagonist, Bex. When she feels rejected by her first sexual partner, Diamond, her female friends characterize him as another “fuck-­boy” who uses girls for sex. Later, however, when the town devolves into vigilante violence, his football teammates call him a “faggot” and force him to kidnap and almost kill Bex. When Bex “forgives” him after her friends have rescued her, there is little indication that their reconciliation is based on genuine emotion as they neither touch nor kiss before he leaves. 8. As Chap. 2 mentions, the cis male/trans female relationships in season 1 of Pose (FX, 2018) are initially displayed as passionate and reciprocal but eventually both Angel’s boyfriend Stan (S01, Ep7–8) and Elektra’s boyfriend Dick (S01, Ep4, 7) display characteristics of a “cis chaser” and the relationship fails. Only in season 2 (2019) does Angel find a loving cis male partner, her housemate Lil Papi, as the conclusion explains. 9. A similar scenario occurs in the Chilean film, A Fantastic Woman (Lelio, 2017), in which the trans feminine protagonist must battle her older boyfriend’s transphobic family, including his ex-wife and brother, after his death. 10. As with Boys Don’t Cry, I use first names when discussing the characters and last names when discussing actual events or persons involved. 11. From her director’s commentary on the DVD version. 12. In contrast, documentary films demonstrate that trans partners may shift orientation but not object choice, such as in From This Day Forward (Shattuck, 2015) and She’s A Boy I Knew (Haworth, 2008). However, I am not implying that sexual identity fluidity is either uncommon or inauthentic since many scholarly studies (Iantaffi and Bockting; Galupo, Mitchell and Davis; Katz-Wise, et al.) confirm it is. Instead I argue that media representations presume this shift. 13. Indeed, Todd suggests that institutional obstacles like racism and classism in traditional heterosexual romantic dramas were either more relevant in previous decades or in modern films with timelines in previous decades as if to suggest that such issues “are not as relevant in contemporary society” (26, 76).

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14. A loving and passionate relationship occurs between a drag queen, Rudy (Alan Cummings), and a closeted gay man, Paul (Garrett Dillahunt), in the film Any Day Now (2012), but here the tragedy occurs when they are unable to adopt a neighbor’s son with Down’s Syndrome and he dies in an accident. Thus the film’s publicity presents it as an indictment of the biased legal system that prevents same-sex couples from adopting (Van Hoeij). 15. James Ivory, the screenwriter and himself a gay man, has insisted that Guagnino removed explicit love scenes from his script, although it is unclear if this was the preference of the director or the heterosexual cis men cast as the leads (Vivarelli). 16. Newell now identifies as gender non-conforming (Damshenas), but as recently as 2016, after Glee’s run had ended, still identified as a cisgender male or “black gay boy,” so I presume the casting of Glee related to this identity (Azzopardi). 17. Two earlier characters, Lisa (season 1) and Ivan (seasons 1–2), are presented as genderqueer but I have excluded them here since they have little screen time and character development. Their purpose is primarily to trouble the sexual orientation of their partners, bisexual Alice and heterosexual Kit respectively, as they then disappear after rejection (Beirne 25–28). 18. Others include Tourjee in Broadly, Reid on HuffPost (The Establishment); Willis on Buzzfeed; Thom on Everyday Feminism; and Samantha Allen on The Daily Beast.

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White, Patricia. “Girls Still Cry.” Screen, vol. 42, no. 2, 2001, pp. 217–221, patriciawhite.swarthmore.edu/wp-­content/uploads/2015/02/White-­Patricia-­ Boys-­Dont-­Cry-­Debate.pdf. ———. “Sketchy Lesbians: Carol as History and Fantasy.” Film Quarterly, vol. 69, no. 2, Winter 2015, pp. 8–18, https://doi.org/10.1525/fq.2015.69.2.8. Will & Grace. Created by David Kohan and Max Mutchnick, performances by Debra Messing and Eric McCormack, Seasons 1–11, NBC, 1998–2006, 2017–2020. Williams, Linda. Screening Sex. Duke University Press, 2008. Willis, Raquel. “The Transgender Dating Dilemma.” Buzzfeed, 7 Oct. 2015, buzzfeed.com/raquelwillis/the-­transgender-­dating-­dilemma. Willox, Annabelle [Dino]. “Branding Teena: (Mis)Representations in the Media.” Sexualities, vol. 6, no. 3–4, Nov. 2003, pp.  407–425, https://doi.org/ 10.1177/136346070363009. Wiseman, Eve. “Radical Women: Candis Cayne.” The Observer, 9 Mar. 2008: 31. Factiva. Yep, Gust A., and John P.  Elia. “Racialized Masculinities and the New Homonormativity in LOGO’s Noah’s Arc.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 59, no. 7, 2012, pp. 890–911, https://doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2012.699827.

CHAPTER 6

Trans Criminality: From Dangerous Sociopaths to Sassy Hookers

We’re not the monsters. The real freaks are the suits-and-ties who want to take a walk on the wild side before sneaking back to the wife and kids. Wanna go? —Mercedes (Jazzmun) to CSI investigators CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (CBS, 2004, S05, Ep8)

Television and film crime dramas, which include police and legal procedurals, forensic or private investigators, and dramatic thrillers that unravel a crime or criminal network, remain a very popular and prolific genre in visual media. According to an aggregate analysis of primetime network series in television history, this genre’s popularity is evident in the list of most-watched shows for more than ten seasons, which includes CSI: Crime Scene Investigations for 15 seasons (CBS, 2000–2015); NCIS for 14 seasons (CBS, 2003–2018); Criminal Minds (CBS, 2003–2018) and Law & Order each for 12 seasons (NBC, 1990–2010); Murder She Wrote for 11 seasons (CBS, 1984–1996); and Law & Order: SVU (NBC, 1999–2018) and NYPD Blue (ABC, 1993–2005) for 10 each (“Top-­ Rated”). Some have spanned a franchise, as seen by NCIS (four series), CSI (three series), and Law & Order (six series). Crime series also dominate the channels in any one season; one recent analysis reveals that crime © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1_6

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was the most represented genre in the top 100 most-watched shows in the 2018–2019 season, similarly making up more than 60% of the prime-time lineup in fall 2019 for the four major networks (Color of Change 9). Although traditional crime thrillers no longer dominant the box office like they did with films like Heat (Mann, 1995), Donnie Brasco (Newell, 1997), and American Gangster (Scott, 2007), thrillers with similar conflicts, particularly outcasts battling a criminal system, remain a reliable showcase for male action stars, as seen recently in The Accountant (O’Connor, 2016), Jack Reacher: Never Go Back (Zwick, 2016) and The Equalizer 2 (Fuqua, 2018). For my analysis, the crime genre is relevant due to its need for victims and villains (or perpetrators). For this reason, they are more transphobic than other genres which consistently rely on trans characters because they affirm the view that trans persons deceive others by illegitimately representing their gender (and sexual) identity and deserve punishment for doing so. Like crime journalism, this genre frames their “deception” as “trespassing” because they have asserted the right to be considered as legitimately male or female as their cisgender counterparts (Billard 470). The dutiful investigators, then, first unravel the “mystery” of this “deception” and then connect it to the perpetrator’s motivation. The epigraph to this chapter comes from such a plot on CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (CBS, 2004, S05, Ep8). Investigators are seeking information regarding the murder of a trans woman and in this scene interview Mercedes after learning about an unlicensed gender confirmation surgeon. She is desperate to explain the surgeon’s unethical practices which have harmed her and her friends, but responds with this comment to acknowledge the cisgender male investigators’ disgust for her and the other trans feminine people they have encountered in this setting. It is also notable that Mercedes, a black trans feminine character, is interviewed in the back room of a dark club wearing a short skirt and dark strapless top, so camera angles during this conversation heighten the sexual suggestiveness of such remarks by focusing on her upper torso with bare shoulders exposed and the top hardly visible. Despite being the victim of the unscrupulous doctor and a potential witness to a murder, then, Mercedes is suspect but also sexualized, an object of disdain but also fascination. This example and my analysis in Chaps. 6 and 7 will thus demonstrate the overlap between representations of trans characters whether perpetrators or victims, the former whose motivation to “deceive” presumably reflects their immorality and the latter who must be punished as “an invader of the

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dominant group who passes into the group to exploit the benefits of membership” (Billard 471). While Chap. 6 analyzes the trans criminal and Chap. 7 the trans victim, both reveal this key similarity, making it less consequential that the trans criminal has slowly decreased over the decades as the number of trans victims has increased. In fact, as I explain, the popularization of a trans feminine sex worker character, which began in 1980s films before infiltrating across film and television in the 1990s, shifted the representative example of trans criminality from psychopathic violence to aggressive transactional sexuality. Significantly, they are also played by primarily persons of color. Once again, then, popular culture’s function as a tool of surveillance over suspect communities inserts transphobic stereotypes into well-established racist, sexist, and classist hierarchies. The criminal investigator is crucial to this dynamic since they represent the disciplinary power of institutional surveillance. Citizens rely on the knowledge and power of the police to identify and contain threats to personhood and property, while other legal jurisdictions, such as documentation of citizenship, identify threats to national order. The policing of bodies is a key component of such regulation, both in the traditional sense, by limiting the physical freedom of those perceived as threats, and in the metaphorical sense, by defining what someone’s body means. The CSI investigators, Nick Stokes and Gil Grissom, are both cis heterosexuals and presented as unequivocally in charge of this momentary interaction. Mercedes’ provocative statement, “wanna go?”, may signify her categorization of the men as the “suit-and-ties,” but their bemused response to her offer—and her barely contained hostility—indicates a familiar power differential. She recognizes them as criminal justice authorities, even before they specify they are from “the Las Vegas Crime Lab,” and they her, as a sex worker, even before she responds, “isn’t this where you say my P.O. would be interested know that I’m hustling, and you ask for a freebie?” So while she provides crucial details about the criminal surgeon, the two appear indifferent to her suffering as a victim or as a friend to Tawney, whom they misgender when they ask Mercedes if she knew her. In their eyes, each woman’s trans identity marks her as “male,” but also positions her victim status as irrelevant, even opprobrious. Their status as investigative authorities as well as the series’ regular characters elevates this viewpoint even further. The purpose of surveillance, in other words, as a means of identifying threats and policing bodies is most likely endorsed by the characters and the audience alike, as is their cisnormative prejudice. As

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scholar Toby Beauchamp points out, “it is not that surveillance identifies bodies or subjects as inherently deviant, but that surveillance is one mechanism through which gender nonconformity is produced as such” (15). Ironically, then, systemic apparatuses which identify the criminal and the victim rely on the same definitional boundaries. As crime series often depict, criminality can exist on a continuum of justifiable extreme (e.g. a parent who murders the person who murdered the parent’s child) to inconceivable aberration (e.g. a parent who murders their own child). Similarly, the victim’s identity and circumstances may vary from happenstance, such as a wrong place, wrong time scenario, to irresponsible “invitation,” like when a thief follows an overly intoxicated person out of a bar. Characterization, in other words, presents a rationale for audience identification or disidentification in both cases. As a narrative medium, crime genres may justify either criminal acts or victimization, so that when a certain kind of body appears in a particular space at a particular time, such as an inebriated young woman in a bar at closing time, she is inculpated in a sexual assault against her own body. In contrast, a trans body needs only to be present and known as trans, since what the trans criminal and trans victim share is the need to be surveilled, based on their presumed incompatibility with cisgender society. Just as the trans character’s trans identity first rationalizes their criminal motivation, as I explain in Chap. 6, Chap. 7 will elucidate how their trans identity is a justification for their victimization. Even though the latter may seem like progress in this new era of trans visibility, particularly by replacing the presumption that trans identities are inherently violent, both narratives reestablish the invariability of the sex/ gender equation and gender binary while utilizing the anxiety of its variability to create suspense. The fact that Mercedes is a woman of color also reveals how race and class frame victimization, since non-white bodies are more likely to be subject to “the fantasy of aggression” in order to rationalize a violent outcome, which in turn replicates the power inequity by “refiguring the socially enjoined violence visited on vulnerable bodies as a defensive act on the part of the more powerful” (Salamon 89, 90). Since trans identities are conceptualized as a threat to cisnormativity, their existence alone similarly is interpreted as a threat. Gayle Salamon elucidates this distinction in her close examination of the legal and journalistic discourse surrounding the murder of 15-year-old trans feminine Latisha King in California in 2008. Since King was assigned male at birth, her female identity and feminine “gender presentation becomes interpreted as a form

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of sexual behavior, and that ‘behavior’ is marked and read as aggressive in order to legitimate the violence that is visited upon the gender-­transgressive person, violence with disciplinary and normativizing aims” (Salamon 31). Overall, crime and mystery narratives discount the possibility of a legitimate trans identity by presenting it as unattainable; whether through incarceration or death, the trans character conveniently disappears and with it, their quest for equality and their proof that the gender binary is not invariant.

Trans Murderers from Psycho to Sexy Media scholars have long recognized that the popularity of crime dramas as a genre is underscored by the genre’s preoccupation with murder, a consistent pattern from the mid-1970s until the present, even on shows not formulated around this crime, as Homicide (NBC, 1993–1999), Bones (Fox, 2005–2017), and the CSI franchise (CBS) are (Arntfield; Soulliere 14). Yet when dramatic narratives provide a rationale for the murder, whether an individual “weakness” or mental illness, these conclusions intentionally disassociate violent crime from socioeconomic causes (Soulliere 15). Indeed, American popular culture’s obsession with serial killers, as multiple scholars assert, is due to such narratives’ archetypal themes: good versus evil, fears of human psychological pathology, and society’s preoccupation with outliers of social norms (Bentham; Jarvis; Schmid). The trans psychotic killer, though, is a more recent phenomenon. This murderous stereotype existed in pulp fiction in the 1950s (e.g. Stuart Engstrand’s The Sling and Arrow, 1950; Mark Shane’s The Lady was a Man, 1958; Psycho by Robert Bloch, 1959) and transitioned in the 1960s to film in Psycho (Hitchcock, 1960) and television produced by the same person on Alfred Hitchcock Presents (NBC, 1965, S10, Ep17) (Stryker 77, 89; Sullivan). Ed Gein, a Wisconsin man who murdered two local women in the late 1950s, is often credited with linking gender dysphoria to femicide (Graxti 92; Schmid 268, n23). Recent scholarship suggests that this association was actually a media creation, based not on Gein’s psychiatric evaluations but on conjecture by investigators intentionally leaked to the press in 1957 (Sullivan). These representations, whether fictional, like in Psycho or The Silence of the Lambs (Demme, 1991), or nonfictional, such as the best-selling Deviant: The Shocking True Story of the Original Psycho (Schechter, 1998), thus circulate and reaffirm this link (Sullivan). Is it

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coincidental that first investigators and then the press seized on the “transvestism” motivations of Gein’s crime during one of the most homophobic decades in American history? Hardly. And fiction it is, as K.E.  Sullivan concludes: “In all of my extensive reading on mass murderers, serial killers, and sexual psychopaths, I have yet to come across a report of an actual transvestite or transsexual psychopath.” The popularity of Hitchcock’s version of a desexualized trans violent criminal led to multiple iterations on television crime dramas in the 1970s and 1980s and the occasional police buddy film, like Freebie and the Bean (1974), and low budget horror movies, including Three on a Meathook (1973), Deranged (1974), Deadly Blessing (1981), and Sleepaway Camp (1984) (Sullivan; Baker). All of the most popular crime series of these decades include it: The Streets of San Francisco (ABC, 1974, S03, Ep4); Switch (CBS, 1975, S01, Ep9); Police Woman (NBC, 1976, S02, Ep12); Vega$ (ABC, 1980, S02, Ep16); Charlie’s Angels (ABC, 1981, S05, Ep10); Magnum, P.I. (CBS, 1982, S02, Ep13); T.J. Hooker (ABC, 1984, S02, Ep13); and Matlock (ABC, 1986, S01, Ep3). Female criminal imposters also appear in comedic genres at this time (The American Way, Phillips, 1986; Surrender, Belson, 1987; A New Life, Alda, 1988; Cast a Deadly Spell, HBO, Campbell, 1991). In crime narratives, the criminal is usually “exposed” as a man by the astute heterosexual but not always male detective, while their pathetic personification of a “real” or cis woman is exposed as a key factor for their delusional or immoral behavior, disassociating female gender presentation from either drag or gender dysphoria. This desexualized version remains relevant well into the next decades (e.g. NYPD Blue, ABC, 1994, S01, Ep14), though more recent examples, like Psych (USA, 2006, S01, Ep7), tend to be played as much for laughs as for suspense. Even in 1994, when transsexuality was much better understood than in the 1980s, the illogical assumptions within one NYPD Blue plot exposes its inherent transphobia. When female clothes, makeup, and wig are found in the “male” suspect’s car, the detectives equate Mitchell’s presumed drug use with their gender identity, calling the suspect “some asshole so burnt out on crack he thinks he’s Doris Day,” despite the fact that employees at the “Big and Tall Girls Shop” tell detectives that Mitchell’s “plan is to go home and spend the rest of his life as a woman.” Despite the series’ penchant, like many police procedurals, for dramatic close interrogations of suspects, this plotline concludes on the street in an extended chase scene that ends predictably with a dramatic wig reveal and a characteristic taunting by Detective Sipowicz: “do you want to run down

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the street like Mary Taylor Moore with your skirt hitched over your ass?” The desexualized element is also presumed in the casting, as all of these characters are played by cisgender men (Fig.  6.1).1 As guest characters, their defeat and subsequent disappearance reaffirms the heteronormative superiority of the female or male detectives, who, unlike the civilian population, are never deceived by a “man in a dress.” This presumption of cisgender superiority is similarly enforced even when drag clubs or performers appear as merely locales or witnesses. Since drag’s popularity with mainstream audiences did not start until the 1990s, drag clubs in earlier decades were often integrated as a setting based on the assumption that the middle-class cisgender, heterosexual audience would classify them as a site of criminality and every drag queen as a potential criminal. For example, in Bronk (CBS, 1975, S01, Ep1), the detective seeks information from a drag performer as she disrobes, moving visually from her female professional identity to her male gender identity.

Fig. 6.1  Michelle (Christopher Morley), Vega$ (ABC, 1980, S02, Ep16)

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This scene, clearly meant to be shocking to the audience, contrasts to the detective’s levelled response, a sign of his or her sophistication with the “criminal underworld.” Similar scenarios occur on Starsky and Hutch (ABC, 1977, S03, Ep5); Partners in Crime (ABC, 1984, S01, Ep7); Murder, She Wrote (CBS, 1984, S01, Ep4); NYPD Blue (ABC, 1995, S02, Ep9); and The Big Easy (USA, 1996, S01, Ep4). As the decades progress, the male detective’s obvious disgust reiterates his heteronormative identity, although heterosexual female investigators, like Murder’s Jessica Fletcher or Big Easy’s Anne Osbourne, are occasionally allowed to banter about makeup and heels, most likely to heighten the comedic undertones that men in dresses represented at this time and play into shifting narratives about straight women and their gay best friends (Pullen). Notably, this trend with cisgender male actors tapers off as the century shifts but does not disappear, as indicated by the films Catherine’s Grove (King, 1997), In Dreams (Jordan, 1999), Crazy as Hell (2002), and Peacock (Lander, 2010). These films may show a lack of originality but nonetheless keep the same tired trope linking abusive maternal parenting, cross-dressing, and murderous psychosis in circulation. In each film, the female “alter ego” of the cisgender male character is the mystery that confounds the investigator’s ability to find the killer’s “true” identity. In a few examples from the 1990s, including New York Undercover (Fox, 1994, S01, Ep12) and Catherine’s Grove (King, 1997), the trans killer’s victims are other trans persons, a motive implied as self-hatred that indicts the victim by pathologizing trans identities as well as falsely representing how hate crimes are actually perpetrated against trans victims. Thus, there is intentionally little narrative explication to explain the murderer’s cross-­ dressing or gender dysphoria, much less their choice of victims, which is often worsened by the victim’s innocence, particularly In Dreams where “Vivian” murders children. The directors, in other words, leave it to transphobic audiences to fill gaps in the plot. Horror films and thrillers, freed from the restrictions of network television, were the first medium to explicitly sexualize the trans murderer, such as the disturbed incestual longings of Marguerite in A Reflection of Fear (Fraker, 1972), Dr. Elliott’s sexual frustration in Dressed to Kill (De Palma, 1980), and Buffalo Bill’s erotic “tuck” dance before the mirror in The Silence of the Lambs (Demme, 1999). While the horror film Cherry Falls (Wright, 2000) offers a more muted subtext of sexual jealousy when the cisgender male protagonist dons women’s clothes to murder his high school students, Peacock, like its more famous and critically acclaimed

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predecessor, provides sexual motivations for at least one murder. The trans feminine character Emma seduces a man to a hotel room in order to murder him so his body can be mistaken for her male “identity,” John, enabling her to live permanently as female. A similar scenario occurs on CBS’s Criminal Minds when a cisgender male protagonist lures multiple young men to a hotel room to rape and murder them while in a female “alter ego,” played again by a cisgender male actor (2009, S04, Ep20). But the sexual association became more prominent when first cis and then trans feminine actors were more frequently2 cast in such roles in the early 2000s. A ten year study of trans characters by GLAAD in 2012 found that trans characters were villainized in television plots 21% of the time, most often as trans women. Tellingly, the first trans masculine psychotic murderer does not appear on television until 2002 and then in a non-­ sexualized scenario (CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CBS, 2002, S02, Ep13). In two episodes from Law & Order, SVU (NBC, 2003, S04, Ep21) and NCIS (CBS, 2004, S01, Ep19), the trans woman’s sexual attractiveness to heterosexual men is presented as a key component of the story, despite the very different tone of each. In the former, Cheryl initially claims she murdered her boyfriend’s brother when he tried to sexually assault her, a necessity for SVU’s crime unit, but later is revealed to have murdered him to prevent the disclosure of her gender history to her boyfriend, who commits suicide when he finds out. NCIS’s Amanda, in contrast, is sexualized repeatedly by the investigators who seek a connection between a murdered investigator and an embezzlement case by a Navy commander who has disappeared. In multiple scenes they comment on her sexiness that the camera enhances with closeups, such as when they spy on her sunbathing in a bikini. When Amanda is ultimately revealed to be the formerly male commander, the colleagues ridicule the detective she flirtatiously kissed, and her gender transition becomes the motivation for her murderous impulses, like Cheryl’s.3 The most offensive—and sexualized—example of a violent trans criminal occurs in the FX series, Nip/Tuck (2003–2010), where a trans feminine character, played by former model Famke Janssen (Fig.  6.2), is revealed to be a sadistic and manipulative criminal over several episodes in season 2. Ava’s crimes may not include scenes of violent murder, but she drives one lover to suicide and is suspected of murdering her first husband. The series is not a crime procedural per se, but its storyline includes investigations of criminals by the two main characters, plastic surgeons in Miami, such as a serial killer called “The Carver” in season 2. When Ava is

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Fig. 6.2  Ava Moore (Famke Janssen), Nip/Tuck (FX, 2004, S02, Ep16)

introduced, her sexuality is intertwined with her sadism even prior to disclosure, as she routinely seduces young male teens, including her own son (FX, 2004, S02, Ep6, 14). Even her motivation for gender confirmation surgery is sexualized, as a later episode shows not gender dysphoria but fear of abandonment by her heterosexual male lover as the cause (FX, 2004, S02, Ep16). Her perversity taints others, like her new lover who is one surgeon’s son. She is meant to be so sexually unforgettable that he seeks another trans feminine lover to replace her, but this character is played by a cis male actor, so lacks Janssen’s cisgender female aesthetic— and her sexual mystique (FX, 2005, S03, Ep14). A close runner-up for most offensive trans criminal is again a trans feminine character who is not a serial killer but, like Ava, sadistic and sexualized. On a 2004 single episode of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (CBS, 2004, S05, Ep8), Dr. Mona Lavelle, again played by a cis female actor (Lindsey Crouse), is unrepentant when one of the patients of her illegal gender confirmation surgery dies and the witness, another patient, is murdered by Mona’s cisgender husband. Although Mona does not have a sexual motivation for performing surgery, the episode similarly attributes a sexual motivation for her gender dysphoria—again to marry a cisgender heterosexual man. Even the murder victim is pathologized when

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detectives learn the sexy showgirl had kept her gender history from her sexually naïve and nerdy fiancé. Indeed, there are very few trans feminine characters who are not sexualized in the episode, including the previously mentioned Mercedes. One flirts with a cisgender investigator over a drink while dressed in a revealing outfit, while in the club where they interview Mercedes, trans women are seen lounging, again in sexy attire, in pairs or with significantly older men in suits in a room complete with red lamps and leopard-skin couches. The series’ willingness to connect trans feminine sexuality with sex work, seduction, and violence is far from subtle and thus, like its crime drama predecessors, conflates trans women with a seamy criminal underworld. Finally, a multi-season scenario recurs in the teen mystery series Pretty Little Liars (Freeform, 2015), when the villain is revealed to be a trans feminine Cece or Charlotte Drake in 2015 (S06, Ep10). The series’ transphobia was obvious even prior to the reveal, thanks to a promotional tweet about the character: “He. She. It. Charlotte” (Lankston). Executive producer Marlene King and director Norman Buckley justified their rationale for the plot twist by repeatedly stating in interviews and on social media that despite being a murderous and sadistic psychopath, Cece was not, as King explains, “a villain because of their gender identity” (Wieselman). Yet Buckley concedes that the rationalization for Cece’s psychosis, her family’s transphobic rejection, is undermined by her sadistic and violent treatment of the other characters (Tannehill). King, in turn, fails to explain when asked why Cece would knowingly enter into a romantic relationship with her own brother in a previous season (Aguilera). Feminist blogger Riese Bernard argues Cece not only fits the stereotype of trans women who intentionally deceive their (heterosexual) male romantic partner about their gender history but also earns a stereotypical justifiable end by being murdered in the next episode (Freeform, 2016, S06, Ep11). Using conventionally attractive cisgender female stars like Janssen and Vanessa Ray, who played Cece, to play seductive but sadistic trans female criminals is a plot twist that requires little imagination from the writers but creates a great deal of harm for transgender representations.

Sex Workers and the Cis/Hetero Hierarchy Starting in the 1990s, trans guest characters on crime series became suspects for different reasons. Although the murderous psychosis implicit in cross-dressing or transsexuality remains, producers and directors realized

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that a trans character’s identity was a useful element to further complicate and sometimes initially elude the astute detective, and soon a trans feminine character became a crime drama staple. Chaps. 6 and 7, as mentioned, split the use of this character between victims, covered in the following chapter, and trans feminine sex workers, as they extend the trend set by the psychotic trans killer which equates trans identities and trans bodies with criminality and transgression. By the 1990s, the drag club no longer represented underworld criminality as it did in the 1970s and 1980s; instead, drag shows had become a sight of fun for the sophisticated urban crowd, concomitant with the ascendancy of celebrity drag queens like RuPaul and box-office hits like The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (Elliott, 1994), To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (Kidron, 1995), and The Birdcage (Nichols, 1996). Heterosexual cis characters even join in the fun in various film comedies (Boat Trip, Nathan, 2002; Connie and Carla, Lembeck, 2004; Miss Congeniality 2: Armed & Fabulous, Pasquin, 2005). Indeed, drag clubs, bars, or parties became a popular episodic setting on sitcoms as the 1990s progressed, as seen on The John Larroquette Show (NBC, 1994, S01, Ep2); Roseanne (ABC, 1994, S07, Ep6); Wings (NBC, 1997, S08, Ep16); The Drew Carey Show (ABC, 1998, S04, Ep6); Veronica’s Closet (NBC, 1998, S01, Ep15); Sex and the City (HBO, 1999, S02, Ep9); and Felicity (WB, 2000, S02, Ep21). Since more network shows in the 1990s were willing to cover risqué topics, crime dramas like NYPD Blue and Nash Bridges had an additional incentive to incorporate trans feminine sex workers. Drag queens and their pageants and clubs still remain a consistent locale for criminal plotlines, but drag queens are more often fun entertainers who assist in catching the “real” criminals, part of the proliferation of comedic gay characters in this era.4 In contrast, the primarily male cisgender investigators display contempt and callous disregard towards those “female impersonators” who walk the streets instead of the stage. They misgender them by calling them “transvestite prostitutes,” even as the women reference their full-time female identities and medical treatment. Thus, the cultural rhetoric that equates trans femininity with perversion and criminality influences televisual narratives into the twenty-first century, although the fear and loathing of their identity has shifted from a literal threat towards cisgender persons to a figurative threat to gender and sexual normativity. When trans feminine actor Laverne Cox gained media attention for her breakout role in Orange is the New Black (Netflix, 2013–2019), she

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embraced the opportunity to discuss the limited opportunities for trans actors in television and film, such as a 2015 interview when she notes, “I’ve played sex workers seven different times on television and in films. People who do sex work are human beings and deserve to have their stories told in humanizing ways. But I’ve done it so much that I want to do something different” (Nicholson). The reason for this limited oeuvre, she told NPR in 2013, is that “when folks want to write a trans character, the first thing that they think of is sex work” (Martin).5 Fellow trans activist Janet Mock similarly critiqued the sex worker stereotype in an interview: “there’s no story for those girls. It’s just a detective walking down the street, and there’s some tranny hooker. Literally—that’s it. She doesn’t have a name” (Flanagin). In fact, the public conflation of sex work with the trans community has occurred since the 1960s, an outgrowth of a mainstream media that polices “perverted” sexual practices and non-heternormative, non-­ cisnormative identities. Cultural anxiety over sex work is itself representative of the vigilant oversight American society expends upon female sexuality. The trope of the sex worker, which is found across dramatic and comedic genres, reflects a heterosexual cisgender male obsession with accessing but also controlling female sexuality, whether she is an exotic dancer or street prostitute. As feminist media scholars have argued, from exploited victim, exhibitionist stripper or porn star, to “hooker with a heart of gold,” such characterizations present female sexuality as readily available for male consumption while eschewing autonomous female sexual power (see, for example, Carr; Lister; Voss; Coy, Wakeling, and Garner). In any context, the woman’s sexual power is still presumed to be dependent upon her male partner, whether she wins his heart or takes his money, whom she must attract based on her sexual acumen or appeal. What is often missing from this cultural trope is its function as an economic exchange in which the sex worker’s agency is focused her own needs and independence, not upon his. Cultural fascination with sex workers, then, rarely transfers to any real empathy or understanding in mainstream journalism or other public discourse. Sex workers, particularly those who are the most disempowered or exploited, remain sexualized and scorned even when their victimization is brought to light, whether by sex trafficking, police violence and exploitation, or serial murderer (Barnett; Quinet; Eliasson-Nannini and Sommerlad-Rogers). Indeed, targeting sex workers is a common means to evade prosecution, as seen in the confessions of serial killers Gary Ridgway

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and Samuel Little (Fernandez; Lauren). Each man continued undetected for decades due to his choice of victims, rightly assuming that police would ignore the evidence; Little, for example, benefitted from the presumption that “it wasn’t really possible to commit a crime against a black prostitute. It just wasn’t a crime” (Lauren). Cultural assumptions frame sex workers as deserving of a violent or tragic fate based on their “choice” of this “immoral” profession, regardless of the circumstances or how they engage in this activity. Indeed, internal and external stigmatization creates a cycle, one in which sex workers believe these negative perceptions so discount their own victimization whether due to discrimination, harassment, or violence (Benoit, et  al. 460). Their immorality allegedly stems from the commercial and sexual nature of their work, which is necessary to further distance their agency over their sexuality from heteronormative tenets designed to confine female sexuality to the domestic sphere under male control. In fact, fictional portrayals often portray the male customers who move from legal strip club customers to “johns” as pathetic losers unable to access heterosexual partners “appropriately,” hen-pecked husbands seeking a sexual outlet, or fetishists with suspiciously non-traditional tastes (Campbell). The contempt for sex workers, in other words, taints all involved, despite the relative commonality of this experience for many Americans, as seen by social science research, the legal and illegal industry’s vast size, and continued economic viability in defiance of centuries of legal regulation and moral condemnation (Weitzer; Monto; Monto and Milrond). Transgender sex workers enter this complex cultural nexus of shame and fascination already laden with their own cultural history as sexual perverts intent on undermining the cisgender heteronormative morality of American society. The presumed sexual motivation for any trans woman’s transition, as Serano has argued, continues to saddle heterosexual trans woman with heightened stigma and obscures the very conditions that make them more vulnerable (38). Street prostitutes already experience high rates of violence, drug use, and HIV infection, yet transphobia compounds such outcomes in trans feminine women due to their inability to seek assistance from social and health care professionals and police (Sausa, Keatley, and Operario; Nemoto, Bödeker, and Iwamoto; Nadal, Davidoff, and Fujii-Doe). At the same time, even sociological and health research has been criticized for framing trans feminine sex work as only or always exploitative (Jones; Rev and Geist; Vartabedian). Indeed, some studies indicate that lack of employment options is often a primary motivation for

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sex work, making it a practical means for economic survival or funds for expensive medical procedures (Bailey-Kloch, Shdaimah, and Osteen; Nadal et al.). A variety of studies have proven that sex work can also offer trans sex workers positive affirmation of their female identity and sexuality unavailable elsewhere, both through their clients and their social network (Edelman; Nadal, Davidoff, and Fujii-Doe). With notable and very recent exceptions like Sean Baker’s independent film Tangerine (2015), Lee Daniels’ Star (FX, 2016–2017, S01), and Ryan Murphy’s series Pose (FX, 2018, S01), televisual media rarely shows trans feminine sex workers from this perspective. Mainstream documentaries and reality or scripted television shows that portray prostitutes as empowered entrepreneurs tend to privilege cisgender white women, whether as its main plot (e.g. Escorts, Reed, 2015; American Courtesans, Johnson, 2013; The Girlfriend Experience, Starz, 2016–2017; Cathouse series or specials, HBO, 2002–2014), or as part of a dramatic series (e.g. True Blood, HBO, 2008–2014; Game of Thrones, HBO, 2011–2014; Deadwood, HBO, 2004–2006) (Lacob). Thus, the dual and competing rhetoric around stigma and vulnerability generated by western cultural discourse on sex work is heightened for trans feminine sex workers, who are then exempt from both empowering and tragic contexts. For example, although Boston “Craigslist Killer” Philip Markoff had robbed and assaulted many cis male, cis female, and trans sex workers, news media highlighted his trans victims (Ross; Orth). The pathology of the “cis chaser” murderer is the topic of a Law & Order episode (NBC, 2010, S20, Ep15) and film Dark Tourist (Krishnamma, 2012). The entire premise of the film is based upon dark tourism or visiting murder sites, but the protagonist, another white cisgender heterosexual man, turns out to be the murderer of multiple trans prostitutes due to the trauma of being gang-raped as a child, despite the fact that he was assaulted by other cisgender males. By pathologizing cisgender male sexual partners of sex workers in general and of trans feminine sex workers in particular, as Chap. 4 details, television and film televisual narratives uphold the cisgender heterosexual hierarchy and further dehumanize trans women, particularly trans women of color. Indeed, more recently journalists have documented how being targeted as sex workers in various cities harms all trans women and further degrades their identity (Lopez; Grant; Whitford).

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Destiny, Pearly Gates, and Nameless Sex Workers When U.S. television and film began to include trans sex workers in the 1990s, the storylines often conflated presumptions of female impersonation with trans identities. This is most evident in how these women are consistently described. Instead of using the common nomenclature of the period for a trans woman who retains her male genitalia, “MTF pre-op transsexual” or the pejorative “she-male,” these characters are often referred to as a “tranny” or “transvestite” “hooker” or prostitute, sometimes even the misnomer, “drag queen hooker.” They are defined this way on cast lists (available through imdb.com) and therefore presumably scripts and casting calls as well; see, for example, the films Mercy (Shepard, 1995), Powder Blue (Bui, 2009), and Grudge Match (Segal, 2013), as well as episodes from Nash Bridges (CBS, 1996, S01, Ep5), Third Watch (NBC, 2004, S06, Ep7), Women’s Murder Club (ABC, 2007, S01, Ep9), My Name is Earl (NBC, 2007, S03, Ep12), Law & Order (NBC, 2008, S19, Ep6), and Blue Mountain State (Paramount, 2010, S01, Ep4). Some, like Third Watch, Grudge Match, and My Name is Earl, use this term to reference trans feminine characters in a jail cell or prison whose crime is never identified in the narrative, reiterating the stereotypical presumption that all trans feminine persons of color must be sex workers. This assumption can be made about any number of trans feminine characters shown in a jail, prison, or police station (Riot, Kulik, 1969; Philadelphia Experiment, Raffill, 1984; Blood In, Blood Out, Hackford, 1993; Hard Time, Reynolds, 1998; Animal Factory, Buscemi, 2000; The Division, Lifetime, 2001, S01, Ep17; George Lopez, ABC, S03, Ep2; The Longest Yard, Segal, 2005; Californication, Showtime, 2008, S02, Ep2; House Bunny, Wolf, 2008).6 Not coincidentally, the majority of these roles are played by actors of color, primarily black actors. For crime drama series or films in this study, trans feminine sex workers are more often persons of color, and in this group, most are black. Perhaps this is why Laverne Cox complains about typecasting but not the white trans feminine actors who similarly sought jobs starting in the early 2000s, Alexandra Billings and Candis Cayne. It is also impossible to confine an analysis of the trans feminine sex worker to one genre; while the majority are mystery or crime dramas or films, I include comedic, “dramedy,” or other generic dramas narratives in this analysis because their function remains consistent across genres, although their comedic purpose is discussed in Chap. 4.

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The exclusion of trans women of color was crucial to the early trans rights movement, which focused on feminine, heterosexual middle-class white trans women like Christine Jorgensen in order to achieve civil rights equality by endorsing rather than challenging institutional oppression. Even today, such women receive the lion’s share of media attention; as one scholar explains, “who is Caitlyn Jenner, if not this generation’s Renée Richards?,” connecting sports celebrity media sensations four decades part (Page 142). Those in the black trans feminine community therefore represent the antithesis of these goals, particularly when they are conflated into a threatening vision of black male sexual aggression that has informed the modern white supremacist movement for over a century (Davis). Moreover, it is their visible sexual and gender nonconformity that also troubles the mainstream black and LGBQ political agenda, making it clear how their intersectional identities have rendered them, to paraphrase scholar Treva Ellison, both highly visible and erased (5). But numbers alone do not tell the whole story. The function of the trans feminine sex worker to the plot and their interaction with cisgender characters also differs with their race. 1980s and 1990s crime genre narratives include only white trans feminine sex workers, such as in Cruising (Friedkin, 1981), Sharky’s Machine (Reynolds, 1981), Hollywood Vice Squad (Spheeri, 1986), and Q&A (Lumet, 1990), while other dramatic narratives similarly using such characters to establish the criminal locale or occupation of their main characters, such as in Choose Me (Randolph, 1984) and River Made To Drown In (Meredino, 1997). In later decades, however, whenever trans feminine sex workers are provided with stories that humanize them with an identity beyond their sex work, they are primarily white, like Rayon in The Dallas Buyers Club (Vallée, 2013), Raven in 10-8: Officers on Duty (ABC, 2003, S01, Ep4), Davina in Transparent (Amazon, 2017, S04, Ep5), and the young teen in the crime series The Cleaner (A&E, 2009, S02, Ep9), yet it is also telling that the latter two leave “the life.” Others do so thanks to a monogamous relationship with a cisgender man, as seen in Sons of Anarchy (FX, 2014, S07, Ep4, 10, 13), Blunt Talk (Starz, 2015, S01, Ep5), and Anything (McNeil, 2017), playing into a predictable moral arc facilitated by cis heterosexual men. Venus’s progression in Sons of Anarchy is particularly startling, as she starts as a comedic prop in seasons 5 and 6 (Fig. 6.3), speaking in an exaggerated southern accent which accompanies a similarly overendowed bust. By season 7 she has become a more nuanced character when she starts a relationship with a cis male main character, although, like Anything, their physical

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Fig. 6.3  Venus (Walton Goggins), Sons of Anarchy (FX, 2013, S06, Ep7)

affection is more implied than depicted as both are played by cis male actors. In contrast, black trans characters remain abjectly entrenched in sex work; Marybeth in Life is Hot in Cracktown (2009) and Cotton in Star (FX, 2016–2017, S01) are criticized by others when they stay on the street, hampered by drug addiction and abusive partners. Doomed scenarios plague Latinx sex workers as well; Angelique, in Penny Dreadful (Showtime, 2015, S02), is rescued by her wealthy white male lover but then murdered by him, and Lexus (Fig.  6.4) is offered a way out by a sympathetic priest but commits suicide instead in Powder Blue (Bui, 2009). As I explain, for the majority of trans feminine characters who are sex workers, their distance from heteronormativity is conveyed not as tragedy, as for Marybeth, Lexus, or Cotton, nor overcome by true love, as for Gisele and Venus, but heightened through a combination of comedy and fear, which again works differently based on the character’s race. Trans feminine characters of color typify the “deceptive” stereotype since their masculine traits are enhanced to denote their distance from hegemonic femininity. In turn, their masculine features denigrate their desire to “pass” in the first place, particularly since their physicality is

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Fig. 6.4  Ex-priest Charlie (Forest Whitaker) and Lexus (Alejandro Romero), Powder Blue (Bui, 2009)

overaccentuated through camera angles and lighting in a visual comparison to their cis male scene partner, a literal representation of their threat to the cis male heterosexuality. Some earlier crime narratives situationally connect black trans feminine characters with sexual transgressiveness, such as an encounter within a male prison between the cis Latino hero and two black trans feminine inmates, who first flirt and then physically threaten him in Blood In, Blood Out (Hackford, 1993). Indeed, black or Latinx trans feminine prisoners flirt with white characters in other narratives (Riot, Kulik, 1969; The Longest Yard, Segal, 2005; My Name is Earl, NBC, 2007, S03, Ep12). Other times, the trans feminine character’s flirtation occurs during a criminal act, like on Walker, Texas Ranger (CBS, 1998, S06, Ep3) and Wicked City (ABC/Hulu, 2015, S01, Ep6). Reno 911!, although a satirical police comedy, enhances the sexual transgressiveness of a recurring trans feminine sex worker by making her a dominatrix whose oversized dildoes are referenced in more than one episode (Comedy Central, 2008, S05, Ep7, Ep10). Even in dramas, these interactions often occur in comedic contexts to heighten the white male partner’s panic, confusion, or even anger, such as during an episode of Nash Bridges (CBS, 1996, S01, Ep5). Despite his protests, a white cisgender male detective is forced to don feminine attire to go undercover, so he is coached by a black

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trans feminine sex worker. The episode showcases their height difference repeatedly in both distanced and closeup shots. Once again played by a tall, dark-skinned, black cis male actor, here RuPaul, sex worker Simone’s femininity is thus shown as invalid as the male detective’s, while her flirtatious attitude with his cis male boss similarly enhances her oversexualizat ion. For shows set in New York City, like Law & Order (NBC) and NYPD Blue (ABC), interactions with trans feminine sex workers even in passing are also meant to signify the locale and the parameters of the investigators’ work, in which they encounter “all types” in their quest for justice. For example, in one Law & Order episode, Detective Lupo receives help not once but twice from trans feminine onlookers as he searches for a suspect in a homicide unrelated to the trans community, but their profession is identified as “hooker” in the script (NBC, 2008, S19, Ep6). First a group catcalls him from the river bank as he kneels over a body until one comes over to identify the victim for him. Later a sex worker, Minnie, offers her services as he seeks a cisgender masculine suspect at a truck stop. When he explains, while undercover, that he is actually seeking “a man who’s all man,” her flirtatious response, “I’m more man than you can handle” is meant to offer a comedic tone to their encounter, as is the lower timbre of her voice. On NYPD Blue, Detective Sipowicz and his partner Simone similarly require the assistance of two trans feminine sex workers, Peaches and Angela, to catch a murderer, yet their reluctance to help is presented not as a logical response to police interrogation but an annoyance that Sipowicz and Simone must overcome, often with insults (ABC, 1996, S04, Ep8). For example, the pair first arrest them, then Simone encourages their cooperation “because underneath those skirts, we know you got hearts of gold,” and Sipowicz adds, “and Johnsons in your underwear.” This type of harassment also occurs on an earlier season of Law & Order when detectives threaten a sex worker to force her to reveal where she received stolen property and then manipulate her boyfriend as well by asking, “your wife know about your friend Jeffrey?” (NBC, 2000, S11, Ep5). In its successful spin-off, Law & Order: SVU, the detectives again seek stolen property belonging to a victim, but in a shot/reaction sequence, the trans sex worker cooperates but is filmed on the waterfront so the Brooklyn Bridge looms behind her, again emphasizing her height (NBC, 2004, S05, Ep20). Trans feminine sex workers appear in other urban locales, such as Los Angeles on The Shield (FX, 2002, S01, Ep10), when a police officer

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denigrates a trans feminine prisoner’s refusal to enter an all-male cell by replying, “you should have thought about that before you solicited a cop.” A Los Angeles sheriff deputy trainee is ridiculed by his training officer when he explains that a kiss with a flirtatious witness helped them find the cis male suspect at “a transvestites’ bar” because he could feel her erection during their embrace on 10-8: Officers on Duty (ABC, 2003, S01, Ep3). The pair encounter a trans feminine sex worker in the next episode, responding to her rant about not having enough work to pay the rent with “might be the moustache” and “maybe try a new razor” (10-8: Officers on Duty, ABC, 2003, S01, Ep4). Even amateur investigators, like “desperate” housewife Bree, encounter trans feminine sex workers in urban locales, where she asks for help from Pearly Gates, so named because “you can’t get to heaven without going through me” (Desperate Housewives, ABC, 2006, S02, Ep3). More recent examples might avoid actual police harassment but still milk the premise of a trans feminine sex worker for laughs. On The X-Files, the sex worker has just survived an attack by a mysterious monster but needlessly discloses her gender history. When she tells Detective Scully that the monster was wearing underwear, Scully asks, “boxers or briefs?” to which she replies, “tighty whiteys. Same kind I used to wear. I transitioned last year” (Fox, 2016, S10, Ep3). The cis male main character of the sitcom The Crazy Ones meets a trans feminine woman in jail but illogically brings her to a pitch meeting at his advertising agency since, as he explains, she helped him consider a new angle to win the client’s business by teaching him that “when you combine two things that don’t go together like boobs and a bulge or creativity and research, you get something special” (CBS, 2014, S01, Ep14). Since all these characters are again played by black actors, their masculine characteristics are also supposed to be obvious to the audience, like height and a lower voice, whether they are trans feminine actors like Laverne Cox (Minnie, Law & Order) and Jazzmun Clayton (NYPD Blue and The Crazy Ones), or drag performers like Kevin “Flotilla DeBarge” Rennard (“Jeffrey,” Law & Order) Harmonica Sunbeam (SVU), Ralph Cole, Jr. (Desperate Housewives), and D.J. “Shangela” Pierce (The X-Files). Establishing tracking shots also showcase female extras idling on corners, between commercial trucks, or in other settings synonymous with sex work, also seen in Rizzoli and Isles (TNT, 2012, S03, Ep10) and Terriers (FX, 2010, S01, Ep9). Even when the interaction is momentary and the trans sex worker helpful, their masculine traits combined with their tight and revealing

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clothing signify both their gender identity and profession and make them simultaneously sexualized and easily dismissible. As this Desperate Housewives example also indicates, scenes with trans feminine sex workers and cis feminine main characters are similarly engineered to comedically contrast cis white femininity and trans black femininity, particularly those that cast a masculine cisgender male. On House, M.D. (Fox, 2010, S06, Ep18), House tries to shock his friend’s girlfriend Sam by bringing a non-white trans woman to dinner. House’s alleged “prank” misfires when Sam, who is conventionally attractive, white, and blonde, bonds with sex worker Sarah over their hometown roots in Bloomington. But other details indicate that neither House’s co-worker nor girlfriend Sam overlooks Sarah’s gender, racial, and class difference. Sam’s boyfriend’s calls her a “transvestite prostitute” afterwards despite the fact that Sarah mentions only that she used to work at a “strip club,” but their initial shocked looks when they see her also indicate that her “deception” is obvious to all, so clearly their niceties were for House’s benefit, not hers. Although a gritty urban drama and not a comedy, American Heart (Bell, 1992) contrasts the white femininity of cis teen Molly, the love interest of the cis male protagonist, and black femininity of trans feminine teen Terry. Both are street sex workers, but Molly’s plight is played for pathos while Terry appears to be only comedic relief. She is last seen escaping Molly’s mother’s apartment by climbing out the window and running down the alley wearing a fancy stolen dress and high heels. This comparison occurs most overtly on an episode of HBO’s Sex and the City (HBO, 2000, S03, Ep18), despite the sitcom’s otherwise positive celebration of female sexuality. The presence of multiple black trans sex workers on the street of Samantha’s new condo allegedly makes this disturbance about the time (four a.m.) and space (outside her window) of the disturbance rather than about their identities or profession. But references to their maleness through dialogue and their masculine features consistently connects the literal invasion of masculinity to a metaphoric one. Samantha explains the situation as, “I am paying a fortune to live in a neighborhood that’s trendy by day and tranny by night.” Described as “chicks with dicks. Boobs on top, balls down below” and repeatedly as “half man, half woman,” these trans women are, by virtue of their profession, cheap clothes, and race, shown to be in dichotomous opposition to the white, cisgender main characters, who are fashionable, professional, and conventionally attractive. Samantha tries multiple ways to “win”

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against these women, first by wooing them “girl to girl” by asking the “ladies” to keep it down, and then in a battle of insults in which she threatens to “come down there and cut it off,” culminating in a faux-­ violent act, a pot of water out the window, that strategically knocks Destiny’s wig off. Samantha, the show’s most straight-forward, aggressively assertive character, is also the show’s most sexually adventurous, experimenting in various episodes with BDSM, sexual props of all kinds, multiple-partner sex, and a variety of both male and female partners. Yet despite her praise for anal sex in an earlier season (1998, S01, Ep4), she and Carrie, the show’s protagonist and narrator, denigrate the presumed sexual practices of these sex workers repeatedly, calling them “the ‘Up-my-­ ass Players,’” and their customers as “pseudo-straight married men from New Jersey.” Similarly, their comradery is presented as distinctly differently from the show’s main characters, whose close friendships are the foundation of the series, as they seem to bicker and joke rather than bond, such as by laughing at the de-wigged victim. Although the sex worker, Destiny, retaliates by pelting her with eggs, Samantha still “wins” when she throws a “kiss and make-up party” for the trio on her roof-top, where they can participate in the “right” female community in the “right way:” introducing the main characters to a new cocktail and complimenting Carrie’s fashion choices by asking for “a twirl.” For producers and directors, trans feminine sex workers of color appear to be an easy way to demonstrate the superiority of cisgender white female characters of all types—and provide a few laughs along the way. Whether such depictions are obvious comedic plots or ploys for levity in dramatic tales of crime and violence, this dismissal of the sex worker’s humanity by treating her like a prop occurs even when the trans feminine sex worker is the victim. As the next chapter explains, victimization narratives are necessarily complex in how they posit blame, but sex workers are, within cultural hierarchies of sexual relations, already morally compromised. Their profession and their identity, in other words, become the actual perpetrators, not the violent person who murders them. Twice in NYPD Blue, the detectives interview a cisgender male sexual partner and nudge him to use a trans panic defense as they try to maneuver him to a confession (ABC, 2003, S11, Ep2; 2003, S10, Ep15). In one of these episodes, another cisgender male partner of a sex worker claims she cannot be trusted: “give ‘em a break, they’ll sell you their own mothers. Trannies are liars about everything. Their own sex, for God’s sake” (ABC, 2003, S11, Ep2). A loving cisgender male partner of a sex worker on an earlier

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episode of the series even claims that her refusal to quit is why he had to kill her: “She had me do things that were never who I was. Out there on the stroll, giving me her money. I wanted a wife and a home! She’s treating me like a pimp” (ABC, 1997, S04, Ep18). Even a serial rapist and kidnapper in the thriller The Factory (O’Neill, 2012) becomes a murderer when he finds out the sex worker he has hired is a trans woman, telling her as he stabs her the final time, “I’m doing you a favor. Doing the world a favor.” A cisgender male customer does use the trans panic defense to murder a young Asian-American sex worker on Law & Order: SVU, claiming, “she lied to me,” and when detectives wonder why she continued working on the street despite having a new lucrative career, her boss replies, “it’s all he knows. He doesn’t know how to stop” (NBC, 2018, S20, Ep10). The same scenario occurs twenty years before on an episode of Ally McBeal (Fox, 1997, S01, Ep10), when a young Latinx trans woman is murdered by a sex customer even though the title character has secured her a job in her law firm. As I explain in the next chapter, the deaths of these young women shows that more than two decades of trans civil rights and advocacy have done little to dispel the presumption that when trans feminine sex workers, particularly women of color, die a tragic death on the streets, they are most at fault. Despite, then, any presentation of sympathy or grief, their death moralizes the consequences of non-normative gender and sexual behavior.

Notes 1. Granted, some may have been hired because they are drag performers, like Christopher Morley (Vega$, Fig. 6.1) and Charles Pierce (Starsky and Hutch). 2. I use “frequently” since in horror films like A Reflection of Fear (Fraker, 1972) and Sleepaway Camp (Hiltzik, 1983), the reveal scene at the end of the film indicates that the female protagonist is both a murderer and trans, so the trans feminine character is played by a cis female actor. 3. Other episodes which conflate trans victimization with trans violent perpetration, including a later episode of Law & Order: SVU (NBC, 2009, S10, Ep14), are analyzed in Chap. 7 since this combination undermines transphobia. 4. See Chap. 1 for more discussion of this connection. 5. This trend also appears in international cinema, as seen in the films All About My Mother (Almodóvar, 1999); Princesa (Goldman, 2001); Breakfast on Pluto (Jordan, 2005), and Strella (Koutras, 2009).

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6. One series seems to address this assumption when it clarifies that a trans feminine inmate, Hot Carla, in a county jail has been arrested for arson when she is introduced on Mr. Robot (USA, 2016, S02, Ep1). Although she appears in multiple episode, the audience only learns her gender history in the last when one prisoner tells the cis male main character she is a “chick with a dick” (2016, S02, Ep9). Despite the main character’s assertion that “she’s become like my personal totem,” she has no dialogue nor backstory, except for those viewers who read an extradiegetic journal published after season 2 ended.

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The Equalizer 2. Directed by Antoine Fuqua, performances by Denzel Washington, Columbia Pictures, 2018. Escorts. Directed by Dan Reed, performances by Emily Banfield and Cookie Jane, Amos Pictures, 2015. Fernandez, Manny. “Prostitutes Whose Disappearances were Noticed Only When the First Bodies were Found.” The New  York Times, 7 Apr. 2011, nytimes. com/2011/04/08/nyregion/08bodies.html. Flanagin, Jake. “Creating a ‘Living Image’ of a Transgender Woman.” The Atlantic, 28 Feb. 2014, theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/02/ creating-­a-­living-­image-­of-­a-­transgender-­woman/284131. Game of Thrones. Created by David Benioff and D.B.  Weiss, performances by Esmé Bianco and Sibel Kekilli, Seasons 1–4, HBO, 2011–2014. The Girlfriend Experience. Created by Lodge Kerrigan and Amy Seimetz, performances by Riley Keough and Kate Lyn Sheil, Seasons 1–2, Starz, 2016–2017. GLAAD. “Villains or Victims? Examining 10 Years of Transgender Images on Television.” 2012, glaad.org/publications/victims-­or-­villains-­examining-­ten­years-­transgender-­images-­television. Gossett, Reina, Eric A.  Stanley, and Johanna Burton, editors. Trap Door: Trans Cultural Production and the Politics of Visibility. MIT Press, 2017. Grant, Melissa Gira. “The NYPD Arrests Women for Who They Are and Where They Go—Now They’re Fighting Back.” The Village Voice, 22 Nov. 2016, villagevoice.com/2016/11/22/the-­n ypd-­arrests-­women-­f or-­who-­they-­a re-­ and-­where-­they-­go-­now-­theyre-­fighting-­back. Grixti, Joseph. Terrors of Uncertainty: The Cultural Contexts of Horror Fiction. London: Routledge, 2015. Heat. Directed by Michael Mann, performances by Al Pacino, Warner Bros., 1995. Jack Reacher: Never Go Back. Directed by Edward Zwick, performances by Tom Cruise, Paramount, 2016. Jarvis, Brian. “Monsters Inc.: Serial Killers and Consumer Culture.” Crime, Media, Culture, vol. 3, no. 3, Dec. 2007, pp. 326–344, researchgate.net/publication/ 249768396. Jones, Angela. “Sex Work in a Digital Era.” Sociology Compass, vol. 9, no. 7, 2015, pp. 558–570, https://doi.org/10.1111/soc4.12282. Lacob, Jace. “Game of Thrones, True Blood, Mad Men, Copper: Inside TV’s Prostitute Fixation.” The Daily Beast, 20 Aug. 2012, thedailybeast.com/ game-­of-­thrones-­true-­blood-­mad-­men-­copper-­inside-­tvs-­prostitute-­fixation. Lankston, Charlie. “‘This is an Abomination: Official Twitter Account for Hit ABC Show Pretty Little Liars Slammed by Viewers.” Daily Mail, 24 Aug. 2015, dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-­3209623/This-­abomination-­Official-­ Twitter-­a ccount-­h it-­A BC-­P retty-­L ittle-­L iars-­s lammed-­v iewers-­r eferring-­ transgender-­character-­it.html.

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Lauren, Jillian. “The Serial Killer and the ‘Less Dead.’” New York, 20 Dec. 2019, thecut.com/2018/12/how-­serial-­killer-­samuel-­little-­was-­caught.html. Lister, Kate. “The Pen is Mightier than the Whore: Victorian Newspapers and the Sex-Work Savior Complex.” Smith and Attwood, pp. 371–382. Lopez, German. “‘Walking While Trans’: How Transgender Women of Color are Profiled.” The Vox, 21 July 2015, vox.com/2015/7/21/9010093/ walking-­while-­transgender. Martin, Michel. “Laverne Cox: Transgender Actress on the Challenges of Her ‘New Black’ Role.” Tell Me More. 7 Aug. 2013. National Public Radio, npr. org/2013/08/07/209843353/orange-­is-­the-­new-­black-­actress-­calls-­role-­ complicated. Monto, Martin A. “Prostitutes’ Customers: Motives and Misconceptions.” Weitzer, pp. 233–254. Monto, Martin A., and Christine Milrod. “Ordinary or Peculiar Men? Comparing the Customers of Prostitutes with a Nationally Representative Sample of Men.” International Journal of Offender Therapy and Comparative Criminology, vol. 58, no. 7, July 2014, pp.  802–820, https://doi.org/10.117 7/0306624X13480487. Nadal, Kevin L., et  al. “Transgender Female Sex Workers in New  York City: Personal Perspectives, Gender Identity Development, and Psychological Processes.” Managing Diversity in Today’s Workplace: Strategies for Employees and Employers, edited by Michale A. Paludi, vol. 1, Praeger, 2012, pp. 123–153. Nadal, Kevin L., Kristin C.  Davidoff, and Whitney Fujii-Doe. “Transgender Women and the Sex Work Industry: Roots in Systemic, Institutional, and Interpersonal Discrimination.” Journal of Trauma & Dissociation, vol. 15, no. 2, 2014, pp. 169–183, https://doi.org/10.1080/15299732.2014.867572. Nemoto, Tooru, Birte Bödeker, and Mariko Iwamoto. “Social Support, Exposure to Violence and Transphobia, and Correlates of Depression among Male-to-­ Female Transgender Women with a History of Sex Work.” American Journal of Public Health, vol. 101, no. 10, Oct. 2011, pp. 1980–1988, https://doi. org/10.2105/AJPH.2010.197285. Nicholson, Rebecca. “Laverne Cox.” The Guardian, 14 June 2015, theguardian. com/tv-­and-­radio/2015/jun/14/laverne-­cox-­orange-­new-­black-­transgender. Orth, Maureen. “Killer@Craigslist.” Vanity Fair, 9 Oct. 2009, vanityfair.com/ culture/2009/10/craigslist-­murder200910. Page, Morgan M. “One from the Vaults: Gossip, Access, and Trans History-­ Telling.” Gossett, Stanley and Burton, pp. 135–145. Princesa. Directed by Henrique Goldman, BAC Films, 2001. Pullen, Christopher. Straight Girls and Queer Guys: The Hetero Media Gaze in Film and Television. Edinburgh University Press, 2018.

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Quinet, Kenna. “Prostitutes as Victims of Serial Homicide: Trends and Case Characteristics, 1970–2009.” Homicide Studies, vol. 15, no. 1, Feb. 2011, pp. 74–100, https://doi.org/10.1177/1088767910397276. Rev, Nihils, and Fiona Maeve Geist. “Staging the Trans Sex Worker.” TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, vol. 4, no. 1, Feb. 2017, pp. 112–127. https:// doi.org/10.1215/23289252-­3711577. Ross, Scott. “‘Craigslist Killer’ May Have Sought Trannies as Well.” NBC Washington, 13 July 2009, nbcwashington.com/news/archive/Craigslist-­ Killer-­May-­Have-­.html. Salamon, Gayle. The Life and Death of Latisha King: A Critical Phenomenology of Transphobia. New York University Press, 2018. Sausa, Lydia A., JoAnne Keatley, and Don Operario. “Perceived Risks and Benefits of Sex Work Among Transgender Women of Color in San Francisco.” Archives of Sexual Behavior, vol. 36, no. 6, Dec. 2007, pp.  768–777. https://doi. org/10.1007/s10508-­007-­9210-­3. Schmid, David. Natural Born Celebrities: Serial Killers in American Culture. University of Chicago Press, 2006. Serano, Julia. Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity. Seal Press, 2007. Soulliere, Danielle M. “Prime-time Murder: Presentations of Murder on Popular Television Justice Programs.” Journal of Criminal Justice and Popular Culture, vol. 10, no. 1, 2003, pp. 12–38, albany.edu/scj/jcjpc/vol10is1/soulliere.html. Smith, Clarissa, and Feona Attwood, editors. The Routledge Companion to Media, Sex and Sexuality, Routledge, 2018. Strella. Directed by Panos H. Koutras, Greek Film Center, 2009. Stryker, Susan. Queer Pulp: Perverted Passions from the Golden Age of the Paperback. Chronicle, 2001. Sullivan, K. E. “Ed Gein and the Figure of the Transgendered Serial Killer.” Jump Cut, 2000, pp.  38–47, ejumpcut.org/archive/onlinessays/JC43folder/ EdGein.html. Tannehill, Brynn. “Pretty Little Liars Transphobic Writing is Hackneyed, Harmful.” Huffington Post, 2 Feb. 2016, huffingtonpost.com/brynn-­ tannehill/pretty-­little-­liars-­trans_b_7979754.html. “Top-Rated Television Shows by Season.” Wikipedia, 27 Nov. 2018. Wikipedia. org, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Top-­rated_United_States_television_programs_ by_season#Multiple_Rankings_in_the_Top_30. Accessed 1 Dec. 2018. Torres, Sasha. “Television/Feminism: Heartbeat and Prime Time Lesbianism.” The Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader, edited by Henry Abelove, Michèle Aina Barale, and David M. Halperin, Routledge, 1993, pp. 176–185. True Blood. Created by Alan Ball, performances by Kristin Bauer, Seasons 1–7, HBO, 2008–2014.

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Vartabedian, Julieta. “Bodies and Desires on the Internet: An Approach to Trans Women Sex Workers’ Websites.” Sexualities, vol. 22, no. 1–2, 2019, pp. 224–243, https://doi.org/10.1177/1363460717713381. Voss, Georgina. Stigma and the Shaping of the Pornography Industry. Routledge, 2015. Weitzer, Ronald. “Sex Work: Paradigms and Policies.” Weitzer, pp. 1–43. Weitzer, Ronald, editor. Sex for Sale: Prostitution, Pornography, and the Sex Industry, 2nd ed., Routledge, 2010. Whitford, Emma. “When Walking While Trans is a Crime.” The Cut, 31 Jan. 2018, thecut.com/2018/01/when-­walking-­while-­trans-­is-­a-­crime.html. Wieselman, Jarett. “Behind That Controversial Pretty Little Liars Transgender Reveal.” Buzzfeed News, 12 Aug. 2015, buzzfeed.com/jarettwieselman/ pretty-­little-­liars-­boss-­defends-­controversial-­transgender-­r?utm_term=.xbzRakBOk#.ulGKGEReE.

CHAPTER 7

Trans Victims: Dead Or Alive

When it [the murder] was over, I didn’t feel sick, or scared or anything I thought I would. I felt that I’d done the world a favor. Frank Clark, CSI: NY (CBS, 2007)

When creators include trans regular characters or protagonists, they often frame transphobic harassment and violence through a melodramatic lens to disassociate cis institutions, cis characters, and, by extension, the cis audience as responsible for the trans character’s suffering, as seen on Sophia on Orange is the New Black, Brandon in Boys Don’t Cry, and Adam on Degrassi: The Next Generation (Teen Nick, 2010–2013, S10–13) (Keegan; Poole; Sandercock). Crime dramas which dramatize heinous transphobic crimes, like Frank on CSI: NY drowning his victim in a public toilet, would appear to do so as well. Instead, the crime genre displaces melodramatic identification from victims to the criminal justice authorities or investigators. Even though violent victimization is a standard for this genre, the narrative perspective highlights the cis regular character’s desire to solve the crime, not the suffering of the trans victim who is the crime. In this episode, Frank justifies his murder of a trans feminine character by rationalizing his act as preventative, keeping others from suffering the same humiliation he did when he learns the attractive woman1 he had © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1_7

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kissed that evening “was actually a man.” Their sexual interaction, although minimal, threatens his heteronormativity since she “deceived” him, but the narrative clarifies that she believed he knew her gender history all along. Regardless, investigators reinforce Frank’s interpretation of events with homophobic taunts: “you find out the hard way that she’s actually a he. And you lose it. Or maybe you knew she was a guy all along. Maybe you liked it.” They concur that her penis makes her male, but what propels Frank into violence is not this “fact” but its public knowledge because “that queer kissed me in front of my friends. In front of everybody.” Since he publicly pursued a beautiful blonde to show his masculine prowess, he decides violence will recoup it with friends who, “thought that was hysterical. They told everybody I’d kissed her, asked her up to my room.” The “favor” Frank has done is reestablish cis heterosexual superiority by erasing permanently her ability to identify and live as a woman. Critically, the detectives reestablish this superiority as well, as they agree with his friends’ interpretation and Frank’s humiliation, thus affirming his motive even as they dispute his method of reparation. As this example indicates, the cis audience, loyal followers of these cis investigators, would find Frank’s humiliation a rational motive, thereby confirming that his victim’s actions—kissing him in public—instigated the violence enacted upon her. Feminist and queer media scholars have shown how narrative and extradiegetic details about the victim’s identity similarly impact the balance of culpability between victim and perpetrator. U.S. scripted television crime series designate certain groups as more responsible or, to use one’s words, “partially ‘deserving’” for their own victimization, thus validating sexist and homophobic institutional oppression even when these acts of violence are condemned (Lavigne 387; see also Foss; Rader, Rhineberger-Dunn, and Vasquez). This logic reinforces a model of citizenry that defines the boundaries of acceptable identities, bodies, and behavior—a key component, in other words, of institutional surveillance. In this chapter, I explain how an analysis of trans victimization benefits from such scholarship but requires a more nuanced understanding of the interrelation between victimization and visibility. I therefore integrate another theory from queer and trans scholarship, “trans necropolitics,” which identifies intersectional oppression based on race, class, and postcolonial hierarchies (Snorton and Haritaworn; Aizura; cárdenas). Trans victimization illuminates why increased documentation and press coverage regarding the violence directed at the trans community in recent years—particularly trans women of color—has not resulted in

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legislative action or widespread social outrage. Indeed, more than 4 out of 5 anti-trans murder victims from 2013–2019 were persons of color, while survivors are unlikely to seek help from police, health care workers, or other emergency personnel due to previous harassment and misgendering from these professionals (HRC 13; Wirtz, et al. 233–234). Assumptions about trans victims’ culpability continue to justify transphobic violence for many cis Americans.

The Ethos of Victimization As the previous chapter explains, criminal investigators represent the institutional power of the cisnormative system, so their allegedly objective presentation of “just the facts” is inherently biased. This bias is evident in how they misgender the victims and reference their gender history, as CSI: NY does, as a justifiable motivation for victimization, just as the crime genre had done so in previous decades to justify trans perpetration of a violent crime. The two trends are linked since the trans character’s assault or murder ironically limits the impact of their suffering through the very factor meant to arouse it: violence. Crime series use the spectacle of violence, regardless whether it is enacted on-screen or through its result, a mutilated body, to locate the horror upon the brutality of the act rather than upon a condemnation of the factors that instigate the act. This displacement, as I explain, is intentionally construed not just for its dramatic impact but to avoid indicting systemic causes that would undermine rather than affirm the power of the criminal justice system, the “heroes” referenced in titles like NYPD Blue and Law & Order. When the victim’s identity and victimization are conflated, this displacement becomes symbolic as well as literal. Regardless of the circumstances, violence against trans characters serves ironically to obfuscate institutional transphobia when the narrative condemns the act, whether assault, murder, or “bullying,” rather than the transphobic assumptions and cisnormative systems that created it in the first place. A comparison between trans victimization on CSI: NY and another crime series, Southland (NBC, 2009, S01, Ep3), exemplifies how transphobia is validated even when the victim’s suffering, and not the perpetrator’s motivation, is the narrative focus. This distinction is partly based on the setting since the former is a procedural show set in a slick, technological office and the latter follows beat cops and hardened detectives on L.A.’s gritty streets. In Southland, two uniformed partners interrupt a

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robbery and capture the suspects in a dramatic car chase, then return to the scene of the crime and to the victim. She is trans feminine, dressed conservatively but lacking a wig, while attentive viewers glimpse mannequins with cross-gender clothing in the window of the shop. The officer is respectful as the camera closes in on her black eye and bloodied face, but uses no name or pronouns, asking only, “are those the guys that beat you?” as he points to the suspects detained on the curb. When she refuses to agree, another trans feminine character steps up to confirm, “of course that’s them. I saw them beating her.” He takes the victim inside and reassures her, “you don’t have to pay these people…. We’re the police. We’ll protect you,” as she reattaches her wig, even holding a hand mirror for her. But her last line, “you seem like a lovely gentleman, but who the hell do you think you’re kiddin’?” is then followed up by a wide shot, so the interior of the shop, with its wig-stands and signs, like “yes Ladies, we carry size 14 boots!,” clearly marks the setting, not just the persons, as the cause. Her suffering is presumed to be inevitable due to its source, not extortion but transphobia, represented by hatred of cross-gender dress and behavior. The officer’s tone may be respectful, but he accepts this explanation without protest. Thus, even with the narrative shift from perpetrator to victim, both series validate transphobic intentions and frame gender difference as ultimately incompatible with hetero- and cisnormative society. Indeed, as queer studies has demonstrated about homophobia,2 this inherent contradiction of tolerance (versus acceptance or celebration) of a minority community relies upon a rationale of difference (trans people are different from cis people) and sameness (no one should be bullied or murdered for that difference) that avoids asking the cisgender audience to interrogate their own beliefs about the reality or relevance of that difference. This ethos of victimization explains why, regardless of any melodramatic elements which heighten the victim’s suffering, the narrative’s overall purpose remains the same: to assure majority viewers that the institutions and hierarchies that benefit their privilege remain intact and justified. As a result, those groups who are already stigmatized, whether by class, race, occupation, or sexual orientation, are presented as more responsible for their victimization than majority victims. One media study, for instance, concludes that black female crime victims in the news media “are more likely [than their white counterparts] to be blamed for purportedly putting themselves in harm’s way, either knowingly or unknowingly” (Sommers 288). Fictionalized crime dramas, which include background

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information to heighten suspense, offer additional means to blame the victim due to the investigation’s findings or in recreations of the crime, as many dramatize it chronologically, like in the Law & Order franchise (NBC), or in flashbacks, like in the CSI franchise (CBS). One commonly studied example is female sexual assault victims, who are often faulted for their own attack due to their behavior or dress in public, alcohol or drug intake, or sexual history, particularly when her race or class alone cannot insinuate her culpability (Rader, Rhineberger-Dunn, and Vasquez 70; Britto et  al. 42–43). Fictionalized versions of actual crimes may even change the victim’s or perpetrator’s race in order to manipulate perceptions of guilt (Moorti 144–145). By combining individualized circumstances with stigmatized identities, fictional crime narratives ensure “human’ profiles and dramatic events substitute for substantive examinations of crime as a public issue or social problem” and enable audiences to distance themselves from potential victimization, a mindset researchers call “just world hypothesis” (Kappeler and Potter 9; Rader, Rhineberger-­ Dunn, and Vasquez 58). Since crime series use such stereotypical assumptions about gender, race, and other identities to frame some victims as more or less “deserving” than others, they belie their “ripped from the headlines” maxim. The most common victim demographic on crime dramas are white women victimized by unknown assailants, but most actual victims are male, and female victims are more, not less likely, to know their attacker(s) (Parrott and Parrott 78–79; Britto et al. 39–40). One feminist media study notes that when the perpetrator is a stranger, viewers are less likely to indict the female victim as responsible for her own attack, while if she knew or was romantically involved with the perpetrator, she is characterized as “manipulative” (Rader and Rhineberger-Dunne 246–47). Framing victims as responsible while solving the crime and charging the perpetrator reveals the genre’s actual tenet: to validate the authority of the criminal justice system. In short, these series legitimize the investigatory, forensic, and legal systems as “more efficient and effective then they are in reality” (Eschholtz, Mallard, and Flynn 172). The fact that onscreen investigators remain almost exclusively heterosexual and cisgender and primarily white and male also serves to justify institutionalized hierarchies of privilege and oppression.3 Victimization ethos are further influenced when certain demographics appear only as victims, usually in a guest role, rather than as a regular or recurring character (Foss 164). As a result, when trans or queer people

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appear primarily as victims,4 the narrative again can shift blame from the transphobic or homophobic inclinations of the perpetrators to the victims’ identity group (Lavigne 395; Guittar 214–215).

Disposable Bodies It is hard to overstate American audiences’ love of murder investigations, given the 11 seasons and 4 television films of Murder, She Wrote (CBS, 1984–1996); the 8 seasons of Quincy, M.E. [Medical Examiner] (NBC, 1976–1983); and 24  years of homicide detective Columbo (NBC, 1968–1978; ABC, 1989–2003). Homicide also dominates the more than 400 episodes of NCIS (CBS, 2003–present) and Law & Order (NBC, 1990–2010; 2022–present), while serial killers stoke this fascination in other popular series like Dexter (Showtime, 2006–2013), Mindhunters (Netflix, 2017–2019), and Hannibal (NBC, 2013–2015). Despite attracting “crime junkies,” however, audiences remain unaware that a murderer’s motive, whether Dexter’s traumatic childhood or Hannibal’s cannibalism, is intentionally formulated as psychopathy or Hobbesian individuality rather than the result of institutional inequities (Soulliere 15). Yet these systemic biases can alter the perception of even the goriest killers’ victims. In news coverage, the typology of a sympathetic serial murder victim is most often “a middle-aged white person (most often a woman) who is free from social stigmas” (Eliasson-Nannini and Sommerlad-Rogers 49). As noted, queer theory in general and trans studies in particular have formulated an additional perspective on murder and victimization, “trans necropolitics” (Aizura; cárdenas; Snorton and Haritaworn). Trans necropolitics condemns the interrelated hierarchies of capitalism, nationalism, and post-colonial globalism that determine “which trans people are acceptable … and which trans people are disposable” within a neoliberal logic of “murderous inclusion” (cárdenas 173; Snorton and Haritaworn 74). If the crime genre creates a victimization ethos that stipulates the affective worth of the productive citizen, blindly victimized by happenstance, as distinct from the marginalized and dispossessed outlier, victimized by their own design, then trans necropolitics helps explain why representations of trans murder reinforce cisnormativity even when if the violence is condemned. The purpose of trans characters in crime and horror dramas, therefore, has remained strikingly consistent despite the shift from villain to victim. As televisual narratives moved away from the trans psychotic killers so

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common in the 1970s and 1980s, the introduction of a dead trans victim in the 1990s also integrates the “mystery” of the character’s gender history, similarly untangled by the astute detective, but from a different perspective. The earliest examples on New York Undercover (Fox, 1994, S01, Ep12), NYPD Blue (ABC, 1997, S04, Ep18), Catherine’s Grove (King, 1997), and Diary of a Serial Killer (Wallace, 1997) rely upon the same elements as their predecessors, a dramatic exposure of genitals or wigs and a conflation of drag queens and transsexuals. Later television investigators use lab technology to determine the victim’s “true” gender and then apply the revelation to the perpetrator’s motivations, reducing trans identity to genitalia, reproductive organs, or chromosomes in the process. While the doctor-detective series Diagnosis Murder (CBS, 1995, S03, Ep3) introduced this method, it became much more common in the 2000s with the growth of crime-fighting forensics on shows like CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (CBS, 2002, S03, Ep2; 2004, S03, Ep18; 2005, S05, Ep8); Without a Trace (CBS, 2005, S03, Ep18); CSI: NY (CBS, 2007, S03, Ep18); and Bones (Fox, 2008, S04, Ep6). Yet the trans feminine victim is often denigrated by not merely the fact of her “fake boobs” or sexual organs, but by the reveal’s context, usually banter between co-workers: “Grissom, you might want to come down here.” “Just say it, Nick.” “Beans and franks. Tonya’s a man.” (CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CBS, 2002, S03, Ep2); “Purse and panties are gone.” “But the stem’s still on the apple.” “A trannie?” “Our Jane Doe’s a John.” (Law & Order: SVU, NBC, 2002, S03, Ep23); “Genital wounds were more profound than I expected.” “Profound how?” “Instead of ovaries, I found a prostate.” (CSI: Crime Scene Investigation; 2005, S05, Ep8); “Our Jane Doe’s heavier than she looks.” “Check out the size of her feet.” “And hands” [while lifting skirt]. “Better make that a John Doe.” CSI: NY (CBS, 2007, S03, Ep18). “The pelvic bone speaks. It says, ‘I be male.’”

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“The pelvic bone can say whatever it wants to say. This part here says female.” “What part’s that?” “It’s called a vagina.” (Bones, Fox, 2008, S04, Ep6);

This information, of course, is never inconsequential; a trans victim is never simply mugged for their wallet or murdered for their part in an embezzlement scheme. The elements inherent in the “cis chaser” trend, discussed in more detail in Chap. 4, are again integrated to rationalize cisnormative reactions to gender difference. In Diagnosis Murder, Bones, the CSI examples and Without a Trace, the trans woman’s gender history is a startling plot climax meant to reveal the killer’s motivation. When the detectives interview one’s surgeon on Without a Trace, his expertise reaffirms who is to blame: “situations like that [murder] aren’t rare. A lot of men and women in transition are desperate for love and affection. They look for it in the wrong place.” The Bones investigators frame the murder victim’s heterosexuality and gender identity as a consistent factor, as she is killed due to a current affair with a cis man but had previously faked her own death to leave her wife and embezzle money for her gender confirmation surgery. When CSI investigators learn that the victim faked menstruation and avoided sexual intercourse to avoid disclosure to her fiancé, one comments, “so a guy desperate to change sex hooks up with a guy who is desperate not to have any?”, and another replies sarcastically, “a match made in heaven” (CBS, 2004, S05, Ep8). Such narratives follow Frank’s example to characterize violent fury by a current or former partner (or their partners) as justified. Legal analysis has criticized the use of the “trans panic defense” as a rationale for violence against a sexual partner, but also notes that news reporting makes “the trans* panic defense seem reasonable even while acknowledging that it is wrong to kill someone” (Wodda and Panfil 958). The trans female victim in Without a Trace is murdered by her abandoned wife’s current husband, a similar scenario to Bones, where the reveal instigates homicidal rage in the wife of the trans woman’s current cis male partner. In Diagnosis Murder, Donna, the jilted fiancé, declares her motive, “I loved him, Dr. Sloan. I wanted him back. I couldn’t stand what he became.” Justifiable anger occurs even in current relationships. One young trans woman’s cis boyfriend admits he “truly” loves her, but Law & Order: Trial by Jury

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(NBC, 2005, S01 Ep13) still maintains his suspicion as her murderer until his father is ultimately indicted. Thus, the motive hinges on the timing of the reveal, leading prosecutors to conclude that she was “playing a dangerous game.” Detectives in Cold Case (CBS, 2004, S02, Ep3) speculate their murder plot is similarly a young cis man who kills after “falling in love with a girl, finding out she’s a guy.” Her death by suicide is still the result of violent anger and public humiliation after the couple is confronted by his father: “This thing is a guy? You did it with a man, Christopher?” In all of these examples, cis heteronormativity is the rationalization for transphobic violence but also its beneficiary, so that every current, former, or potential trans partner of a cis person is justifiably expendable. Only in death does the trans woman’s life have value because death transforms her “unruly body… into the service of state power” which defines the consequences of her gender difference (Snorton and Haritaworn 68). Such framing contributes to what scholars call “exceptionally high levels” of intimate partner violence for the trans community, particularly trans youth (Wirtz, et al. 231). In these scenarios, cis and heterosexual privilege stoke manic bloodshed even when the narrative offers willing partners for the trans character, a displacement of the cis chaser’s rage and humiliation. The Big Easy’s episode (USA, 1996, S01, Ep4) starts when the cisgender male partner of a drag queen is murdered by his cis male best friend. Since the friend is fueled by his love for the victim’s cis female fiancé, the victim’s responsibility is also affirmed by detectives, who also ridicule his affair. Even being desired by a cis man is fatal. A drag queen is murdered by her admirer’s wife in Detroit 1-8-7 (USA, 2011, S01 Ep15 [Fig. 7.1]), yet she is implicated by taunting the wife, in the wife’s words, that “it wasn’t his fault that I couldn’t keep my man at home.” In The Badge (Hensen, 2002), a Louisiana sheriff works with the trans victim’s loving wife to solve the crime. They discover she had been hired to blackmail the governor at a “lingerie party” but is murdered not by the blackmailers but by a gas station attendant peeping tom, who responds violently to being “tricked” after spying on her changing clothes in “the ladies. That’s not right. That’s for ladies.” Whether it is an older detective visibly uncomfortable in Detroit’s drag club or The Badge’s sheriff confused by the victim’s marital status, the investigators’ response frames the audience’s reaction, so that when confronted by the fact of the crime, investigators remain, to paraphrase Ron Becker, the seasoned professionals who are shocked by the extremity—not the presence—of the perpetrator’s violent phobia (197).

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Fig. 7.1  Christina Draguilera (Jai Rodriguez), and Sergeant Longford (James McDaniel), Detroit 1-8-7 (USA, 2011, S01, Ep15)

This difference is articulated in a debate on Law & Order: SVU (NBC, 2016, S18, Ep6) when detectives learn the murdered woman’s boyfriend is an up-and-coming gangster rapper. Detective Tutuola: “For him to tell his fans that he’s in love with a transgender woman, they’d laugh at him. His whole brand would go up in smoke.” Detective Benson: “It’s 2016, for god’s sakes.” Detective Tutuola: “Not for people selling gangster rap.” Detective Carisi: “Yea, or some of my relatives.” Detective Rollins: “Or mine, too.” Detective Tutuola: “This whole gender fluidity thing is coming out more nowadays, but the truth is, it’s confusing, and a lot of people can’t make sense of it all. Me included.”

All the detectives except Benson agree here transphobia should incite her boyfriend’s anger and fear because it is a common and even logical response to “the whole gender fluidity thing.”

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Finally, crime series continue past habits of using gender-atypical characters to link cross-sex behavior with mental instability or a criminal community. The most illogical example occurs on CSI when a trans feminine young woman who claims to be pregnant first attacks officers and paramedics and then graphically commits suicide with a stolen pair of scissors (CBS, 2012, S13, Ep9). Even after investigators learn her “psychotic break” is from the “twenty balloons [of illegal drugs] left inside his stomach,” relatives and friends express ignorance for why “Josh” is “dressed like that.” On CSI: NY (CBS, 2011, S07, Ep18) and Law & Order (NBC, 2004, S14, Ep17), two criminals create alternative cross-sex identities, one for years, so that once again, their irrational criminality is linked their irrational gender behavior even when they are murdered. The shock value of atypical gender identities shows up even when an actual trans character does not, such as on one CSI episode, when a dead cis man is initially assumed to be a trans feminine sex worker because he is wearing makeup and found in “tranny-town” (2004, S04, Ep16). In another (2007, S08, Ep4), a young cis male’s dead body is declothed to reveal breasts with substantial cuts, so the investigators first conclude he is “a mutilated tranny strung up in a tree.” Although his death is revealed as a masochistic suicide after chemically-tainted water led to gynecomastia, the storyline still confirms that genderqueer bodies are unlivable. It is unlikely, then, that regular viewers of these two franchises, which have included trans guest scenarios multiple times in their decades of network dominance, would differentiate any one trans identity—or cross-gender behavior—from another. Each is a mystery which diverts the plot trajectory and reduces the person involved—whether atypical in body or gender expression— to a prop. In other televisual scenarios, the victim is indicted by the investigation when their community becomes the focal point. These other trans characters fit trends covered in the previous chapter about trans criminality, as they encourage the audience’s suspicion that being trans is linked to illegal and high-risk activities. As Becker notes about gay characters, savvy detectives are meant to be both familiar with and disturbed by the “world” where they must journey to solve the crime (181). The cis character’s contempt is again displayed in their banter, like Cold Case (CBS, 2003, S01, Ep7) detectives who, while seeking a gay bar from 1964, explain, “the Hush Room was over there. Corner of Sodom and Gomorrah.” Sometimes this alternative world enters their domain when drag queens appear en femme for interviews at the police station (Cold Case; Detroit

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1-8-7, 2011, S01, Ep15). Interviews with trans characters are thus frequently conducted under a hostile tone of suspicion, often disparaging their gender authenticity. For example, a SVU (ABC, 2009, S10, Ep14) detective confronts one of the few trans masculine characters to ask about how the trans feminine teen suspect came into possession of stolen synthetic hormones: “You’re gonna let a 13-year-old girl take the fall for you? C’mon, be a man! If that’s what you really are.” On The Mentalist (CBS, 2012, S04, Ep21), investigators pressure a drag queen to cooperate by warning, “this is your last chance! I want the truth or I call my police friends and they’ll lock you up. Glenn and Glenda will both be out of work.” Stereotypical assumptions of drag queen “cattiness” or aggressive competitiveness similarly becomes a motive, thus making their femininity at fault for their allegedly violent response. One drag queen tells detectives that another “has the worst characteristics of both the genders—she has the aggression of a man and the temper of a woman” (Bones, Fox, 2014, S09, Ep23), while two others similarly indict a third by describing her as “nasty to everybody…. There wasn’t room for two full-on divas” (Detroit 9-8-1 [Fig. 7.1]). Witnesses often flirt with investigators, who react with visible disgust (e.g. The Mentalist, Detroit 9-8-1, Cold Case), but victims do as well, like a document forger on Wicked City (ABC/Hulu, 2015, S01, Ep6) who insists the serial murderer who tied her up and stole her equipment did not kill her because of “all this,” gesturing to her breasts while telling the younger officer, “it’s okay to look.” The stunning reveal by a witness or a suspect similarly allows cis investigators to remain the authoritative source as it diminishes the trans character’s autonomy. Disclosure occurs even when detectives acknowledge the information may be dangerous to the witness (Storyville, Frost, 1992; The Lone Gunmen, Fox, 2001, S01, Ep11) or upsetting to the client, such as when a teen learns his dad, whom he has been told is dead, has transitioned on Veronica Mars (UPN, 2004, S01, Ep3). Dramatic reveals on the stand occur in two Law & Order: SVU episodes (ABC, 2009, S10, Ep14; NBC, 2018, S19, Ep18). In the earlier episode, the teacher of the trans teen suspect is exposed simultaneously as trans and the vicious attacker of her transphobic father, who beat his genitals “so badly his scrotum ruptured.” The detectives and district attorney first claim her concern for her student is overly intense and then force her disclosure to explain why she “had to save Hailey. I couldn’t let her father kill the beautiful girl inside of her.” Her focus on his genitals is rationalized due her previous assault by a cis man who taunted, “if you want to be a woman so badly, I’ll make you

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one.” Again, her trans identity, not societal transphobia, is presumed to instigate violence. Ironically, in the second case, the trans character’s genitals are again instrumental but clear him of a crime. After detectives find out an Army sergeant is trans (Fig. 7.2), he is forced to acknowledge his birth-sex under cross-examination. The defense lawyer presses him to reveal why he refused to join the gang rape of a sex worker: “unlike most red-blooded men, he didn’t want to have sex with a beautiful woman. I’d like to know why.” Thus, the same way the defense lawyer claims he is “lying” because his “birth certificate says [he’s] female,” his male identity is presented as counterfeit compared to “red-blooded men.” The race of these two Law & Order: SVU trans characters offers a useful segue in differentiating the treatment of non-white characters. Disclosure absolves the black trans masculine character of sexual violence accusations because it deauthenticates his manhood and disassociates him from the black sexual predator stereotype, while trans women, particularly women of color like the teacher, are hypersexualized, making them, as Aren Z.  Aizura asserts, simultaneously highly valued sexual objects and easily disposable, “only worth the specialized sexual labour they are universally imagined to perform” (137). While Hailey’s teacher may not be “playing a dangerous game,” the detail that she has shredded the father’s genitals still sexualizes her physical aggression and literalizes her threat to

Fig. 7.2  Det. Olivia Benson (Mariska Hargitay) with suspect Sgt. Jim Preston (Marquise Vilson), Law & Order: SVU (NBC, 2018, S19, Ep18)

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white cis male heteronormativity, which the cis justice system can then contain. In this way, trans necropolitics deconstructs the “institutional and structural violence” which manifests in the “instrumentalization of trans femininity” as simultaneously aggressive, sexualized, and commodified (Aizura 146). Another trans masculine victim in this study, on NYPD Blue (ABC, 1997, S05, Ep10), confirms this viewpoint. He treated by cis authorities without the disrespect and moral relativity that characterize the trans feminine characters in this series, whether murderers (1994, S01, Ep14), witnesses (1995, S02, Ep9; 1996, S04, Ep8), or victims, discussed below (1997, S04, Ep18; 2003, S10, Ep15; 2003, S11, Ep2). The usually dismissive Detective Sipowicz describes his death as the result of his female roommate “and her glue-head boyfriend bludgeon[ing] a poor hermaphrodite to death.” Mislabeling his identity is another means to shift blame, as the victim told Sipowicz earlier that he is saving for a “sex change,” just as Sipowicz’s blames the roommate for exploiting a “poor girl sick in love with you.” The trans masculine character is a more acceptable victim, then, because he is “actually” female. In these crime series, when trans feminine characters are also sex workers, their accountability is doubly rationalized. In this way NYPD Blues’ other trans victims (ABC, 1996, S04, Ep18; 2003, S10, Ep15; 2003, S11, Ep2) are all indicted as responsible for her own death, as are her coworkers. Introduced as uncooperative witnesses (ABC, 1996, S04, Ep8), a pair of non-white sex workers returns later in the season when Angela, an Asian American trans woman (Fig. 7.3), seeks help after her boyfriend’s violent attack, incited by her refusal to have gender confirmation surgery (ABC, 1996, S04, Ep18). After her brutalized body is found in an alley, detectives return to friend Peaches and threaten her when she vows revenge instead of cooperating, including Sipowicz’s sarcasm about her grief: “here we go with the faucets.” Angela is framed as instigating the boyfriend’s violence when he confesses, “she had me do things that were never who I was. Out there on the stroll, giving me her money. I wanted a wife and a home! She’s treating me like a pimp.” When another trans feminine prostitute is found stabbed 26 times in a motel, the detectives disparage her with male pronouns and confuse her identity by referring to her interchangeably as “tranny” and “transvestite” (2003, S10, Ep15). The detectives interview a cisgender male customer first, assuming he “must have flipped out seeing Lana had a dick,“ and when he denies it, counsel him, ”Gordon, we’re trying to steer you in a direction that what you did was justifiable. You get that?” They also misgender her friend and

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Fig. 7.3  Angela (Alec Mapa), NYPD Blue (ABC, 1996, S04, Ep8)

coworker Monica, calling her “Dan” and threatening to arrest her for solicitation when she refuses to cooperate as a witness. She then becomes the suspect when she points the finger at another cisgender man whom the police learn is her accomplice, sent to retrieve money the dead woman owed them. Although he is Lana’s murderer, his defense indicts both trans women as inherently immoral: “give ‘em a break, and they’ll sell you their own mothers. Trannies are liars about everything, their own sex, for God’s sake.” Monica returns the next season (S11, Ep2) at the scene of another dead trans feminine “pro,” protesting the detective’s use of male pronouns and name by pointing out, “Melissa lived as a woman for ten years.” When Sipowicz recalls their prior association, Monica responds, “We were never introduced, sir. We saw each other from across the squad room so technically we never did meet,” so he threatens, “and technically you’re still a man, Dan, which means I can knock you around like one.” When a married man confesses to her murder because she “was gonna tell my wife. Tell her things that we never even did,” the detectives discount his

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assertion that “me and Melissa never had sex,” but their view hardly authenticates their relationship. Moreover, Monica steals Melissa’s life savings her after her death, so despite using the money to support her abandoned son, she remains one of the deceitful and manipulative “transvestite hookers.” Another example appears this decade on JAG (NBC, 2004, S10, Ep3), where Tamary is stabbed to death moments after attempting to extort money from a young sailor who has learned that “she turned out to be a he.” Although her death turns out to be connected to a serialist murderer of sex workers, the investigators never suggest her death is tragic or stop misgendering her. A similar scenario occurs when a trans feminine sex worker is murdered by a serial rapist and kidnapper in the thriller The Factory (O’Neill, 2012). Although the film’s conclusion reveals his kidnapping is intended to create pregnancy surrogates for his infertile cis female partner, he claims, like Frank on CSI: NY, that he is actually doing “doing the world a favor” by killing her since she did not “tell” him she is trans. In the subsequent investigation, her death hardly warrants any attention compared to the cis female victims. Street work heightens the culpability of even younger and more vulnerable trans women. A teenage victim is murdered in a wrong-place, wrong-­ time scenario, but the defense attorney still tells the ADA his client will not be found guilty by a jury since she is, “a transvestite hooker, fresh from a trick,” which the ADA endorses by agreeing to a plea (Law & Order: SVU, NBC, 2002, S03, Ep23). When a SVU detective wonders why another teen murder victim continued sex work despite having a new career, her boss replies, “it’s all he knows. He doesn’t know how to stop” (NBC, 2018, S20, Ep10). A young trans feminine sex worker appears on The Cleaner (A&E, 2009, S02, Ep9), a series premised on a team of former addicts who are paid to get other addicts “clean” by friends and relatives. Therefore, while the addict’s sex work is not a barrier to empathy on this series, given the team’s own criminal histories, her gender identity is. Prior to the reveal, the episode creates suspense with numerous close-ups of white hands with painted nails and jewelry and long hair obscuring a face intercut with scenes of the investigators’ progress. Eventually a synthetic hair leads the boss, Banks, to “solve” the mystery of Taylor’s addiction, which he uses to confront her mother: “his drug use. His gender issues. It’s all connected…. If you want your son back, you’re going to have to find a way to get right with this.” While the story ends predictably with Taylor clean and both parents supporting her transition, the

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presumption that her gender dysphoria lead to heroin, sex work, and an abusive pimp is hardly positive, while the consistent misgendering through male pronouns and casting of a cis male actor make the episode hardly progressive. Trans necropolitics further explains why such episodes rarely include factors like economic instability or employment discrimination in the storyline. While white trans feminine sex workers like Monica and Tamary may be as castigated the same way as Angela, Peaches, and Melissa, only Taylor is left morally free of blame, but it has transferred to her unsupportive parent, not her narrowed economic options or lack of SOC-­ endorsed health care. Without contextualizing economic and legal oppression faced by the trans community, crime narratives participate in the desubjectification that trans necropolitics illuminates. When the victim is presented as making “this ‘irrational choice’ to continue sex work, grey market hormone treatment, body medication, etc., trans sex workers can be represented as engineering their own deaths” (Aizura 140). The most “irrational” sex worker appears on an episode of the detective show, Terriers (FX, 2010, S01, Ep9). Mikaela, a black woman like Peaches, seeks the services of the private investigator main character, Britt, to identify who murdered coworker Crystal. First, Mikaela is positioned as a deceptive liar because Britt finds her only because she has stolen money from a teenaged male client. But he accepts her explanation as an altruistic choice when she claims revealing her gender identity would have been more traumatizing: “it wasn’t until we were on the verge of the whole shebang that I realized what a surprise he was in for. So I bolted. Better that, I thought, than to scare him for life.” Indeed, the two become quasi-­friends after he plays her “pimp” so she can retrieve money from a client in order to pay him back. But the episode similarly uses her non-white masculine markers and consistent references to her self-identity as “a tranny ho” to reestablish Britt’s cisgender heterosexual normativity and distance her sexual attractiveness from his blonde cis wife. In fact, the narrative denies Crystal justice since they discover the “sick twist [who] beat the shit out of her” is already dead. The rest of the episode is spent finding her unsuspecting family, making Crystal’s parents the empathetic victims instead of their own child, despite being white evangelical Christians who forced their 15-year-old gay “son,” Trevor, to run away. When they visit, Mikaela appears dressed as male “Michael,” a choice made easier by the casting of a cisgender male actor. Thus, Mikaela’s and Crystal’s profession and gender transition are presented as unequivocally unacceptable to “ordinary

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decent folk,” and any pride or autonomy Mikaela has expressed about either is effectively erased as the makeup from her face. The ending similarly erases Crystal’s identity, the circumstances of her death, and even the parental rejection which precipitated her economic need. As a teenage trans feminine prostitute, Crystal’s death is inconsequential compared to Trevor’s, a “good boy… [who] deserved to grow up and become a good man.” The erasure of a trans death to validate queer life, another trans necropolitical trend, occurs as well in another Cold Case episode (CBS, 2007, S05, Ep9) (Snorton and Haritaworn 69–70). Here the trans masculine character’s conversion therapy and subsequent assisted-suicide in 1963 are meant to demonstrate how far America has come in validating its “gender-benders” since one of his former tormenters becomes a liberal professor. Her class ends the episode, the camera panning over a visibly diverse class and stopping on a short-haired woman in a “queer planet” t-shirt. Like Terriers, Ally McBeal (Fox, 1997, S01 Ep10) uses a cisgender male actor to play a young Latina sex worker. Like Mikaela, the episode shifts between pronouns, names, and gender presentation while framing Stephanie’s sex work as unfortunate even when acknowledging her challenges as a runaway. Her lawyer Ally first describes her as “this boy [who] … is the most fragile person, living in the harshest of worlds” and later as “a kid who doesn’t know what or who he is. He’s alone in a new city, and he’s out on the streets at night because that’s the only way he knows how to make his rent.” Even the doctor McBeal consults as part of her defense against solicitation charges calls her, “a pretty messed up kid,… he’s hugely confused,” but tellingly, only regarding his gender because “he knows what he’s doing out there on the streets.” Stephanie’s motivations are further sexualized when McBeal presents her defense as insanity based upon “transvestite fetishism. He has all the symptoms. Intense sexual urges involving cross dressing.” She is murdered when “the john went crazy when he found out the jane was a guy,” but her return to sex work after Ally secures her a job in her law firm is known only after her death, silencing Stephanie’s voice. Thus, the episode focuses on Ally’s grief and her help as misguided, ending with her sobbing at home, “Why did he go back out there?” The erasure of Stephanie’s female identity and its effect on her choices are necessary to give her death meaning since her trans identity is allegedly why she cannot assimilate into productive citizenry. If the timing of this episode implies that such depictions have decreased concurrent with an increase in trans civil rights activism, a study

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of press coverage of the deaths of trans women in color in 2016 indicates that misgendering, victim-blaming, and trivializing transphobic violence continue (Wood, Carrillo, and Monk-Turner). Trans necropolitics clarifies why a trans woman’s life is rationalized as leading to her own death. This logic conflates all her life choices—sex work, illegal drug use, off-book hormone treatment—into one bad “decision” that starts with transition. Even for living victims like Mikaela, storylines exclude references to economic instability or employment discrimination, taking transphobia for granted but then dismissing its relevance. Other episodes similarly miss opportunities to highlight transphobic trends and laws. In Karen Sisco (ABC, 2003,  S01, Ep7), the U.S. marshal title character registers the trans feminine character, Lois, as “female” after Lois asks if she will be imprisoned in a female facility for credit card fraud. Sisco replies, “it depends,” but acquiesces when Lois explains, “it’s gone. I don’t miss it at all.” With this offhand remark, Lois dismisses any discrimination, harassment, or physical abuse the trans community faces in the legal system. Julia may be reunited with her teenage son on Veronica Mars, but she never references the challenges she may have faced seeking custody after transitioning and instead apparently accepts her ex-wife’s decision to tell him she had died (UPN, 2004, S01, Ep3). The fact that both Lois and Julia are professional white women, though, reflects how class and race eased their transition and lowered its consequences. The same demographic seeks justice in civil cases on legal television series, while their lower-class black and brown counterparts are charged with a serious crime. So when transphobia victimizes middle-class white trans women and negatively impacts their employment or marital rights, their “fight” for justice is presented as more valid but similarly unlikely. In each, transphobia remains an intractable force, one that offers audiences a lens to see the victim as tragic but gives them little reason to reconsider the binary gender system or entrenched cisnormativity.

Illegally Gendered Legal personnel in crime genres, like their police counterparts, are depicted as more trustworthy and efficient than in real life, such as with conviction rates that are at least twice as high than in reality (Eschholtz, Mallard, and Flynn 172). This genre highlights high-profile positions for their cisgender protagonist, including judges (Judging Amy, CBS, 1999–2005; First Monday, CBS, 2002), prosecutors (Law & Order franchise, NBC,

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1990–2018; JAG, CBS, 1997–2005), and defense/civil attorneys (L.A. Law, NBC, 1986–94; Ally McBeal, FOX, 1997–2002; Family Law, CBS, 1999–2002; Eli Stone, ABC, 2008–09; Harry’s Law, NBC, 2011–2012; Drop Dead Diva, Lifetime, 2009–14; How To Get Away with Murder, ABC, 2014–2020), or all three (Picket Fences, CBS, 1992–96). Granted, these series often present situations and character backstories that defy logic, such as “lawyers … [who] say things to judges that in the real world would get [them] put in jail,” but media scholars agree that regardless of their role, legal heroes on television5 exhibit “a moral pluck” that firmly places them on the side of justice (Ward; Asimow 89; see also Podlas 4; Mezey and Niles 184). While such storylines could educate the mainstream about transphobic legal discrimination, these narratives instead reiterate trans exclusion from civil rights by presenting the sex/gender equation and gender binary as accepted facts behind the law. Like violent victimization, then, these legal scenarios suggest the trans characters’ identity creates the problem, not cisnormativity. Although many episodes confirm that trans persons should be treated humanely, legal discrimination primarily serves to underscore the authority of cisgender legal surveillance, validate the cisnormative legal system, and leave the trans character’s gender identity as a debatable construct. Indeed, crime media may even be harmful since by “depict[ing] our legal institutions as efficient, fair, and honest, it risks perpetuating a system that is, in actuality, in need of reform” (Battersby and Robinson 37). In the same way, these scenarios obscure how trans persons are vulnerable to employment, housing, and health care discrimination as federal and state laws lack specific provisions for protection; even when implemented, such laws continue to face ongoing challenges due to federal, state, and local jurisdictional conflicts and legalized discriminatory practices framed as “religious freedom” (Taylor, Lewis, and Haider-Markel). As one trans political scholar asserts, the legal rationalization for sex-­ classification policies and sex-segregation practices is presumed rather than proven, creating a surveillance system that codifies sex and gender difference unnecessarily and creates more harmful than useful outcomes (Davis 141–143). Legal dramas, like police procedurals, require trans characters to rely on the authority of the cis protagonists who, by virtue of the narrative’s premise, are intertwined with the authority of the system they represent. Even when they lose, demonstrating the fallibility of the law, their quest for justice frames most cases as “a dramatic narrative that can easily

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identify the villain from the hero” (Moorti 148). First, multiple times, especially in earlier cases, a legal or judicial character confirms their transphobia, such as admitting “revulsion” in L.A.  Law (NBC, 1991,  S05, Ep19) or “squeamish[ness]” in Picket Fences (CBS, 1992, S01, Ep11). As a result, gender “difference” is again equated with the perverse, the unnatural, even the grotesque. One associate raises a 1950s lavender scare rationale by claiming, “transvestites are now a threat to national security…. Prancing around wearing disguises. There could be a Muslim underneath all that mascara” (Boston Legal, ABC, 2006, S03, Ep2). Another misgenders the trans woman to claim support for her marriage case since, as a same-sex union, he hopes she will join “all the gays [who] move” to Vermont (Ally McBeal, Fox, 2001, S04, Ep10). The lead cis male partner on Family Law (CBS, 2000, S01, Ep16) becomes obsessed with the genitals of “that guy. Carla. It’s not right. He’s messing with God’s plan. God’s the one who hands out the equipment for the big game.” He later leads a discussion with other associates about how their client “cut it off,” and then asks Carla directly, “how on earth could you do that?” Even if such comments are framed as comedic, they validate transphobia as an expected response from the cis regular characters the audiences follow weekly and makes the bar of their eventual transformation very low. Cross-dressed behavior is also ridiculed in many 2000s examples by using the familiar pattern of casting cis male actors for a deliberately unconvincing female cisgender aesthetic, regardless of whether they are female transsexuals, drag queens, or “transvestites.” For example, on Boston Legal, Clarice Bell is a “transvestite” suing her employer for not approving maternity leave based on her desire to adopt (ABC, 2006, S03, Ep2). However, her mental stability is immediately attributed to her gender presentation when she claims she must adopt because she “has trouble conceiving” as a single working woman. Moreover, the case is presented as interpersonal conflict, not discrimination, when Clarice’s lawyers enable her return after she agrees to her boss’s request “not to use the women’s bathroom and cut down on the stand-up comedy,” as he calls her gender presentation. As an African American woman, Clarice’s race reiterates her masculinity, given her dark complexion, height, and stocky body shape. She also exhibits a racialized and gendered sassiness, such as her opening scene where she tells a male associate, “I know why you’re staring. You’re staring at my knockers.” When a beloved shop teacher transitions on the teen dramedy, Popular (WB, 2000, S01, Ep18), the episode provides extended reaction shots from students and her fellow teachers, all of whom

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claim she has gone to the “dark side” and is no longer qualified or even “the same person.” The cis normativity of the actors also allow these series to present the trans feminine character’s cross-gender behavior and presentation as a choice. In Boston Legal, a cis female partner tells Clarice to take off her wig since she has “created this false personality where you feel more comfortable;” when she returns a few episodes later seeking employment, Clarice readily agrees when the same associate will only hire “Clarence” (S03, Ep7). Through the character’s two seasons as a recurring character, this boss (who later becomes her girlfriend) constantly scolds her for cross-­ dressing and forces her to remove her wig (2007, S03, Ep11, Ep12, Ep19; S04, Ep1, 7). Debbie starts the Popular episode as “Don” in male presentation, so the cis audience can similarly see Debbie’s feminine presentation as a “man in a skirt.” When Debbie attends the school board meeting to fight her dismissal, her students support her by arriving in cross-gender presentation, a spectacle as well as an argument for “tolerance” yet one that suggests she can similarly return to her “correct” presentation, like their signs which proclaim, “free to be he or she.” On First Monday (CBS, 2002, S01, Ep1), the Supreme Court justices are unconvinced of the petitioner’s request for asylum and unable to differentiate between a transsexual and a “transvestite” since they see her as a “physiologically male [person] … who only has to put on a pair of trousers to solve his problem.” The fact that the client answers no when asked if she wishes, “to be castrated like a bull” leads to the dismissal of her case—and her female identity. Second, trans guest characters often explain their identity to lawyers, judges, or other officials, another means that shifts responsibility from the cisnormative system and individualizes their situation as unique, not a category of discriminatory practice. On Harry’s Law (NBC, 2012, S01, Ep10), the trans woman (Fig. 7.4) suing to return to her drag job tells the court, “I’m anatomically male. I think of myself as a woman. Retreating into my stage persona? It was more than an escape. It was home.” Teacher Debbie tells the school board, “I’m not here to ask for special treatment. I’m not here to bore you with details of my journey. I’m here to tell you that regardless of what you decide, I’ve never been happier in my own skin,” but she explains SOC requirements only to her fellow teachers, an illogical choice. On Eli Stone (ABC, 2008, S02, Ep9), a Methodist minister dismissed for transitioning uses his religious training to explain, “for 30  years, I have been a prisoner. My soul may be safe for heaven but

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Fig. 7.4  Amanda Knott (Jai Rodriguez) with lawyer Adam Branch (Nate Corddry), Harry’s Law (NBC, 2012, S01, Ep10)

remains trapped in the wrong body on earth. Two years ago, I embarked on a journey to free my soul from that body to one which mirrored my soul, rather than hold it captive.” His case, in fact, hinges less on his firing by church leaders than his assertion that they should allow him to convince his flock to reinstate him, again shifting the circumstances from legal to interpersonal—and one the episode’s ending suggests is unsuccessful. Similarly, even the trans client’s lawyers position them as culpable for the legal conflict. For example, since Carla seeks additional visitation with her teenage daughter on Family Law (CBS, S01, Ep16, 2000), her attorney asks in court, “why did you get married in the first place? Wasn’t that extremely unfair to your wife?” and then questions whether these visits would actually benefit her child: “some people might suggest that your experiences are so far removed from normal life that there is nothing of value that you could impart on your daughter. What could she possibly learn from you?” A partner and former congregant tells the minister on Eli Stone that he has been fired after his transition “because you lied to them…. they see someone they don’t know anymore” and later complains

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to his boss, “he’s not the same person inside; political correctness aside, he is different.” In the same way, other dramas have the cis characters debate the authenticity of the trans character’s identity, splitting parents from each other and from their children over a teacher’s firing on Picket Fences and Popular. Acceptance of the trans character’s identity, therefore, becomes dependent on interpersonal conditions of acceptance rather than a critique of cisnormative legal standards or legal trans discrimination. 2010s episodes do not question the trans character’s identity as explicitly, but still base their narrative around transphobia’s inevitability, even when they use it for a positive outcome. As a result, in some cases trans victimization becomes a means to defend trans criminality. In How To Get Away with Murder (ABC, 2015, S02, Ep6) and Doubt (CBS, 2017, S01, EP6), each victim suffers transphobic abuse prior to murdering her attacker, albeit unintentionally, even though the former kills her husband and the latter a stranger who harasses her. Although How To’s wife proves her husband’s attack did not occur when, as an investigating officer claims, “he finally found out what you hid from him,” she admits to her lawyer that she endured his abuse because she “believed him when he said he was the only one who could ever love me.” Doubt relies on similar past trauma, here from a father as well as a previous interaction when Delilah was attacked on the street by a cis man trying to “see if I’m ‘really a woman.’” Even a trans woman innocent of the criminal charge of marijuana possession is victimized by her married boyfriend’s refusal to clear her to the police on Outlaw (NBC, 2010, S01, Ep3). All three episodes are laudatory for referencing the transphobia within the justice system, such as each’s insistence that their clients are housed appropriately for their gender, although on Outlaw this occurs only after she is assaulted by male inmates. But their trans identity, not the perpetrator’s transphobia, is primarily the episode’s focus, localizing the continuum of transphobia within the victim’s experience rather than the societal circumstances that created the transphobic violence. Two of these three characters are, tellingly, women of color, demonstrating that black trans feminine victims appear only in legal scenarios in which they have been charged with a criminal act, another racialized casting choice. Conversely, transphobia within the legal system even contributes to positive outcomes, as it did on the stand for the sergeant in Law & Order: SVU (NBC, 2018, S19, Ep18), even if it costs him his job. On Outlaw, as noted, as well as Harry’s Law, the trans woman’s affair with a married cisgender man is so significant that its disclosure becomes the rationale for

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her case’s dismissal. In the former, the threat leads the D.A. to drop the charges, and in the latter, the judge rules the civil case for employment dismissal must proceed in closed session since “the mere filing of a complaint of this type is incendiary; it’s perhaps irreparable. The defendant is a married man, with a family, and the allegations here would be devastating…. The court has to be sensitive to that potential injustice,” a judgement that overlooks the fact that her boss is willing to concede to the affair publicly but fires her due to wife’s request. On Drop Dead Diva (Lifetime, 2010, S02, Ep8), the judge sides with the trans female wife’s suit against her dead wife’s parents, who seek to invalidate her spousal claim to inheritance. Yet the outcome is dependent on the fact that her birth certificate states that she is male, a strategy her attorneys use over her objections. Moreover, the unfairness of her inconsistent legal sex markers is not the focus of this case, as it was not a relevant factor in an episode of Ally McBeal when a trans woman seeks an exception to the same-sex marriage ban to marry her cis fiancé (Fox, 2000, S04, Ep10). Finally, these latter two episodes show how cisnormative authority can authenticate a trans character’s humanity but not her gender identity. Indeed, when these episodes elevate the regular cis character’s willingness to do the minimum, such as using their pronouns and name correctly, over more egregious transphobia from other cis characters, the storylines continue to engage in a conditional acceptance based on interpersonal relations rather challenge the cisnormative system that creates such transphobic viewpoints. In Outlaw and Harry’s Law, the young cis male associate assigned to the case of a non-white trans woman has a personal awakening to tolerance, one the trans character gratefully acknowledges by calling Eddie “nice guy” (Outlaw) and Adam a “really kind man” (Harry’s Law, [Fig. 7.4]). The scenario’s pointed emotionalism is undercut, however, with reminders of her inauthentic femaleness. In the former, this occurs when she hugs him unexpectedly, as camera angles highlight his strained smile and her domineering height; in the latter, she qualifies his complement that she is a “beautiful, sensitive, gifted woman” by adding, “with a penis.” In Drop Dead Diva, the judge finds in favor of the trans woman’s spousal inheritance but calls her marriage, “two people in love,” so the episode’s concluding lesson, as the cis male associate explains to another associate, is “love conquered all…. Allison became a woman, and Melanie still loved her. Their connection transcended their physical bodies. It’s the definition of soul mates.” Other episodes with similarly positive outcomes, like L.A.  Law’s (NBC, 1991,  S05, Ep19) former model who wins a

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$400,000 restitution for being fired or Ally McBeal’s (Fox, 2001, S04, Ep20) Barbra Streisand drag queen who wins compensation for a botched nose job, end up summarizing the case using similarly vague clichés palatable for cis audiences and characters alike, here about being proud to be oneself. With the exception of Doubt, which for the first time in television history includes a regular trans character as one of the firm’s associates, legal television episodes rarely challenge the cisnormative requirements involved in cross-dressing publicly or changing one’s sex legally, the transphobia inherent in the criminal justice system, or the economic instability the trans community faces which makes them vulnerable to extra-legal situations or police exploitation. In fact, when the majority of these episodes locates their legal problem within their interpersonal relationships, none of which survive the episode, these series also fit other transphobic tropes identified in other chapters, where a trans woman is doomed to live and love alone. Perhaps the most egregious result of the presentation of trans criminals and victims in U.S. televisual media is how it obfuscates the high rates of transphobic harassment and discrimination which negatively impact employment, parental custody, identification documentation, housing, incarceration, immigration status and asylum, and health care for the trans community, as well as the cisnormative expectations underlying these rates. The recent Supreme Court victory to extend protection against employment discrimination under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964  in June 2020 certainly offers hope for improvement, but it is the cisgender community’s, not simply the courts’, refusal to adjust institutional, cultural, and social norms that is the primary reason that the trans community continues to be victimized.

Notes 1. I avoid using the character’s name here, Quentin, since it is another way the narrative misgenders her female identity, despite references to her hormone treatment and social transition. 2. See, for example, Avila-Saavedra; Becker; Khamis and Lambert. 3. The elevation of the cis heteronormative protagonist even occurs in “revenge and vigilante” scenarios where crime is framed as “a larger assault on the domestic sphere by predatory outsiders” (Welsh, Dowler, and Fleming 465). I include crime films in my chronology with non-professional investigator as the trans characters fit the same patterns described here and in

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Chap. 6 (e.g. Trenchcoat, Tuchner, 1983; Storyville, Frost, 1992; Dead Awake, Grenier, 2001; Who Is Cletis Tout?, Ver Wiel, 2001). 4. Until 2018, only one crime television series included a regular character, Laverne Cox as Cameron Wirth, an associate on the legal drama Doubt (CBS, 2017, S01, Ep1–13). Two earlier series included trans characters as criminal investigators, in a guest role on The Closer (TNT, 2009, S05, Ep14) and recurring character in a short arc on Twin Peaks (ABC, 1990, S02, Ep11–13) and Twin Peaks: The Return (Showtime, 2017, S01, Ep4). Yet each hardly is given the same investigative authority as their cis counterparts and their female gender identity is invalidated diagetically by the narrative, as both characters “revert” to their male presentations at one point, and extradiagetically by casting a cis male actor. 5. I exclude from this analysis the only scenario in a film between a cis lawyer and a trans client, :…And Justice For All (Jewison 1979), since the trans feminine character’s identity is never explained but treated as a sensational and shocking means to open the film. Her fear of assault in prison is trivialized and even presented as just dues since she repeatedly lies to her defense attorney about her role in the crime.

Works Cited Aizura, Aren Z. “Trans Feminine Value, Racialized Others and the Limits of Necropolitics.” Queer Necropolitics, edited by Jin Haritaworn, Adi Kuntsman, and Silvia Posocco, Routledge, 2014, pp. 129–148. Asimow, Michael. “When Harry Met Perry and Larry: Criminal Defense Lawyers on Television.” Berkeley Journal of Entertainment & Sports Law, vol. 1, no. 2, 2012, pp. 77–98, https://doi.org/10.15779/Z38H06P. Avila-Saavedra, Guillermo. “Nothing Queer about Queer Television: Televised Construction of Gay Masculinities.” Media, Culture, and Society, vol. 31, no. 1, 2009, pp. 5–21, https://doi.org/10.1177/0163443708098243. Battersby, Emily, and Wolfgang G. Robinson. “Paradise Lost: Media in Injustice and Injustice in Media.” Seton Hall Journal of Entertainment & Sports Law, vol. 22, no. 1, pp. 30–58. Becker, Ron. Gay TV and Straight America. Rutgers University Press, 2006. Bissler, Denise L. and Joan L. Conners, eds. The Harms of Crime Media: Essays on the Perpetuation of Racism, Sexism and Class Stereotypes, McFarland, 2012. Britto, Sarah, et al. “Does ‘Special’ Mean Young, White and Female? Deconstructing the Meaning of “Special” in Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.” Journal of Criminal Justice and Popular Culture, vol. 14, no. 1, 2007, pp. 39–57, http:// albany.edu/scj/jcjpc/vol14is1/britto.pdf. cárdenas, micha. “Dark Shimmers: The Rhythm of Necropolitical Affect in Digital Media.” Trap Door: Trans Cultural Production and the Politics of Visibility,

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edited by Reina Gossett, Eric A.  Stanley, and Johanna Burton, MIT Press, 2017, pp. 161–173. Columbo. Created by Richard Levinson and William Link, performance by Peter Falk, Seasons 1–7, NBC, 1968–1978; Seasons 8–10, ABC, 1989–2003. Davis, Heath Fogg. Beyond Trans: Does Gender Matter? New  York University Press, 2017. Dexter. Developed by James Manos Jr., performance Michael A.  Hall, Seasons 1–8, Showtime, 2006–2013. Eliason-Nannini, Janelle, and Deirdre Sommerlad-Rogers. “The Social Construction of Serial Murder Victims: A Multivariate Level Analysis.” In Bissler and Conners, pp. 38–52. Eschholz, Sarah, Matthew Mallard, and Stacey Flynn. “Images of Prime Time Justice: A Content Analysis of NYPD Blue and Law & Order.” Journal of Criminal Justice and Popular Culture, vol. 10, no. 3, 2012, pp. 161–180. Foss, Katherine. “‘Who Are You?’ Shared Responsibility and The Victims of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.” In Bissler and Conners, pp. 151–170. Guittar, Nicolas. “Ripped from the Headlines: The Depiction of Sexual Orientation–Based Hate Crimes in Television Crime Dramas.” In Bissler and Conners, pp. 208–223. Hannibal. Developed by Bryan Fuller, performances by Hugh Dancy and Mads Mikkelsen, Seasons 1–3, NBC, 2013–2015. Human Rights Campaign. “A National Epidemic: Fatal Anti-Transgender Violence in America in 2019,” Nov. 2019, hrc.org/resources/a-­national-­epidemic-­fatal­anti-­trans-­violence-­in-­the-­united-­states-­in-­2019. Kappeler, Victor E. and Gary W. Potter. The Mythology Of Crime And Criminal Justice, 5th ed., Waveland, 2017. Keegan, Cael. “Moving Bodies: Sympathetic Migrations in Transgender Narrativity.” Genders, vol. 57, Spring 2013, par. 1–29. Academic OneFile. Khamis, Susie, and Anthony Lambert. “Effeminacy and Expertise, Excess and Equality: Gay Best Friends as Consumers and Commodities in Contemporary Television.” Consumerism on TV: Popular Media from the 1950s to the Present, edited by Alison Hulme, Ashgate, 2015, pp. 109–126. Lavigne, Carlen. “Death Wore Black Chiffon: Sex and Gender in CSI.” Canadian Review of American Studies, vol. 39, no. 4, Winter 2009, pp. 383–398, https:// doi.org/10.1353/crv.0.0047. Law & Order. Created by Dick Wolf, Seasons 1–20, NBC, 1990–2010; Season 21, NBC, 2022–present. Mezey, Naomi, and Mark C.  Niles. “Screening the Law: Ideology and Law in American Popular Culture.” Columbia Journal of Law & the Arts, vol. 28, 2005, pp. 92–185. Mindhunters. Created by Joe Penhall, performances by Jonathan Groff and Holt McCallany, Seasons 1–2, Netflix, 2017–2019.

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Moorti, Sujata. Color of Rape: Gender and Race in Television’s Public Spheres. State University of New York Press, 2002. Murder, She Wrote. Created by Peter S.  Fischer, Richard Levinson, and William Link, Seasons 1–12, CBS, 1984–1996. NCIS. Created by Donald P.  Bellisario and Don McGill, performance by Mark Harmon, Seasons 1–19, CBS, 2003–present. Parrott, Scott, and Caroline Titcomb Parrott. “U.S. Television’s ‘Mean World’ for White Women: The Portrayal of Gender and Race on Fictional Crime Dramas.” Sex Roles, vol. 73, no. 1–2, 2015, pp.  70–82, https://doi.org/10.1007/ s11199-­015-­0505-­x. Podlas, Kimberlianne. “Guilty on All Accounts: Law & Order’s Impact on Public Perception of Law and Order.” Seton Hall Journal of Entertainment & Sports Law, vol. 18, 2008, pp. 1–48. Poole, Ralph J. “Towards a Queer Futurity: New Trans Television.” European Journal of American Studies, vol. 12, no. 12–2, 2017, pp. 1–23, https://doi. org/10.4000/ejas.12093. Quincy, M.E. Created by Glen A.  Larson and Lou Shaw, performance by Jack Klugman, Seasons 1–8, NBC, 1976–1983. Rader, Nicole E., and Gayle M.  Rhineberger-Dunn. “A Typology of Victim Characterization in Television Crime Dramas.” Journal of Criminal Justice and Popular Culture, vol. 17, no. 1, 2010, pp. 231–263, https://doi.org/10.108 0/08974454.2015.1023487. Rader, Nicole E., Gayle M.  Rhineberger-Dunn, and Lauren Vasquez. “Victim Blame in Fictional Crime Dramas: An Examination of Demographic, Incident-­ Related, and Behavioral Factors.” Women & Criminal Justice, vol. 26, no. 1, 2016, pp. 55–75, https://doi.org/10.1080/08974454.2015.1023487. Sandercock, Tom. “Transing the Small Screen: Loving and Hating Transgender Youth in Glee and Degrassi.” Journal of Gender Studies, vol. 24, no. 4, 2015, pp. 436–52, https://doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2015.1021307. Snorton, C.  Riley and Jin Haritaworn. “Trans Necropolitics: A Transnational Reflection On Violence, Death, And the Trans of Color Afterlife.” The Transgender Studies Reader 2, edited by Susan Stryker and Aren Z.  Aizura, Routledge, 2013, pp. 66–76. Sommers, Zach. “Missing White Woman Syndrome: An Empirical Analysis of Race and Gender Disparities in Online News Coverage of Missing Persons.” The Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology, vol. 106, no. 2, 2016, pp. 275–314, JSTOR, 45163263. Soulliere, Danielle M. “Prime-time Murder: Presentations of Murder on Popular Television Justice Programs.” Journal of Criminal Justice and Popular Culture, vol. 10, no. 1, 2003, pp. 12–38, http://albany.edu/scj/jcjpc/vol10is1/soulliere.html. Taylor, Jami K., Daniel C. Lewis, and Donald P. Haider-Markel. The Remarkable Rise of Transgender Rights. University of Michigan Press, 2018.

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Ward, Stephanie Francis. “Making TV Legal.” American Bar Association (ABA) Journal, 1 June 2008, www.abajournal.com/magazine/article/making_tv_ legal/. Welsh, Andrew, Thomas Fleming, and Kenneth Dowler. “Constructing Crime and Justice on Film: Meaning and Message in Cinema.” Contemporary Justice Review, vol. 14, no. 4, 2011, pp.  457–476, https://doi.org/10.108 0/10282580.2011.616376. Wirtz, Andrea L., et al. “Gender-Based Violence Against Transgender People in the United States: A Call for Research and Programming.” Trauma, Violence, & Abuse, vol. 21, no. 2, 2020, pp.  227–241, https://doi.org/10.1177/ 1524838018757749. Wodda, Aimee, and Vanessa R. Panfil. “Don’t Talk to Me about Deception: The Necessary Erosion of the Trans Panic Defense.” Albany Law Review, vol. 78, 2014, pp. 927–971. Wood, Frank, April Carrillo, and Elizabeth Monk-Turner. “Visibly Unknown: Media Depiction of Murdered Transgender Women of Color.” Race and Justice, vol. 12, no. 2, 2022, pp.  368–386, https://doi.org/10.1177/ 2153368719886343.

CHAPTER 8

Conclusion

Although ending my analysis in 2018 arose organically from the advancement of my book monograph, 2019 marks another notable shift in American trans televisual characters. Pose began to garner just recognition after season 2 in 2019, earning acting, writing, and best series nominations from mainstream awards like the Golden Globes and Primetime Emmys. Its complex trans characters were most likely the result of the trans feminine writers Janet Mock and Our Lady J, the latter who began writing for television during Transparent’s second season which similarly earned her writing award nominations. Pose’s outstanding acting talent similarly earned accolades, with Michaela Jaé (MJ) Rodriguez becoming the first trans woman to be nominated for an acting Emmy in 2021. Its diverse primarily trans feminine Latinx and African-American cast also began to appear in other series, such as Hailie Sahar in Good Trouble (Freeform, 2019–present), Dominique Jackson in American Gods’ third season (Starz, 2021), and Angelica Ross in American Horror Story: 1984 (FX, 2019) and AHS: Double Feature (FX, 2021). Trans masculine characters of color also appeared with more regularity on dramatic ensemble series and miniseries like The L Word: Generation Q (Showtime, 2019), Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City (Netflix, 2019), 9-1-1 Lone Star (FX, 2020–2021), We Are Who We Are (HBO, 2020), and Star Trek: Discovery (CBS All Access, season 3, 2020–2021). Other trans characters were given

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significant arcs related to their identity on The Connors (ABC, season 3, 2020–21), Work in Progress (Showtime, 2019–2021), Empire (Fox, season 6, 2019–2020) and Clarice (CBS, season 1, 2021). Granted, these characters narratively produce “problems” for the regular cis characters, but some series did incorporate trans or GNC characters whose identity has little impact on their storyline, such as Ruthie on Shrill (Hulu, 2019–2020), Zayn on Another Life (Netflix, 2019–2020), and James on The Politician (Netflix, 2019–2020). Similarly notable are the continuing trend for trans female actors cast as cis female characters, such as Hari Nef in You (Lifetime, 2018), Jen Richards in Blindspot (NBC, season 4, 2018–2019), and Patti Harrison in Together Together (Beckwith, 2021). Teen shows or films likewise added trans characters to their ensembles, including Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (Netflix, 2018–2020), Saved by the Bell (Peacock, 2020–2021), Euphoria (HBO, 2019–2021), Moxie (Netflix, 2021) and Gossip Girl (HBO Max, 2021). In contrast, GLAAD’s Studio Responsibility Index for 2019, 2020 and 2021 reported on Hollywood’s lack of trans characters in the previous year, leaving nuanced trans stories to the independent market, such as Cowboys (Kerrigan, 2020) and Isabel Sandoval’s Lingua Franca (2019), which she wrote, directed, and starred in. In October 2021, the Sundance Institute announced a new program aimed at trans filmmakers of color like Sandoval, “Trans Possibilities Intensive,” which will hopefully increase both the number of trans-positive films and their exposure to the mainstream (Sun). The possibility that more nuanced and sensitive trans narratives will impact the trans rights movement in the U.S., however, is hardly guaranteed since trans identities remain a flashpoint in the current culture war in American politics. 2021 has been a banner year for anti-transgender state legislation, with more than 100 bills proposed in at least seven states (Rummier and Sosin). Often written by anti-trans groups like the Family Research Council, legislation to bar trans persons from accessing appropriate facilities or sports often avoids the word “transgender” in a deliberate attempt, some activists believe, to mislead or scare cisgender voters (Rummier and Sosin). Only 8 states changed enforcement guidelines after the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Bostock v. Clayton County in 2020 that trans and LGBQ discrimination are illegal under Title VII of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. At the same time, the federal act aimed at employment and housing discrimination, The Equality Act, languishes in a partisan Congress. 2021 also became the year with the highest number of trans homicides in both the U.S. and worldwide, the vast majority trans women of color (Parks).

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Does the bad news from the political sphere contradict my theoretical stance that televisual popular media influences public opinion? Hardly. Gen Z, the generation born in 1997 or after, has the highest percentage of trans or GNC-identifying individuals of any generation, 4%, according to one worldwide survey, while another found that 50% of Gen Zers and 56% of Millennials believe traditional gender roles and binary labels are outdated (Ipsos; Bigeye). 27% of Generation Z respondents in the latter survey have a friend who is trans and 23% have a friend who identifies outside the binary, while the Pew Research Center found in 2021 that many respondents under 30 know someone trans (56%) or GNC (46%), the majority (56%) who also recognize that someone’s gender can be different than their sex (Bigeye; Minkin and Brown). While older, experienced trans, GNC, and gender-fluid writers, directors and producers like Sam Feder, Tourmaline, Our Lady J, Joey Soloway, and Janet Mock continue to diversify and strengthen representations onscreen, younger groups most likely are also influenced by the number of trans, GNC, and gender-fluid celebrities who have come out recently, including millennials Demi Lovato, Sam Smith, Elliot Page, and Janelle Monáe and Gen Zers Amandla Stenberg, Lachlan Watson, Josie Totah, and Isaiah Stannard. These younger generations have become influential voices in other political debates regarding climate change, gun control, and workers’ rights, while progressive states continue to make significant long-term policy changes like non-binary gender identifiers on identity documents, mandates for trans health care inclusion in insurance coverage, and public accommodations non-discrimination laws which include gender identity (MAP). As America fractures into different political spheres of reality, however, analysis has demonstrated that far right media continues to justify anti-trans legislation like the ban on trans athletes and attack the Equality Act and other bills necessary for LGBTQ equality through misinformation, hyperbole, and outright lies (January, “Here’s How” and “Fox News”). I am not suggesting that problematic scripted trans representations play the same role, as most do counter earlier dehumanizing and pathologizing tropes. Yet not all of these representations present the lives and experiences of trans persons to be similar and equal to cis lives and experiences but distinct from them, particularly those which rely on established sexist, racist, and classist conventions. As a result, they continue to uphold the transphobic mythos of an immovable gender binary and an innate sex/gender interdependence and reinforce institutional surveillance of gender conformity and deviance. Instead, dismantling

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cisgenderist myths must be understood, as GNC activist and artist Alok Vaid-Menon argues, as “not about erasing men and women but rather acknowledging that man and woman are two of many—stars in a constellation that do not compete but amplify one another’s shine” (60).

works cited 9-1-1 Lone Star. Created by Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, and Tim Minear, Seasons 1–3, Fox, 2020–present. American Gods. Developed by Bryan Fuller and Michael Green, Seasons 1–3, Starz, 2017–2021. American Horror Story. Created by Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, Seasons 1–10, FX, 2011–present. Another Life. Created by Aaron Martin, Seasons 1–2, Netflix, 2019–2021. Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City. Developed by Lauren Morelli, Netflix, 2019. Bigeye Agency. Gender: Beyond the Binary. 2021, http://lp.bigeyeagency. com/2021_gender_research_report/. Accessed 22 Nov. 2021. Blindspot. Created by Martin Gero, Seasons 1–5, NBC, 2015–2020. Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. Developed by Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, Seasons 1–2, Netflix, 2018–2020. Clarice. Created by Jenny Lumet and Alex Kurtzman, Season 1, CBS, 2021. The Connors. Created by Matt Williams, Seasons 1–4, ABC, 2018–present. Cowboys. Directed by Anna Kerrigan, Limelight, 2020. Empire. Created by Lee Daniels and Danny Strong, Seasons 1–6, Fox, 2015–2020. Euphoria. Created by Sam Levinson, Seasons 1–2, HBO, 2019–present. GLAAD. 2019 Studio Responsibility Index, 2019, http://glaad.org/sri/2019. GLAAD. 2020 Studio Responsibility Index, 2020, http://glaad.org/sri/2020. GLAAD. 2021 Studio Responsibility Index, 2021, http://glaad.org/sri/2021. Good Trouble. Created by Joanna Johnson, Bradley Bredeweg, and Peter Paige, Seasons 1–4, Freeform, 2019–present. Gossip Girl. Developed by Joshua Safran, Season 1, HBO Max, 2021–present. Ipsos. LGBTQ+ 2021 Pride Global Survey. 2021, http://Ipsos.com/en-­us/news-­ polls.ipsos-­lgbt-­pride-­2021-­global-­survey. Accessed 22 Nov. 2021. January, Briana. “Fox News Has Aired More Segments on Trans Athletes So Far in 2021 Than It Did in the Last Two Years Combined.” Media Matters, 3 May 2021a, http://mediamatters.org/fox-­news/fox-­news-­has-­aired-­more-­ segments-­trans-­athletes-­so-­far-­2021-­it-­did-­last-­two-­years-­combined. ———. “Here’s How the Right-Wing Media will Lie about the Equality Act.” Media Matters, 26 Jan. 2021b, http://mediamatters.org/justice-­civil-­ liberties/heres-­how-­right-­wing-­media-­will-­lie-­about-­equality-­act-­0.

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The L Word: Generation Q. Created by Ilene Chaiken, Kathy Greenberg, and Michele Abbott, Seasons 1–2, Showtime, 2019–present. Lingua Franca. Directed by Isabel Sandoval, 7107 Entertainment, 2019. Minkin, Rachel and Anna Brown. “Rising Shares of U.S. Adults Know Someone who is Transgender or Goes by Gender-Neutral Pronouns.” Pew Research Center. 27 July 2021, http://pewresearch.org/fact-­tank/2021/07/27/ rising-­shares-­of-­u-­s-­adults-­know-­someone-­who-­is-­transgender-­or-­goes-­by-­ gender-­neutral-­pronouns. Movement Advancement Project (MAP). “Snapshot: LGBTQ Equality by State.” 23 Nov. 2021, www.lgbtmap.org/equality-­maps. Accessed 1 Dec. 2021. Moxie. Directed by Amy Poehler, Paper Kite Productions, Netflix, 2021. Parks, Casey. “2021 is the Deadliest Year on Record for Transgender and Nonbinary People.” The Washington Post, 10 Nov. 2021, http://washingtonpost.com/dc-­md-­va/2021/11/10/2021-­transgender-­violent-­death. The Politician. Created by Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, and Ian Brennan, Seasons 1–2, Netflix, 2019–2020. Rummier, Orion and Kate Sosin. “In 102 Trans Bills in 7 States, the Word ‘Transgender’ Appears Just 7 Times. It’s Not an Accident.” USA Today, 16 Nov. 2021, http://usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2021/11/16/ transgender-­not-­mentioned-­most-­anti-­trans-­bills-­erasure-­work/8638189002. Saved by the Bell. Created by Sam Bobrick, Seasons 1–2, Peacock, 2020–present. Shrill. Developed by Aidy Bryant, Alexandra Rushfield, and Lindy West, Seasons 1–3, Hulu, 2019–2021. Star Trek: Discovery. Created by Bryan Fuller and Alex Kurtzman, Seasons 1–4, CBS All Access/Paramount+, 2017–present. Sun, Rebecca. “Sundance Institute Launches New Fellowship Storytellers of the Global Majority.” The Hollywood Reporter, 18 Oct. 2021, http://hollywoodrepor ter.com/movies/movie-­n ews/sundance-­t ransgender-­p rogram­1235032867. Together Together. Directed by Nikole Beckwith, Wild Idea and Stay Gold Productions, 2021. Vaid-Menon, Alok. Beyond the Gender Binary. Penguin, 2020. We Are Who We Are. Creatred by Luca Guadagnino, Paolo Giordano, Francesca Manieri, and Sean Conway, HBO, 2020. Work in Progress. Created by Abby McEnany and Tim Mason, Seasons 1–2, Showtime, 2019–2021. You. Developed by Greg Berlanti and Sera Gamble, Seasons 1–3, Lifetime/Netflix, 2018–present.

Appendix A: Glossary for Gender Identities and Characters

• Cis/cisgender: People who are not transgender (their gender identity matches the sex assigned at birth). Cis female characters/actors are those with a female sex/gender and cis male characters/actors are those with a male sex/gender. All assigned identities to the actor rely on current and accessible public information and use the latest information possible for the identity, which may post-date one appearance. • Cisnormativity: The assumption—culturally, personally and institutionally—that everyone is cisgender and that being cisgender is superior to being transgender and/or gender non-conforming. • Cross-dresser: A person who dresses in clothing usually associated with the opposite biological sex for non-performance purposes (but should not presume a public/private dichotomy to “drag”). Cross-­ dressers usually do not assume the gender identity or role of the opposite sex but may also assume another identity as well if they do. Formerly called transvestite, though this term was also used for drag queens. Gender marker refers to gender identity, so male cross-­ dressers wears feminine attire. • Drag king/queen: The performance of one or multiple genders theatrically. A drag “king” performs masculinity theatrically. A drag “queen” performs femininity theatrically. Often but not always, a

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APPENDIX A: GLOSSARY FOR GENDER IDENTITIES AND CHARACTERS

drag king/queen does not have gender dysphoria and does not live or present as their “drag” gender full-time. • Gender: A social construction that arises from biological sex and allocates certain behaviors into male or female roles; it operates on three levels: personal, interpersonal, and institutional. Our current gender system is a gender binary. • Gender affirmation/confirmation surgery (GNC): Surgery that permanently alters a person’s physiology to align better with their preferred gender presentation/identity. Formerly sex change or gender reassignment surgery. • Gender dysphoria: Medical diagnostic category used to describe the condition for those whose gender identity does not conform to their assigned sex, in terms of both their social role and their body/ presentation. • Gender expression (presentation): External and impermanent or changeable markers of gender, such as dress or hairstyle, although it may also include mannerisms and vocal tone. • Gender history: A person’s previous legal identity, such as their sex assigned at birth, or any previous gender identity designator that is no longer applicable. • Gender identity: Internal sense of gender. • Gender-non-conforming (GNC): A person whose stated and assumed gender identity exists outside of the gender binary (including those who identify as both or neither, or shift between the two). This identity is usually related to or in reaction to the social construction of gender, gender stereotypes and the gender binary system. May also be called elsewhere genderqueer, gender-variant or gender-­ non-­binary (GNB). • Gender role: Set of expectations about what behaviors are appropriate for people of one gender and includes occupation, interests, dress, hobbies, mannerisms, skills, and sexual partner choice. • Heteronormativity: The assumption, in individuals or in institutions, that everyone is heterosexual, and that heterosexuality is superior to homosexuality and bisexuality. • Imposter: A cisgender person who presents another cisgender identity through cross-dressing and presentation for strategic or functional reasons but does not appear to have a trans identity nor gender dysphoria; gender listed refers to gender assumed, e.g. female imposter is a cisgender male pretending to be a cisgender female. I include

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only those characters whose cisgender identity is unknown to the audience until the reveal. This term is distinct from impersonator, an outdated term used both for those who perform drag and those who dress as another gender for other theatrical purposes. • Sex: A person’s biological, genetic, or physiological status; at birth people are “assigned” a sex. • Trans feminine/Trans masculine: An adjective used to describe all persons in the trans community who present in a particular way; trans feminine people, therefore, include trans women, drag queens, and female cross-dressers. I use this term when the specific trans identity of a character or person is unclear. • Trans/Transgender: An umbrella identity for various groups/identities, generally defined as those whose gender identity, sex and/or gender expression does not line up with the sex they were assigned at birth. • Transition: The process (social transition) by which someone begins to live full-time as their gender identity and the process (medical transition) by which someone alters their body through hormones or surgery. Outdated designators include FTM (female-to-male) and MTF (male-to-female) as well as pre-op and post-op. • Transsexual: Persons who do or wish to change their anatomical sex through hormones or surgery to match their gender identity. This term is not preferred by many in the community but used in this book to specify details relevant to the character’s narrative purpose. Currently medical transition is the only means, in most states and countries, to legally change one’s gender documentation. Trans female characters/actors are those with a stated female gender identity and trans male characters/actors are those with a stated male gender identity regardless of the legal or medical status of their identity and/or sex. All assigned identities to the actor rely on current and accessible public information and use the latest information possible for the identity, which may post-date earlier appearances.

Appendix B: Timeline of Trans Characters in Scripted American Film and Television, 1965–2018

1960: Psycho, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Paramount, mystery/horror; Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins). 1965: Alfred Hitchcock Presents, NBC, created by Alfred Hitchcock, mystery/drama; S10, Ep17, “An Unlocked Window” (4/15/65); Betty Ames (T.C. Jones). 1967: The Tiger Makes Out, directed by Arthur Hiller, Columbia Pictures, comedy; Toni (Kim August). 1968: I Love You, Alice B.  Toklas, directed by Hy Averback, Warner Brothers, comedy; women’s clothing customer (Ed Peck). 1969: Riot, directed by Buzz Kulik, Paramount, crime drama; Mary Sheldon (Clifford David) and two unnamed inmates (Mr. Gerri and John Neiderhauser). 1970: Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, directed by Russ Meyer, Twentieth Century Fox, satirical melodrama; Ronnie Z-Man Barzell (John LaZar). 1970: The Christine Jorgensen Story, directed by Irving Rapper, United Artists, transition biopic; Jorgensen (John Hansen). 1970: The Kremlin Letter, directed by John Huston, Twentieth Century Fox, mystery/thriller; “The Warlock” (George Sanders). 1970: Myra Breckinridge, directed by Michael Sarne, Twentieth Century Fox, comedy; Myra (Raquel Welch)/Myron (Rex Reed).

© The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1

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1972: Cabaret, directed by Bob Fosse, Allied Artists, drama/musical; Elke (Ricky Renée) and “Master of Ceremonies” (Joel Grey). 1972: Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex* (*But Were Afraid To Ask), directed by Woody Allen, United Artists, comedy; Sam (Lou Jacobi). 1972: A Reflection of Fear, directed by William A. Fraker, Columbia, suspense-horror; Marguerite (Sandra Locke). 1974: Freebie and The Bean, directed by Richard Rush, Warner Bros., crime action; assailant (Christopher Morley). 1974: The Streets of San Francisco, ABC, created by Edward Hume, crime drama; S03, Ep4, “Mask of Death” (10/3/74); Carol (John Davidson). 1974: Together Brothers, directed by William A.  Graham, Twentieth Century Fox, crime drama; Billy (Lincoln Kilpatrick). 1975: All in the Family, CBS, created by Norman Lear, sitcom; S06, Ep4, “Archie the Hero” (9/29/75); Beverly LaSalle (Lori Shannon); returns S07, Ep8, “Beverly Rides Again” (11/6/76); S08, Ep13, “Edith’s Crisis of Faith, Part 1” (12/18/77). 1975: Barney Miller, ABC, created by Danny Arnold and Theodore J. Flicker, sitcom; S01, Ep9, “Vigilante” (3/20/75); Al (Gabriel Dell). 1975: Bronk, CBS, created by Carroll O’Connor and Ed Waters, crime drama; S01, Ep1, “Open Contract” (9/21/75); Jackie (Christopher Morley). 1975: Dog Day Afternoon, directed by Sidney Lumet, Warner Bros., crime drama; Leon (Chris Sarandon). 1975: Medical Center, CBS, created by Al C. Ward and Frank Glicksman, medical drama; S07, Ep1–2, “The Fourth Sex, Parts 1 & 2” (9/8–9/15/75); Pat Caddison (Robert Reed). 1975: Rocky Horror Picture Show, directed by Jim Sharman, Twentieth Century Fox, musical horror/comedy; Frank N. Furter (Tim Curry). 1975: Switch, CBS, created by Glen A. Larson, crime drama; S01, Ep9, “The Cruise Ship Murders” (11/11/75); Jane Anderson (Christopher Morley). 1977: All That Glitters, Syndicated, created by Norman Lear, soap opera/ sitcom (April–July); Linda Murkland (Linda Gray). 1977: Fun with Dick and Jane, directed by Ted Kotcheff, Columbia Pictures, comedy; unemployment applicant (Christian Erikson).

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1977: The Jeffersons, CBS, created by Don Nicholl, Michael Ross and Bernie West, sitcom; S04, Ep3, “Once a Friend” (10/1/77); Edie Stokes (Veronica Redd).  1977: Police Woman, NBC, created Robert L. Collins, crime drama; S03, Ep13, “Night of the Full Moon” (1/11/77); Charlene (John David Carson). 1977: Soap, ABC, created by Susan Harris, sitcom; S01, Ep2 (9/20/77), Ep9 (11/15/77); Jodie Dallas (Billy Crystal). 1977: Starsky and Hutch, ABC, created by William Blinn, crime drama; S03, Ep5, “Death in a Different Place” (10/15/77); Sugar (Charles Pierce). 1977: Westside Medical, ABC, created by Barry Oringer, medical drama; S01, Ep7, “The Mermaid” (7/7/77); Niki (Betsy Slade). 1978: Thank God It’s Friday, directed by Robert Klane, Columbia Pictures, comedy; club patron (Howard Itzkowitz). 1979: …And Justice For All, directed by Norman Jewison, Columbia Pictures, legal drama; Ralph (Robert Christian). 1979: The Rose, directed by Mark Rydell, Twentieth Century Fox; drama; Emcee (Michael Greer) and three performers (Claude/Kenny Sacha; Sylvester; Michael St. Laurent). 1979: Saint Jack, directed by Peter Bogdanovich, New World Pictures, drama; Bridgit (Bridgit Ang) and Lily (Lily Ang). 1980: Cruising, directed by William Friedkin, United Artists, crime drama; DaVinci (Gene Davis) and unnamed sex worker (Christian Daugherty). 1980: Dressed to Kill, directed by Brian De Palma, Filmways Pictures, crime drama; Robert/Bobbi Elliott (Michael Caine). 1980: Laverne & Shirley, created by Garry Marshall, Lowell Ganz, and Mark Rothman, sitcom; S05, Ep20–21, “Murder on the Moosejaw Express, Parts 1 & 2” (2/26–3/4/80); Winifred (Charles Pierce). 1980: Vega$, ABC, created by Michael Mann, crime drama; S02, Ep16, “The Lido Girls” (2/6/80); Michelle (Christopher Morley). 1980: WKRP Cincinnati, ABC, created by Hugh Wilson, sitcom; S03, Ep5, “Hotel Oceanview” (11/29/80); Nikki (Linda Carlson). 1981: Charlie’s Angels, ABC, created by Ivan Goff and Ben Roberts, crime drama; S05, Ep10, “Angel on the Line” (2/14/81); Margot (Bruce Watson).

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1981: Trapper John, M.D., CBS, created by Richard Hooker, medical drama; S02, Ep6, “Straight and Narrow” (1/11/81); Judy (Craig Russell). 1981: Sharky’s Machine, directed by Burt Reynolds, Warner Bros., crime drama; Rachel (John Greenwell). 1981: The Woman Inside, directed by Joseph Van Winkle, Twentieth Century Fox, transition drama; Holly (Gloria Manon). 1982: Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean, directed by Robert Altman, Cinecom International, drama; Joanne (Karen Black). 1982: The Love Boat, NBC, created by Wilford Lloyd Baumes, comedy; S05, Ep15, “Gopher’s Roommate” (1/23/82); Rachel (MacKenzie Phillips). 1982: Magnum, P.I., CBS, created by Donald P.  Bellisario and Glen A.  Larson, crime drama; S02, Ep13, “The Jororo Kill” (1/7/82); David (Christopher Morley). 1982: Too Close for Comfort, ABC, created by Arne Sultan and Earl Barret, sitcom; S03, Ep8,“Monroe’s Secret Love’s Secret” (11/18/82); Pat (Christopher Morley). 1982: The World According to Garp, directed by George Roy Hill, Pan Arts/ Warner Bros., dramedy; Roberta (John Lithgow). 1983: Gimme a Break!, NBC, created by Mort Lachman and Sy Rosen; sitcom; S03, Ep7, “Melissa” (11/17/83); Melissa (Victoria Carroll). 1983: Murder Me, Murder You, directed by Gary Nelson, CBS, made-­for-­ television crime drama (4/9/83); Isadora (Michael A. Andrews). 1983: Risky Business, directed by Paul Brickman, Warner Bros., comedy; Jackie (Bruce A. Young). 1983: Sleepaway Camp, directed by Robert Hiltzik, American Eagle Films, horror; Angela (Felissa Rose). 1983: St. Elsewhere, NBC, created by Joshua Brand and John Falsey, medical drama; S01, Ep12, “Release” (2/1/83) & Ep13, “Family History” (2/8/83); Bob (Andy Romano) and Alan (Joe Lambie). 1983: Trenchcoat, directed by Michael Tuchner, Buena Vista Productions, crime action-comedy; Princess Aida (Ronald Lacey) and Afro-Dite (Martin Sorrentino). 1984: Bachelor Party, directed by Neal Israel, Twentieth Century Fox, comedy; sex worker (Christopher Morley). 1984: Choose Me, directed by Alan Rudolph, Orion Pictures, drama; unnamed sex worker (uncredited).

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1984: Murder, She Wrote, CBS, created by Peter S.  Fischer, Richard Levinson, and William Link, crime drama; S01, Ep4, “Birds of a Feather” (10/14/84); Howard (Jeff Conaway) and Mike (Dick Gautier). 1984: Partners in Crimes, ABC, created by James Stark and Leonard Stern, crime drama; S01, Ep7, “Is She or Isn’t He?” (11/3/84); Serena (Christopher Morley). 1984: Philadelphia Experiment, directed by Stewart Raffill, Cinema Group, science fiction/thriller; cell mate (Clayton Wilcox). 1984: T.J. Hooker, ABC, created by Rick Husky, crime drama; S03, Ep13, “The Lipstick Killer” (1/7/84); Don (David Huffman). 1985: Alfred Hitchcock Presents, created by Alfred Hitchcock, NBC, mystery/drama, remake of 1965 episode  (5/5/85); Betty Ames (Bruce Davidson). 1985: Kiss of the Spider Woman, directed by Héctor Babenco, Embrafilme, drama; Luis Molina (William Hurt). 1985: Night Court, NBC, created by Reinhold Weege, sitcom; S03, Ep6, “Best of Friends” (11/7/85); Charlene (Jim Bailey). 1985: Once Bitten, directed by Howard Storm, Samuel Goldwyn Co., horror-comedy; bar patron (Alan McRae). 1985: Too Close for Comfort, syndication, created by Arne Sultan and Earl Barret, sitcom; S05, Ep10, “For Every Man, There’s Two Women” (7/20/85); assailant (uncredited). 1986: The American Way, directed by Maurice Phillips, Miramax, science fiction/comedy; Willow Westinghouse (Nigel Pegram). 1986: Hollywood Harry, directed by Robert Forster, Cannon Films, crime action-comedy; Claudia (Christopher Morley). 1986: Hollywood Vice Squad, directed by Penelope Spheeris, Cinema Group, crime/dramedy; unnamed sex worker (Logan Carter) and cell mate (George Fauntleroy). 1986: Jocks, directed by Steve Carver, Crown International Pictures, comedy; bar patron (uncredited). 1986: The Last Precinct, NBC, created by Stephen J. Cannell and Frank Lupo, sitcom; S01, Ep1–8 (1/26–5/30/86); Mel Brubaker (Randi Brooks). 1986: Matlock, NBC, created by Dean Hargrove, legal drama; S01, Ep3, “The Stripper” (9/30/86); Doug/Helen (Gary Frank). 1986: The Morning After, directed by Sidney Lumet, Lorimar Pictures, mystery/thriller; Frankie (James Haake).

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1986: Second Serve, CBS, directed by Anthony Page, transition biopic, made-for-television movie (5/13/86); Renée Richards (Vanessa Redgrave). 1987: The Golden Girls, NBC, created by Susan Harris, sitcom; S03, Ep7, “Strange Bedfellows” (11/7/87); Gil (John Schuck). 1987: Real Men, directed by Dennis Feldman, United Artists, crime action-comedy; “Dad” Pirandello (Dyanne Thorne). 1987: Rent-A-Cop, directed by Jerry London, Kings Road Entertainment, crime action-comedy: assailant (John Scott Ament). 1987: Surrender, directed by Jerry Belson, Warner Bros., romantic comedy: sex worker (Michael A. Andrews). 1988: Miracle Mile, directed by Steve De Jarnatt, Columbia Pictures, drama; Roger (Danny De La Paz). 1988: A New Life, directed by Alan Alda, Paramount, romantic comedy; Sybil (Alec Mapa). 1988: Torch Song Trilogy, directed by Paul Bogart, New Line Cinema, dramedy; Arnold Beckoff (Harvey Firestein). 1989: China Beach, NBC, created by William Broyles Jr. and John Sacret Young, medical drama; S03, Ep8, “China Men” (11/22/89); Pei (Elsie Sniffen). 1989: Last Exit to Brooklyn, directed by Uli Edel, Allied Filmmakers, drama; Georgette (Alexis Arquette), Regina (Bernard Zette), Goldie (Robi Martin) and Camille (Julian Alexon). 1990: Carol & Company, NBC, created by Carol Burnett, sketch comedy; S01, Ep2, “Reunion” (4/7/90); Georgette (Carol Burnett). 1990: Q&A, directed by Sidney Lumet, TriStar Pictures, crime drama; Sophia (Brian Neill). 1990: Twin Peaks, ABC, created by Mark Frost and David Lynch, crime drama; S02, Ep11–13 (12/15/90–1/19/91); Denise Bryson (David Duchovny). 1991: Cast a Deadly Spell, HBO, directed by Martin Campbell, crime action-comedy, made-for-television movie (9/7/91); Lilly (Lee Tergesen). 1991: Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead, directed by Stephen Herek, Warner Bros., comedy; performers Dolly Parton (David Shawn Michaels), Liza Minnelli (Logan Duncan), and Marilyn Monroe (Christopher Morley).

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1991: L.A. Law, NBC, created by Steven Bochco and Terry Louise Fisher, legal drama; S05, Ep19, “Speak, Lawyers, for Me” (4/25/91); Susan (Claudia Christian). 1991: Night on Earth, directed by Jim Jarmusch, JVC Entertainment, dramedy; two sex workers (Gianni Schettino and Antonio Ragusa). 1991: The Silence of the Lambs, directed by Jonathan Demme, Strong Heart/Demme Productions, crime drama; Jame Gumb (Ted Levine). 1991: Soapdish, directed by Michael Hoffman, Paramount, comedy; Montana Moorehead (Cathy Moriarty). 1992: American Heart, directed by Martin Bell, Triton Pictures, drama; Terry Cosmos (Marcus Chong). 1992: Picket Fences, CBS, created by David E. Kelley, drama; S01, Ep11, “Pageantry” (12/11/92); Louise Talbot (Natalija Nogulich). 1992: Storyville, directed by Mark Frost, Twentieth Century Fox, crime drama; Brandy (Bernard Zette). 1993: Blood In, Blood Out, directed by Taylor Hackford, Buena Vista Pictures, crime drama; two inmates (Michael McFall and Donald E. Lacey Jr.). 1993: The John Larroquette Show, NBC, created by Don Reo, sitcom; S01, Ep2, 8, 18–20, 24 (9/7/93–4/12/94); S02, Ep2–3, 10, 15 (9/27/94–1/31/95); Teddi (David Shawn Michaels) and Pat (Jazzmun Crayton). 1993: M. Butterfly, directed David Cronenberg, Warner Bros., romance/ drama; Song Liling (John Lone). 1994: Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, directed by Tom Shadyac, Morgan Creek Productions, crime comedy; Lois Einhorn (Sean Young). 1994: Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City, PBS, directed by Alastair Reid, dramatic mini-series; 6 episodes (1/10/94–1/12/94); Anna Madigral (Olympia Dukakis); returns in More Tales of the City, Showtime, directed by Pierre Gang, 6 episodes (7/7–7/21/98) and Further Tales of the City, Showtime, directed by Pierre Gang, 3 episodes (5/6–5/20/01). 1994: Ed Wood, directed by Tim Burton, Touchstone Pictures, biopic dramedy; Ed Wood (Johnny Depp). 1994: E.R., NBC, created by Michael Crichton, medical drama; S01, Ep9, “E.R. Confidential” (11/17/94); Rena (Vondie Curtis-Hall). 1994: Evening Shade, CBS, created by Linda Bloodworth-Thomason, sitcom; S04, Ep17, “The Perfect Woman” (1/31/94); Ginger (Diahann Carroll).

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1994: The John Larroquette Show, NBC, created by Don Reo, sitcom; S01, Ep19, “Dirty Deeds” (2/1/94); Artie (Lane Davis). 1994: Last Seduction, directed by John Dahl, October Films, mystery/ thriller; Trish (Serena). 1994: Married … With Children, FOX, created by Ron Leavitt and Michael G. Moye, sitcom; S09, Ep10, “Dud Bowl” (11/13/94); Thad (Drew Pillsbury). 1994: Mixed Nuts, directed by Nora Ephron, TriStar Pictures, comedy; Chris (Liev Schreiber). 1994: Naked Gun 33 ½: The Final Insult, directed by Peter Segal, Paramount, comedy; Tanya (Anna Nicole Smith). 1994: New York Undercover, Fox, created by Kevin Arkadie and Dick Wolf, crime drama; S01, Ep12, “Blondes Have More Fun” (12/8/94); Ruby (Michael Cavadias), Lucille (Clinton Leupp) and Dinah (Joe Morton). 1994: NYPD Blue, ABC, created by Steven Bochco and David Milch, crime drama; S01, Ep14, “Jumpin’ Jack Fleishman” (1/18/94); David (Chris Nelson Norris). 1994: Ready To Wear, directed by Robert Altman, Miramax, comedy; Major Hamilton (Danny Aiello). 1994: Roseanne, ABC, created by Roseanne Barr and Matt Williams, sitcom; S07, Ep6, “Skeleton in the Closet” (10/26/94); Dan (Jazzmun Crayton); S08, Ep11, “December Bride” (12/12/95); wedding attendees (Christopher Morley; Alexis Arquette; Milton Berle). 1994: Somebody To Love, directed by Alexandre Rockwell, Legacy, drama; Francine (Francesco Messina) and Mickey (Steve Buscemi). 1995: Beverly Hills 90210, Fox, created by Darren Star, teen drama; S05, Ep31–32, “P.S.  I Love You, Parts 1  & 2” (5/24/95); Elle (Monika Schnarre); returns S06, Ep19, “Nancy’s Choice” (1/31/96). 1995: Chicago Hope, CBS, created by David E.  Kelley, medical drama; S01, Ep18, “Informed Consent” (3/13/95); Annie (Mia Sara); returns S02, Ep16, “Women on the Verge,” (2/12/96). 1995: Diagnosis Murder, CBS, created by Joyce Burditt, crime drama; S03, Ep3, “All-American Murder” (12/22/95); Vicki (Kristen Dalton). 1995: In the House, NBC, created by Winifred Hervey, sitcom; S02, Ep9, “Boyz II Men II Women” (12/4/95); Kevin (RuPaul Charles). 1995: Mercy, directed by Richard Shepard, Unapix, drama; sex worker (Kevin Rennard).

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1995: NYPD Blue, ABC, created by Steven Bochco and David Milch, crime drama; S02, Ep9, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel” (1/3/95); Candace La Rue (Jahna Steele). 1995: Stonewall, directed by Nigel Finch, Killer Films, historic dramedy/ musical; La Miranda (Guillermo Diaz) and Bostonia (Duane Boutte). 1995: To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, directed by Beeban Kidron, Universal, comedy; Noxeema Jackson (Wesley Snipes), Vida Bohema (Patrick Swayze) and Chi-Chi Rodriguez (John Leguizamo). 1996: Arli$$, HBO, created by Robert Wuhl, sitcom; S01, Ep3, “Athletes ARE Role Models” (8/28/96); Lucille (Eugenie Bondurant). 1996: The Big Easy, USA, developed by Jacqueline Zambrano, crime drama; S01, Ep4, “Cinderfella” (8/26/96); Tawney (Robert Laughlin), Monique (Hunt Scarritt) and Paloma (Samson Utley). 1996: The Birdcage, directed by Mike Nichols, United Artists, comedy; Albert Goldman (Nathan Lane). 1996: Chicago Hope, CBS, created by David E.  Kelley, medical drama; S02, Ep14, “Right to Life” (1/22/96); Cherchez LaFemme (Giancarlo Esposito) and Missy (Jazzmun Crayton). 1996: Married … With Children, FOX, created by Ron Leavitt and Michael G.  Moye, sitcom; S10, Ep17, “Calendar Girl” (2/4/96); Crystal (Krista Allen). 1996: Nash Bridges, CBS, created by Carlton Cruse, crime drama; S01, Ep5, “Javelin Catcher” (4/19/96); Simone DuBois (RuPaul Charles); returns S03, Ep18, “Cuda Grace” (4/3/98) with Chastity (Maximilliana), Candy (Loree Lee Harper), Pacifica Ocean (Joseph Domingo), and Café Au Lait (Lauren Michaels). 1996: NYPD Blue, ABC, created by Steven Bochco and David Milch, crime drama; S04, Ep8, “Unembraceable You” (12/10/96); Peaches (Jazzmun Crayton) and Angela (Alec Mapa); both return S04, Ep18, “I Love Lucy” (4/22/97). 1996: Right to Remain Silent, Showtime, directed by Hubert C. de la Boullerie, drama (1/7/96); Dale (Fisher Stevens). 1996: Sisters, NBC, created by Ron Cowen and Daniel Lipman, drama; S06, Ep12, “A Sudden Change of Heart” (1/6/96); Chardonnay (K. Todd Freeman). 1997: Ally McBeal, Fox, created by David E. Kelley, legal dramedy; S01, Ep10, “Boy To The World” (12/1/97); Stephanie (Wilson Cruz).

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1997: Big City Blues, directed by Clive Fleury, Laguna Entertainment, crime action-comedy; Georgie (Giancarlo Esposito) and Babs (Arye Gross). 1997: Caroline in the City, NBC, created by Fred Barron, Dottie Dartland and Marco Pennette, sitcom; S02, Ep19, “Caroline and the Buyer” (5/1/97); Theresa (Robert Laughlin). 1997: Catherine’s Grove, directed by Rick King, PM Entertainment Group, crime drama; Carlina (Nikki Adams) and Thomas Mason (Jeffrey Donovan). 1997: Con Air, directed by Simon West, Buena Vista Pictures, crime-­ action drama; Ramon (Renoly Santiago). 1997: Diary of a Serial Killer (aka Rough Draft), directed by Joshua Wallace, Goldbar International, crime drama; Erica (David Michaels). 1997: The Drew Carey Show, ABC, created by Drew Carey and Bruce Helford, sitcom; S03, Ep9, “Drew’s Brother” (11/19/97); Steve (John Carroll Lynch). 1997: Fired Up, NBC, created by Arleen Sorkin and Paul Slansky, sitcom; S01, Ep1, 7 and S02, Ep2, 6, 8, 9, 16 (4/10/97–2/16/98); Ashley Mann (Mark Davis). 1997: Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, directed by Clint Eastwood, Warner Bros., crime drama; The Lady Chablis as herself. 1997: NYPD Blue, ABC, created by Steven Bochco and David Milch, crime drama; S05, Ep10, “Remembrance of Humps Past” (12/16/97); Margo (Viveka Davis).  1997: River Made To Drown In, directed by James Merendino, Picture This! Entertainment, drama; two sex workers (Karon Dior/Geoffrey Gann and Jeffrey Drew). 1997: Wings, created by David Angell, Peter Casey, and David Lee, NBC, sitcom, S08, Ep16, “Escape from New  York” (2/19/97); MC Bella daBall (Mark Davis) with performers Ginger Vitus (Jazzmun Crayton), Eva Destruction (Alexis Del Lago), Terri (Christina Moore) and Lola (Maria Cina). 1997: Xena: Warrior Princess, syndicated, created by John Schulian and Robert Tapert, fantasy; S02, Ep11, “Here She Comes … Miss Amphipolis” (1/20/97); Miss Artiphys (Karen Dior/Geoffrey Gann). 1998: The Adventures of Sebastian Cole, directed by Tod Williams, Paramount, dramedy; Henrietta Cole (Clark Gregg). 1998: BASEketball, directed by David Zucker, Universal, comedy; Heather (Micah McCain).

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1998: Billy’s Hollywood Screen Kiss, directed by Tommy O’Haver, Trimark Pictures, romantic comedy/fantasy; performers Holly (Holly Woodlawn) and Dierdre (Niles Johnson). 1998: Hard Time, TNT, directed by Burt Reynolds, crime drama, madefor-television movie (12/13/98); Ron (John Allsop) 1998: Playing by Heart, directed by Willard Carroll, Miramax Films, dramedy; Lana (Alec Mapa). 1998: Psycho, directed by Gus Van Sant, Universal, mystery/horror, remake of 1960 original; Norman Bates (Vince Vaughn). 1998: Velocity of Gary, directed by Dan Ireland, Cineville, drama; Kid Joey (Chad Lindberg). 1998: Veronica’s Closet, NBC, created by David Crane and Marta Kauffman, sitcom; S01, Ep15, “Veronica’s a Drag” (2/26/98); Moronica (Karen Dior/Geoffrey Gann). 1998: Walker, Texas Ranger, CBS, created by Leslie Greif and Paul Haggis, crime drama; S06, Ep3, “Royal Heist” (10/10/98); Bob (RuPaul Charles). 1998: Will & Grace, NBC, created by David Kohan and Max Mutchnick, sitcom; S01, Ep5, “Boo! Humbug” (10/26/98); unnamed Halloween parade attendees (Terrance Michael; John Cantwell; Demetri Corben). 1998: Woo, directed by Daisy Von Scherler Mayer, New Line Cinema, romantic comedy; Celestrial (Lina Bradford); two club patrons (David Roberts and Kirk Pickersgill). 1999: Becker, CBS, created by David Hackel, sitcom; S02, Ep7, “He Said, She Said” (11/1/99); Nikky (Julie Caitlin Brown). 1999: Blast from the Past, directed by Hugh Wilson, New Line Cinema, romantic comedy; sex worker (Jazzmun Crayton). 1999: Boys Don’t Cry, directed by Kimberly Peirce, Fox Searchlight, biopic drama; Brandon Teena (Hilary Swank). 1999: Flawless, directed by Joel Schumacher, Tribeca Productions, crime/ drama; Rusty (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and friends Amazing Grace (Nashom Benjamin), Ivana (Scott Allen Cooper) and Cha-Cha (Wilson Jermaine Heredia). 1999: Frasier, NBC, created by David Angell, Peter Casey, and David Lee, sitcom; S06, Ep11, “Good Samaritan” (1/7/99); Crystal (David H. Ferguson). 1999: In Dreams, directed by Neil Jordan, Amblin Entertainment, horror; Vivian Thompson (Robert Downey Jr.).

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1999: L.A. Doctors, CBS, created by John Lee Hancock, medical drama; S01, Ep13, “Been There, Done That” (1/11/99); Alex Atcheson (Keram Malicki-Sánchez). 1999: Late Last Night, directed by Steven Brill, Starz (6/20/99), comedy; sex worker (Keram Malicki-Sánchez). 1999: Luminarias, directed by José Luis Valenzuela, Sleeping Giant productions, romantic comedy; Carmela (Geoffrey Rivas). 1999: Trick, directed by Jim Fall, Fine Line Features, romantic comedy; Miss Coco (Clinton Leupp). 1999: Sex and the City, HBO, created by Darren Star, sitcom; S02, Ep9, “Old Dogs, New Dicks” (8/1/99); Brad (Karen Dior/Geoffrey Gann) and Jackie Beat (Kent Fuher). 1999: Speedway Junky, directed by Nickolas Perry, Regent Entertainment, crime drama; Mickey (Benjamin Shelfer) and Trish (John Jett). 1999: The Strip, UPN, created by Alfred Gough and Miles Millar, crime drama; S01, Ep1, 2, 5 (10/12–11/9/99); Cleo (Alexis Arquette). 2000: Ally McBeal, Fox, created by David E. Kelley, legal dramedy; S04, Ep2–4, 7 (10/30–12/4/00); Cindy (Lisa Edelstein); character returns S04, Ep12, “Hats Off To Larry” (2/5/01). 2000: Animal Factory, directed by Steve Buscemi, Franchise Pictures, crime drama; Jan the Actress (Mickey Rourke). 2000: Any Day Now, Lifetime, created by Nancy Miller, drama; S02, Ep22, “Who Abandoned Who?” (3/21/00); Sheri (RuPaul Charles). 2000: Before Night Falls, directed by Julian Schnabel, Fine Line Features, biopic drama; Bon Bon (Johnny Depp). 2000: Bruno (aka The Dress Code), directed by Shirley MacLaine, New Angel Films, Starz, comedy; (4/16/00); Bruno (Alex Linz). 2000: Cherry Falls, directed by Geoffrey Wright, Rogue Pictures, horror; Leonard (Jay Mohr). 2000: Dude Where’s My Car? directed by Danny Leiner, Twentieth Century Fox, comedy; Tania (Teressa Tunney) and Patty (Claudine Barros). 2000: Family Law, CBS, created by Paul Haggis and Anne Kenney, legal drama; S01, Ep16, “Are You My Father?” (2/21/00); Carla (Claudia Christian). 2000: Felicity, The WB, created by J.J. Abrams and Matt Reeves, drama; S02, Ep21, “The Aretha Theory” (5/10/00); Bijou (Kelly Mantle). 2000: Holiday Heart, directed by Robert Townsend, Showtime, (12/10/00), drama; Holiday (Ving Rhames).

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2000: If You Only Knew, directed by David Snedeker, Two Sticks Productions, comedy; potential roomate (Blumes Tracey). 2000: Just Shoot Me!, NBC, created by Steven Levitan, sitcom; S05, Ep6, “Brandi, You’re A Fine Girl” (11/16/00); Brandi (Jenny McCarthy); character returns S07, Ep13, “There’s Something About Allison” (7/12/03). 2000: Ladies Man, CBS, sitcom, created by Chris Thompson, sitcom; CBS, S01, Ep17, “Travels with my Aunt” (2/14/00); Drew (Kelly Mantle), Terry (Loren Freeman), and Jackie (Monty Freeman). 2000: Law & Order, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S11, Ep5, “Return” (11/15/00); Toreador (Kevin Rennard). 2000: Little Nicky, directed by Stephen Brill, Happy Madison Productions, comedy; Nipples (Clint Howard). 2000: Popular, The WB, created by Ryan Murphy and Gina Matthews, teen dramedy; S01, Ep18, “Ch-Ch-Changes” (4/20/00); Debbie (Louis Mustillo). 2000: Sex and the City, HBO, created by Darren Star, sitcom; S03, Ep18, “Cock-a-Doodle-Do” (10/15/00); Destiny (Michael Jefferson), Chyna (T. Oliver Reed), and Jo (Karenn Covergirl). 2000: Sordid Lives, directed by Del Shores, Regent Releasing, comedy; Brother Boy (Leslie Jordan); returns in Sordid Lives: The Series (LOGO, 2008, S01, Ep1–12) and sequel, A Very Sordid Wedding, directed by Del Shores (2017). 2000: Woman on Top, directed by Fina Torres, Fox Searchlight, romantic comedy; Monica (Harold Perrineau). 2000: Wonder Boys, directed by Curtis Hanson, Paramount, dramedy; Antonia Sloviak (Michael Cavadias). 2001: Ally McBeal, Fox, created by David E. Kelley, legal dramedy; S04, Ep20; “Cloudy Skies, Chance of Parade” (4/30/01); Harold (Jim Bailey). 2001: Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles, directed by Simon Wincer, Paramount, action-comedy; bar worker (Carey Embry). 2001: Dark Angel, Fox, created by James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, science fiction/action; S01, Ep10, “Out” (1/9/01), Louise (Jessica Crockett). 2001: Dead Awake, directed by Marc S.  Grenier, Locomotion Films, crime drama; Veronica (Conrad Pla).

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APPENDIX B: TIMELINE OF TRANS CHARACTERS IN SCRIPTED AMERICAN…

2001: The Division, Lifetime, created by Deborah Joy LeVine, crime drama; S01, Ep17, “The First Hit’s Free, Baby” (6/10/01); Yvonne (Jazzmun Crayton). 2001: The Education of Max Bickford, CBS, created by Dawn Prestwich and Nicole Yorkin, drama; S01, Ep1–22 (9/23/01–6/2/02); Erica Bettis (Helen Shaver). 2001: E.R., NBC, created by Michael Crichton, medical drama; S08, Ep1, “Four Corners” (9/27/01); Madeline (McNally Sagal) and unnamed patient (Jazzmun Crayton). 2001: Friends, NBC, created by David Crane and Marta Kauffman, sitcom; S07, Ep22–24 (5/10/01–5/17/01); Charles Bing/Helena Handbasket (Kathleen Turner). 2001: Gaudi Afternoon, directed by Susan Seidelman, First Look International, crime dramedy; Frankie (Marcia Gay Harden) and Ben (Lili Taylor). 2001: Gideon’s Crossing, ABC, created by Paul Attanasio, medical drama; S01, Ep6, “Freak Show” (11/15/01); Valerie Thomlinson (Roma Maffia). 2001: Hedwig and the Angry Inch, directed by John Cameron Mitchell, New Line Cinema, musical dramedy; Hedwig (John Cameron Mitchell). 2001: Judging Amy, CBS, created by Amy Brenneman, Bill D’Elia, John Tinker and Connie Tavel, legal drama; S02, Ep19, “Between the Wanting and the Getting” (5/1/01); Sasha (Ryan James). 2001: The Lone Gunmen, Fox, created by Chris Carter, Vince Gilligan, John Shiban and Frank Spotnitz, science fiction/crime drama; S01, Ep11, “The Lying Game” (5/4/01); Carol (Catherine Dent). 2001: Moulin Rouge!, directed by Baz Luhrmann, Twentieth Century Fox, musical drama; Audrey (David Wenham). 2001: Never Again, directed by Eric Schaeffer, USA Films, romantic comedy; Alex (Michael McKeon). 2001: Popular, The WB, created by Ryan Murphy and Gina Matthews, teen dramedy; S02, Ep21, “Promblems” (5/18/01); Honey Chile (RuPaul Charles). 2001: Son of the Beach, FX, created by David Morgasen, Timothy Stack and James R. Stein, sitcom; S02, Ep1, “BJ Blue Hawaii” (3/13/01); Beverly (Alexis Arquette). 2001: Sweet November, directed by Pat O’Connor, Warner Bros., romantic drama; Chaz (Jason Isaacs) and Brandon (Michael Rosenbaum).

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2001: Town & Country, directed by Peter Chelsom, New Line Cinema, romantic comedy; unnamed sexual partner (Morag Dickson). 2001: Who Is Cletis Tout?, directed by Christopher Ver Wiel, Paramount, crime action-comedy; Ginger (RuPaul Charles). 2002: The Badge, directed by Robby Henson, Starz, crime drama, (9/7/02); Mona (Cyd Casados). 2002: Boat Trip, directed by Mort Nathan, Artisan Entertainment, comedy; Tom (Ken Campbell) and Hector (Maurice Godin). 2002: Boston Public, Fox, created by David E. Kelley, drama; S02, Ep20, “Chapter Forty-Two” (5/6/02); Robin Chambers (L.B. Fisher). 2002: Crazy as Hell, directed by Eriq La Salle, Artistic License, horror; Barnett (Eriq La Salle). 2002: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CBS, created by Anthony E. Zuiker, crime drama; S02, Ep13, “Identity Crisis” (1/17/02); Douglas Mason/Paul Millander (Matt O’Toole). 2002: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CBS, created by Anthony E. Zuiker, crime drama; S03, Ep2, “The Accused is Entitled” (10/3/02); Tonya (Linda Kim). 2002: E.R., NBC, created by Michael Crichton, medical drama; S09, Ep9, “Next of Kin” (12/5/02); Morgan (Megan Vint). 2002: First Monday, CBS, created by Doald P. Bellisario and Paul Levine, legal drama; S01, Ep1, “Pilot” (1/15/02); Angel Flores (Jonathan Del Arco) and Michelle (Melinda Clarke). 2002: For Da Love of Money, directed by Pierre Edwards, Urbanworld Films, comedy; Boom (Maurice Patton). 2002: Law & Order: SVU, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S03, Ep23, “Silence” (5/17/02); Jamie (Jaret Martino). 2002: Now You Know, directed by Jeff Anderson, Genius Products, comedy; KC (Kelly Mantle). 2002: The Shield, FX, created by Shawn Ryan, crime drama; S01, Ep10, “DragonChasers” (5/14/02); Frank (Jazzmun Crayton). 2002: Van Wilder: Party Liaison, directed by Walt Becker, Myriad Pictures, comedy; Terry (Mark Alfa). 2003: American Wedding, directed by Jesse Dylan, Universal, comedy; bar patron (William Belli). 2003: Anger Management, directed by Peter Segal, Revolution Studios, comedy; Galaxia (Woody Harrelson). 2003: Belly of the Beast, directed by Ching Siu Tung, GFT Entertainment, crime action; Lena (Nick Cheung).

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2003: Camp, directed by Todd Graff, Jersey Films, teen musical dramedy; Michael (Robin de Jesús). 2003: Cold Case, CBS, created by Meredith Stiehm, crime drama; S01, Ep7, “A Time to Hate” (11/16/03); Tinkerbell Polk (Mark Nordike & Bill Henderson). 2003: George Lopez, ABC, created by George Lopez, Bruce Helford, and Robert Borden, sitcom; S03, Ep2, “Dubya, Dad and Dating” (9/26/03); Mrs. Lopez (Kelly Mantle). 2003: Karen Sisco, ABC, created by Jason Smilovic, crime drama; S01, Ep7, “Nobody’s Perfect” (11/12/03); Lois (Alexandra Billings). 2003: Law & Order: SVU, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S04, Ep21, “Fallacy” (4/18/03); Cheryl (Katherine Moennig). 2003: A  Mighty Wind, directed by Christopher Guest, Castle Rock Entertainment, mockumentary/comedy; Mark Shubb (Harry Shearer). 2003: Nip/Tuck, FX, created by Ryan Murphy, medical drama; S01, Ep4, 9, and 12  (8/12-10/14/03); Sofia (Jonathan Del Arco); Ep4 with Marcy (Catherine Dana Harrison) and Ep9 includes friends (Jazzmun Crayton and Kelly Mantle). 2003: Normal, HBO, directed by Jane Anderson, HBO Films (3/16/03), drama; Ruth Applewood (Tom Wilkinson). 2003: NYPD Blue, ABC, created by Steven Bochco and David Milch, crime drama; S10, Ep15, “Tranny Get Your Gun” (2/18/03); Lana Halsey (uncredited) and Monica (Kelly Mantle); Monica returns S11, Ep2, “Your Bus, Ted” (9/30/03) with Melissa Gustaffson (uncredited). 2003: Queer as Folk, Showtime, developed by Ron Cowen and Daniel Lipman, drama; S03, Ep9 (5/11/03); S05, Ep6 (6/19/05), Ep13 (8/7/05); Kiki the Waitress (Greg Campbell). 2003: Party Monster, directed by Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato, Killer Films, drama; Christina Superstar (Marilyn Manson). 2003: Soldier’s Girl, Showtime, directed by Frank Pierson, Bachrach/ Gottlieb Production, biopic drama, (5/31/03); Calpernia Adams (Lee Pace). 2003: 10-8: Officers on Duty, ABC, created by Louis St. Clair and Jorge Zamacona, crime drama; S01, Ep3, “Gun of a Son” (10/12/03); Lisa (Sandra Purpuro) and club patrons (Jazzmun Crayton and Minerva). 2003: 10-8: Officers on Duty, ABC, created by Louis St. Clair and Jorge Zamacona, crime drama; S01, Ep4, “Badlands” (10/19/03); Raven (Kelly Mantle).

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2003: Unconditional Love, directed by P.J.  Hogan, New Line Cinema, comedy; Victor Fox (Jonathan Price). 2004: All of Us, UPN, created by Will Smith, Jada Pickett Smith, and Betsy Borns, sitcom; S01, Ep17, “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” (2/24/04); Roni (Tyra Banks). 2004:Arrested Development, Fox, created by Mitchell Hurwitz, sitcom; S01, Ep14, “Shock and Aww” (3/7/04); Nazhgalia (Igbal Theba). 2004:Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, directed by Beeban Kidron, StudioCanal, comedy; sex worker (Ting Ting Hu). 2004: Cold Case, CBS, created by Meredith Stiehm, crime drama; S02, Ep3, “Daniela” (10/17/04); Daniela (Onahoua Rodriguez). 2004: Connie and Carla, directed by Michael Lembeck, Universal, comedy; Peaches (Stephen Spinella), N’Cream (Alec Mapa), and Brianna (Christopher Logan). 2004: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CBS, created by Anthony E. Zuiker, crime drama; S05, Ep8; “Ch-ch-Changes” (11/18/04); Wendy (Sarah Buxton), Mimosa (Kate Walsh), Mercedes (Jazzmun Clayton), and Mona Lavelle (Lindsay Crouse). 2004: Grounded for Life, WB, sitcom; S03, Ep13, “Part-Time Lover” (9/24/04); Carla (Loren Freeman). 2004: JAG, CBS, created by Donald P. Bellisario, legal drama; S10, Ep3, “Retrial” (10/15/04); Tamaray (James Brandon). 2004: Judging Amy, CBS, created by Amy Brenneman, Bill D’Elia, John Tinker and Connie Tavel, legal drama; S05, Ep20, “Slade’s Chophouse” (4/27/04); Teresa (Peter Giles). 2004: Judging Amy, CBS, created by Amy Brenneman, Bill D’Elia, John Tinker and Connie Tavel, legal drama; S06, Ep5, “Order and Chaos” (11/23/04); Velvet (Kelly Mantle). 2004–5: The L Word, Showtime, created by Michele Abbott, Ilene Chaiken, and Kathy Greenberg, drama; S01 Ep12–13, S02, Ep1–2 (4/4/04–2/27/05), S06, Ep8 (3/8/09); Ivan Aycock (Kelly Lynch). 2004: Law & Order, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S14, Ep17, “Hands Free” (3/4/04); Eli (Henry Stram). 2004: Law & Order: SVU; NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S05, Ep20, “Lowdown” (4/6/04); Keisha (Harmonica Sunbeam). 2004: NCIS, CBS, created by Donald P. Bellisario and Don McGill, crime drama; S01, Ep19, “Dead Man Talking” (4/27/04); Amanda (Jamie Luner).

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2004: Nip/Tuck, FX, created by Ryan Murphy, medical drama; S02, Ep3, 6–7, 12–14, 16 (7/6/04–10/5/04); Ava Moore (Famke Janssen); returns S03, Ep2 (9/27/05) and S06, Ep18–19 (3/24–4/3/10). 2004: Rescue Me, Fox, created by Denis Leary and Peter Nolan, dramedy; S01, Ep6, “Revenge” (8/25/04); unnamed date (Shannon Roche). 2004: Third Watch, NBC, created by John Wells and Edward Allen Bernero, crime drama; S06, Ep7, “Leap of Faith” (11/5/04); cell mate (Harmonica Sunbeam). 2004: Two and a Half Men, CBS, created by Lee Aronsohn and Chuck Lorre, sitcom; S01, Ep18, “An Old Flame with a New Wick” (3/1/04); Bill (Chris O’Donnell). 2004: Veronica Mars, UPN, created by Rob Thomas, crime drama; S01, Ep3, “Meet John Smith” (10/12/04); Julia Smith (Melissa Leo). 2005: Arrested Development, Fox, created by Mitchell Hurwitz, sitcom; S03, Ep2, “For British Eyes Only” (9/26/05); Coco (Clinton Leupp). 2005: Barbershop: The Series, Showtime, developed by John Ridley, sitcom; S01, Ep3–6 (8/28-9/18/05); Claire (Sheryl Lee Ralph). 2005: Cake, directed by Nisha Ganatra, Lionsgate, romantic comedy; club patron (Jonathan Jeyarajah). 2005: E.R., NBC, created by Michael Crichton, medical drama; S11, Ep10, “Skin” (1/13/05); Ms. Mitchell (Alexandra Billings). 2005: Eve, UPN, created by Meg DeLoatch, sitcom; S02, Ep16, “Prom Night” (3/1/05); bar patrons (uncredited and Kelly Mantle). 2005: The 40-Year-Old Virgin, directed by Judd Apatow, Universal, comedy; sex worker (Jazzmun Crayton). 2005: George Lopez, ABC, created by George Lopez, Bruce Helford, and Robert Borden, sitcom; S04, Ep17, “George Buys a Vow” (2/22/05); singer (Kelly Mantle). 2005: Half and Half, UPN, created by Jeffrey Klarik, sitcom; S04, Ep7, “The Big State of the Reunion Episode” (11/7/05), Clayvon (Jazzmun Crayton). 2005: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, FX, created by Glenn Howerton and Rob McElhenney, sitcom; S01, Ep4, “Charlie Has Cancer” (8/23/05); Carmen (Brittany Daniel); returns S03, Ep10 (10/18/07); S06, Ep1 (9/16/10) and Ep12 (12/9/10). 2005: Law & Order: Trial by Jury, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, legal drama, S01, Ep12, “Boys Will Be Boys” (5/6/05); Angelina Martinez (uncredited).

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2005: The Longest Yard, directed by Peter Segal, Happy Madison Productions, comedy; unnamed inmates (Ray Stone, André Fuentes, Lonnie Henderson, and Asiel Hardison) and Miss Tucker (Tracy Jordan). 2005: Miss Congeniality 2: Armed & Fabulous, directed by John Pasquin, Warner Bros., comedy; performer Patti Labelle (Larry Edwards), Dolly Parton (Toddy Sherry) and Tina Turners (Wendell Jackson and Lonnie Henderson). 2005: Nip/Tuck, FX, created by Ryan Murphy, medical drama; S03, Ep2 (9/27/05), 14–15 (12/20–12/20/05); Cherry Peck (William Belli). 2005: Rent, directed by Chris Columbus, Revolution Studios, dramatic musical; Angel Dumott Schunard (Wilson Jermaine Heredia). 2005: Romy and Michelle: In the Beginning, directed by Robin Sciff, ABC Family (5/30/05), comedy; Donna (Alexandra Billlings). 2005: Shadowboxer, directed by Lee Daniels, Visual Entertainment, crime drama; Jessie (Jessica Hoskins). 2005: Transamerica, directed by Duncan Tucker, Belladonna Productions, drama; Bree Osbourne (Felicity Huffman). 2005: Without a Trace, CBS, created by Hank Steinberg, crime drama; S03, Ep18, “Transitions” (3/31/05); Stephanie (Sandra Nelson) and Larry (Kevin Rankin). 2006: Boston Legal, ABC, created by David E. Kelley, legal dramedy; S03, Ep2, “New Kids on the Block” (9/26/06); Clarence/Clarice Bell (Gary Anthony Williams); becomes recurring character, S03, Ep10-S04, Ep20 (12/5/06–5/21/08). 2006: Desperate Housewives, ABC, created by Marc Cherry, drama; S03, Ep3, “A Weekend in the Country” (10/8/06); Pearly Gates (Ralph Cole Jr.). 2006: Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus, directed by Steven Shainberg, Picturehouse, biopic drama; party goer (George McGrath). 2006: A Girl Like Me: The Gwen Araujo Story, Lifetime, directed by Agnieszka Holland, biopic drama, made-for-television movie (6/19/06); Gwen Araujo (J.D. Pardo). 2006: Grey’s Anatomy, ABC, created by Shonda Rhimes, medical drama; S03, Ep7, “Where the Boys Are” (11/9/06); Donna (Alexandra Billings). 2006: Grilled, directed by Jason Ensler, New Line Cinema, comedy; Loridonna (Sofia Vergara). 2006: Journey to the End of the Night, directed by Eric Eason, Millennium Films, crime drama; Nazda (Matheus Nachtergaele).

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2006: The L Word; Showtime, created by Michele Abbott, Ilene Chaiken, and Kathy Greenberg, drama; S03, Ep1–S06, Ep8 (1/8/06–3/8/09); Max Sweeney (Daniela Sea). 2006: Psych, USA, created by Steve Franks, crime dramedy; S01, Ep7, “Who Ya Gonna Call?” (8/18/06); Robert/Regina (Frank Whaley). 2006: Twins, WB, created by David Kohan and Max Mutchnick, sitcom, S01, Ep13, “Dancin’ & Pantsin” (1/20/06); Coco (Clinton Leupp). 2006: Veronica Mars, UPN, created by Rob Thomas, crime drama; S02, Ep13, “Ain’t No Magic Mountain High Enough” (2/8/06); sex worker (Laura McLauchlin). 2007: Andy Barker, P.I., NBC, created by Conan O’Brien and Jonathan Groff, sitcom; S01, Ep6, “The Lady Varnishes” (4/14/07); bar patron (Mark Alfa). 2007: Because I Said So, directed by Michael Lehmann, Universal, comedy; potential date (William Belli). 2007: Big Shots, ABC, created by Jon Harmon Feldman, drama; S01, Ep1–2 (9/27–10/4/07), Ep4 (10/18/07); Dontrelle (Jazzmun Crayton). 2007: Cold Case, CBS, created by Meredith Stiehm, crime drama; S05, Ep9, “Boy Crazy” (11/18/07); Sam (Linsey Godfrey). 2007: CSI: Crime Scene Investigations, CBS, created by Anthony E. Zuiker, crime drama; S08, Ep4, “The Case of the Cross-Dressing Carp” (10/18/07); Brian (uncredited). 2007: CSI: NY, CBS, created by Anthony E. Zuiker, Ann Donahue and Carol Mendelsohn, crime drama; S03, Ep14; “The Lying Game” (1/24/07); Quentin (Candis Cayne) and Candi Darling (William Belli). 2007: Dirty Sexy Money, ABC, created by Craig Wright, drama; S01, Ep1 (9/26/07)–S02, Ep8 (12/10/08); Carmelita Rainer (Candis Cayne). 2007: Entourage, HBO, created by Doug Ellin, comedy; S04, Ep4, “Sorry, Harvey” (7/8/07); Anika (Natasha Alam). 2007: Itty Bitty Titty Committee, directed by Jamie Babbit, Power Up Films, comedy; Aggie (Lauren Mollica) 2007: My Name Is Earl, NBC, created by Greg Garcia, sitcom; S03, Ep12 “Early Release” (12/6/07); four inmates (three uncredited and Sinakhone Keodara). 2007: The Riches, FX, created by Dmitry Lipkin, drama; S01–02 (3/12/07–4/29/08); Sam Malloy (Aidan Mitchell).

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2007: Ugly Betty, Fox, created by Silvio Horta and Fernando Gaitán, dramedy; S01, Ep13 (1/18/07)–S03, Ep4 (10/16/08); Alexis Meade (Rebecca Romijn). 2007: Women’s Murder Club, ABC, developed by Elizabeth Craft and Sarah Fain, crime drama; S01, Ep9, “To Drag and To Hold” (12/7/07); Dakota (Chad Michaels), Sasha (William Belli) and Buzz (Shawn Ryan). 2007: Zodiac, directed by David Fincher, Paramount, crime drama; unnamed informant (Cookie Crawford). 2008: American Crude, directed by Craig Sheffer, Sheffer/Kramer Films, comedy; Gigi (Missi Pyle). 2008: Bones, Fox, created by Hart Hanson, crime drama; S04, Ep7, “The He in the She” (10/8/08); Patricia Ludmuller (uncredited). 2008: Californication, created by Tom Kapinos, Showtime, dramedy; S02, Ep2, “The Great Ashby” (10/5/08); cell mate (Alexis Arquette). 2008: Disaster Movie, directed by Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer, Grosvenor Park Media, comedy; princess (Nicole Parker/Johnny Rock). 2008: Eli Stone, ABC, created by Greg Berlanti and Marc Guggenheim, legal drama; S02, Ep9, “Two Ministers” (12/30/08); Michael (Dallas Malloy) and Joanna (Alexandra Billings). 2008: E.R., NBC, created by Michael Crichton, medical drama; S14, Ep18, “Tandem Repeats” (5/8/08); Lois (Marina Benedict). 2008: Gardens of the Night, directed by Damian Harris, Station3, drama; Rachel (Evan Peters). 2008: House Bunny, directed by Fred Wolf, Columbia Pictures, comedy; cell mate (Jonathan Loughran). 2008: The New Adventures of the Old Christine, CBS, created by Andy Ackerman, sitcom; S04, Ep12, “Happy Endings” (12/17/08); masseuse (Kelly Mantle). 2008: Law & Order, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S19, Ep6, “Sweetie” (12/10/08); Minnie (Laverne Cox), Sybil (Eric Dysart), and unnamed informant (Sean Patrick Doyle). 2008: Reno 911!, Comedy Central, created by Thomas Lennon, Robert Ben Garant, and Kerri Kenney-Silver, comedy crime parody; S05, Ep7, “Undercover at Burger Cousin” (2/27/08); sex worker (Debra Wilson); returns Ep10, “Baghdad 911” (5/29/08). 2009: Bored to Death, HBO, created by Jonathan Ames, comedy; S01, Ep1, “Stockholm Syndrome” (9/20/09); sex worker (Laverne Cox).

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2009: Californication, Showtime, created by Tom Kapinos, dramedy; S03, Ep5, “Slow Happy Boys” (10/25/09); Suzanne (Suzanne Freeman). 2009: The Cleaner, A&E, created by Robert Munic and Jonathan Prince, crime drama; S02, Ep9, “The Path of Least Resistance” (8/18/09); Taylor (Reiley McClendon) and Tonya (Jazzmun Crayton). 2009: The Closer, TNT, created by James Duff, Michael M. Robin, and Greer Shephard, crime drama; S05, Ep14, “Make Over” (12/14/09); Georgette (Beau Bridges). 2009: Criminal Minds, CBS, created by Jeff Davis, crime drama, S04, Ep20, “Conflicted” (4/8/09); Adam/Amanda (Jackson Rathbone). 2009: Kath & Kim, NBC, developed by Michelle Nader, sitcom; S01, Ep16, “Bachelorette” (3/5/09); Cher performer (Chad Michaels). 2009: Law & Order: SVU, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S10, Ep14, “Transitions” (2/17/09); Hailey (Bridger Zadina), Blake (Daniela Sea), and Jackie (Aisha Hinds). 2009: Life is Hot in Cracktown, directed by Buddy Giovinazzo, Karmic Productions, drama; Marybeth (Kerry Washington) and Gabrielle (Mark Webber). 2009: Nip/Tuck, FX, created by Ryan Murphy, medical drama; S06, Ep6–7, “Alexis Stone” (11/18-11/25/09); Alexis Stone (Candis Cayne). 2009: Passenger Side, directed by Matthew Bissonnette, IFC Films, dramedy; Carla (Vitta Quinn). 2009: Powder Blue, directed by Timothy Linh Bui, New Line Cinema, drama; Lexus (Alejandro Romero). 2009: Reno 911!, Comedy Central, created by Thomas Lennon, Robert Ben Garant, and Kerri Kenney-Silver, comedy crime parody; S06, Ep1, “Training Day” (4/01/09); sex worker (Minnie Goode). 2009: Sons of Anarchy, FX, created by Kurt Sutter, crime drama; S02, Ep7, “Gilead” (10/20/09); Venus Bell (Jazzmun Crayton). 2009: Southland, NBC, created by Ann Biderman, crime drama; S01, Ep3, “See the Woman” (4/23/09); Sheila (William Belli) and Lacey (Kelly Mantle). 2009: Taking Woodstock, directed by Ang Lee, Focus Features, biopic dramedy; Vilma (Liev Schreiber). 2009: Trauma, created by Dario Scardapane, NBC, medical drama; S01, Ep5, “Masquerade” (10/26/09); Halloween patrons (Brian Yates Sharber and Lady Bear) and MC (Stefan Grygelko).

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2010: Blue Mountain State, created by Chris Romano and Eric Falconer, Spike, sitcom; S01, Ep4, “Rivalry Weekend” (1/26/2010); Stacy Fandel (Miguel A. Núñez Jr.). 2010: Degrassi: The Next Generation, TeenNick, created by Yan Moore and Linda Schuyler, teen drama; S10, Ep15 (8/11/10)–S13, Ep7 (8/15/13); Adam Torres (Jordan Todosey). 2010: Drop Dead Diva, Lifetime, created by Josh Berman, legal dramedy; S02, Ep8, “Queen of Mean” (7/25/10); Allison (Candis Cayne). 2010: House, M.D., Fox, created by David Shore, medical drama; S06, Ep18, “Knight Fall” (4/19/10); Sarah (Carey Embry). 2010: How I Met Your Mother, CBS, created by Carter Bays and Craig Thomas, sitcom; S06, Ep5, “Architect of Destruction” (10/18/10); bar patron (Clinton Leupp). 2010: It’s Kind of a Funny Story, directed by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck, Focus Features, dramedy; Jennifer (Ato Blankson-Wood). 2010: Outlaw, NBC, created by John Eisendrath, legal drama; S01, Ep3, “In Re: Jessica Davis” (10/1/10); Desdemona (Jazzmun Crayton). 2010: Peacock, directed by Michael Lander, Mandate Pictures, crime drama; John/Emma (Cillian Murphy). 2010: Private Practice, ABC, created by Shonda Rhimes, medical drama; S04, Ep2, “Short Cuts” (9/30/10); Jane (Darryl Stephens). 2010: Terriers, FX, created by Ted Griffin, crime dramedy; S01, Ep9, “Pimp Daddy” (11/3/10); Mikaela (D.J.  Pierce) and Crystal (uncredited). 2010: Ugly Betty, Fox, created by Silvio Horta and Fernando Gaitán, dramedy; S04, Ep13, “Chica and the Man” (2/3/10); Wilhediva Hater (Chris Williams). 2011: The Closer, TNT, created by James Duff, Michael M. Robin, and Greer Shephard, crime drama; S07, Ep5, “Forgive Us Our Trespasses” (8/8/11); Cliff Wycoff (Peter Breitmayer). 2011: CSI: NY, CBS, created by Ann Donahue, Carol Mendelsohn, and Anthony E.  Zuiker, crime drama; S07, Ep18, “Identity Crisis” (4/1/11); victim (Laurie Fortier). 2011: Detroit 1-8-7, USA, created by Jason Richman, crime drama; S01, Ep15, “Legacy/Drag City” (2/15/11); Detroit (uncredited), Cherry Pop (Clinton Leupp), Christina Draguilera (Jai Rodriguez), and Lucious Lana (Jazzmun Crayton). 2011: Gun Hill Road, directed by Rashaad Ernesto Green, Motion Film Group, drama; Vanessa (Harmony Santana).

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2011: The Hangover, Part II, directed by Todd Phillips, Warner Bros., comedy; Kimmy (Yasmin Lee). 2011: Hung, HBO, created by Colette Burson and Dmitry Lipkin, dramedy; S03, Ep6-7 (11/6-11/13/11); Kyla (Jamie Clayton). 2011: Musical Chairs, directed by Susan Seidelman, Paladin Films, drama; Chantelle (Laverne Cox). 2011: Necessary Roughness, USA, created by Elizabeth Kruger and Craig Shapiro, drama; S01, Ep6, “Dream On” (8/3/11); Geraldine (Candis Cayne). 2011: Outsourced, NBC, developed by Robert Borden, sitcom; S01, Ep21–22, “Rajiv Ties the Baraat” Parts 1 & 2 (5/5-5/12/11); Kami Sutra (Aneesh Shah). 2012: Any Day Now, directed by Travis Fine, Music Box Films, drama; Rudy Donatello (Alan Cumming). 2012: Are We There Yet? TBS, created by Ice Cube and Ali LeRoi, sitcom; S03, Ep47, “The Wrong Way Episode” (12/24/12); Carla (Jamie Clayton). 2012: Are You There, Chelsea?, NBC, created by Dottie Zicklin and Julie Larson, sitcom; S01, Ep7, “Dee Dee’s Pillows” (2/22/12); Sandy (Jai Rodriguez). 2012: Californication, Showtime, created by Tom Kapinos, sitcom; S05, Ep5, “The Ride-Along” (2/5/12); sex worker (Ciera Payton). 2012: CSI: Crime Scene Investigations, CBS, created by Anthony E. Zuiker, crime drama; S13, Ep9, “Strip Maul” (11/28/12); Joslyn (Andrew Elvis Miller). 2012: Dark Tourist, directed by Suri Krishnamma, Phase 4 Films, crime drama; Iris (Suzanne Quast). 2012: The Factory, directed by Morgan O’Neill, Dark Castle Entertainment, crime drama; sex worker (Lita Tresierra). 2012: Glee, Fox, created by Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuk and Ryan Murphy, musical dramedy; S03, Ep16–S05, (4/17/12)–Ep13 (3/25/14); Unique Adams (Alex Newell); returns as guest in S06, Ep7 (2/13/15), Ep13 (3/20/15). 2012: Harry’s Law, NBC, created by David E. Kelley, legal dramedy; S01, Ep10, “Send in the Clowns” (3/21/12); Amanda (Jai Rodriguez). 2012: House of Lies, Showtime, created by Matthew Carnahan, dramedy; S01–05 (1/8/12–6/12/16); Roscoe Kaan (Donis Leonard, Jr.); Lex (Bex Taylor-Klaus) in S03, Ep2, 4, 7, 9, 12 (1/9/14–4/6/14).

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2012: Men in Black 3, directed by Barry Sonnefeld, Sony Pictures, actioncomedy; party goer (Javier Rivera). 2012: The Mentalist, CBS, created by Bruno Heller, crime drama; S04, Ep21, “Ruby Slippers” (4/26/12); Glennda Snow (Carlton Wilborn), Shangela (D.J. Pierce), Miss Labeled (Shawn Ryan), and Fritta People (Brian Treitler). 2012: Nurse Jackie, Showtime, created by Liz Brixius, Evan Dunsky and Linda Wallem, medical dramedy; S04, Ep6, “No-Kimono-Zone” (5/13/12); Lonna (Michaela Jaé (MJ) Rodriguez). 2012: Rizzoli and Isles, TNT, developed by Janet Tamaro, crime drama; S03, Ep10, “Melt My Heart to Stone” (8/14/12); Kitty (Kelly Mantle). 2012: Sons of Anarchy, FX, created by Kurt Sutter, drama; S05, Ep5, “Orca Shrugged” (10/9/12); Venus Van Dam (Walton Goggins); returns S06, Ep6–7 (10/14–10/22/13); S07, Ep4, 10, 13 (9/30–12/9/14). 2012: 3,2,1… Frankie Go Boom, directed by Jordan Roberts, Variance Films, comedy; Phyllis (Ron Perlman). 2013: Banshee, Cinemax, created by Jonathan Tropper and David Schickler, crime drama; S01–4 (1/11/30–5/20/16); Job (Hoon Lee). 2013: Dallas Buyers Club, directed by Jean-Marc Vallée, Focus Features, biopic drama; Rayon (Jared Leto). 2013: Elementary, CBS, created by Robert Doherty, crime drama; S01, Ep19, “Snow Angels” (4/4/13); Mrs. Hudson (Candis Cayne); returns S02, Ep21 (4/24/14) and S03, Ep7 (12/11/14). 2013: Futurestates, “Elliot King is Third,” PBS (ITVS), directed by Rose Troche, science fiction; S04, Ep1 (4/24/13); Roland/Elliot (T.E. Frost), Oscar Sosa (Juan Reyna), Julian Grant Pappas (Ames John Gigounas), Said (Shakeem Holmes) and Mel (Amy Dreisler). 2013: Grey’s Anatomy, ABC, created by Shonda Rhimes, medical drama; S09, Ep14; “The  Face of Change” (2/7/13); Brian Weston (Rachel Brosnahan) and Jess (Matt Pascua). 2013: Grudge Match, directed by Peter Segal, Warner Bros., comedy; cell mate (Kenneth Kynt Bryan). 2013: Mike & Molly, CBS, created by Mark Roberts, sitcom; S04, Ep2, “The First and Last Ride-Along” (11/11/13); Lousette (Christopher Aguilar). 2013: Orange is the New Black, Netflix, created by Jenji Kohan, dramedy; S01–07 (7/11/13–7/25/19); Sophia Burset (Laverne Cox).

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2013: Ray Donovan, Showtime, created by Ann Biderman, crime drama, S01, Ep2, “A Mouth is a Mouth” (7/7/13); Chloe (Alex Saxon); returns S03, Ep4, “Breakfast of Champions” (8/2/15). 2013: Shameless, Showtime, created by Paul Abbott, dramedy; S03, Ep4–5, (2/10–2/17/13); Molly Milkovich (Madison Rothschild). 2013: Shameless, Showtime, created by Paul Abbott, dramedy; S03, Ep9; “Frank the Plummer” (3/17/13); bar performer (Christopher Aguilar). 2013: Two and a Half Men, CBS, created by Lee Aronsohn and Chuck Lorre, sitcom; S11, Ep9–10 (12/5–12/12/13); Paula (Paula Marshall). 2014: Boy Meets Girl, directed by Eric Schaeffer, Wolfe, romantic comedy; Ricky (Michelle Hendley). 2014: Bones, Fox, created by Hart Hanson, crime drama; S09, Ep23, “The Drama in the Queen” (5/12/14); Brian Thomas (Craig Johnson), Kimmy Moore (D.J. Pierce) and Destiny Childs (Shawn Ryan). 2014: The Crazy Ones, CBS, created by David E.  Kelley, sitcom; S01, Ep14, “Simon Roberts Was Here” (1/30/14); Anastasia (Jazzmun Crayton). 2014: Drop Dead Diva, Lifetime, created by Josh Berman, legal dramedy; S06, Ep8, “Identity Crisis” (5/11/14); Sam (Lachlan Watson). 2014: The Fosters, Freeform, created by Bradley Bredeweg and Peter Paige, drama; S01, Ep12 (1/20/14)–S05, Ep5 (9/8/17); Cole (Tom Phelan). 2014: Girlfriends’ Guide to Divorce, Bravo, created by Marti Noxon, dramedy; S01, Ep4, “Rule #426: Fantasyland: A Great Place to Visit” (12/23/14); Adele Northrop (Laverne Cox). 2014: Love That Girl!, TV One, created by Bentley Kyle Evans, sitcom; S04, Ep31, “What He Don’t Know Won’t Hurt Him” (9/11/14); Marlena (Anastacia McPherson). 2014: Orphan Black, BBC America, created by Graeme Manson and John Fawcett, science fiction/thriller; S02, Ep8, “Variable and Full of Perturbation” (6/7/14); Tony (Tatiana Maslany). 2014: Transparent, Amazon, created by Jill Soloway, dramedy, S01–04 (9/24/14–9/22/17); Maura Pfefferman (Jeffrey Tambor), Davina (Alexandra Billings) and Shea (Trace Lysette); guest characters include S01, Ep3–4, 6, 8; Mark (Bradley Whitford); S01, Ep6–7; Dale (Ian Harvie); and S02, Ep1, 2, 4, 8–9; Gittel (Hari Nef). 2015: American Horror Story: Hotel; FX, created by Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuck, horror; S05, Ep1–12 (10/7/15–1/13/16); Liz Taylor (Denis O’Hare).

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2015: Blunt Talk, Starz, created by Jonathan Ames, sitcom; S01, Ep1, “I Seem to Be Running Out of Dreams for Myself” (8/22/15); Gisele (Trace Lysette); returns S01, Ep5 (9/19/15) and S02, Ep6 (11/6/16). 2015: The Carmichael Show, NBC, created by Jerrod Carmichael, Ari Katcher, Willie Hunter and Nicholas Stoller, sitcom; S01, Ep4, “Gender” (9/2/15); Jordan (Kylen Davis). 2015: The Comedians, FX, created by Larry Charles, Billy Crystal, Matt Nix and Ben Wexler, comedy; S01, Ep1–2 (4/9–4/16/15); Jamie (Steven Weber). 2015: The Danish Girl, directed by Tom Hooper, Working Title, biopic drama; Lili Elbe (Eddie Redmayne). 2015: Glee, Fox, created by Ian Brennan, Brad Falchuk and Ryan Murphy, musical dramedy; S06, Ep7–Ep13 (2/13-3/20/15); Sheldon Beiste (Dot-Marie Jones). 2015: Grey’s Anatomy, ABC, created by Shonda Rhimes, medical drama; S11, Ep12, “The Great Pretender” (2/19/15); Rosalind (Benjamin Patterson). 2015: Hot Pursuit, directed by Anne Fletcher, Warner Bros., crime actioncomedy; sex worker (Precious Roberson). 2015: How To Get Away With Murder, created by Peter Nowalk, ABC, crime drama; S02, Ep6, “Two Birds, One Millstone” (10/29/15); Jill (Alexandra Billings). 2015: Jane the Virgin, The CW, developed by Jennie Snyder Urman, dramedy; S01, Ep22, “Chapter Twenty-Two” (5/11/15); Cher performer (Chad Michaels). 2015: Law & Order: SVU, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S17, Ep3, “Transgender Bridge” (9/30/15); Avery (Christopher Dylan White). 2015: Looking, HBO, created by Michael Lannan, dramedy; S02, Ep5-6, 9-10 (2/15-3/22/15); Sammi (Ni Ching). 2015: Magic Mike XXL, directed by Gregory Jacobs, Warner Bros., dramedy; Tori Snatch (Vicky Vox). 2015: Mr. Robot, USA, created by Sam Esmail, science fiction/thriller; S01, Ep8, (8/12/15)–S03, Ep10 (12/13/17); Whiterose (B.D. Wong). 2015: Penny Dreadful, Showtime, created by John Logan; horror/drama; S02, Ep2, 4–5, 6, 8 (5/10–6/21/15); Angelique (Jonny Beauchamp). 2015: Pretty Little Liars, Freeform, developed by I. Marlene King, teen drama; S06, Ep10, “Game Over, Charles” (8/11/15); CeCe Drake revealed as Charles DiLaurentis (Vanessa Ray).

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2015: Royal Pains, USA, created by Andrew Lenchewski and John P.  Rogers, medical drama; S07, Ep3, “The Prince of Nucleotides” (6/23/15); Anna (Nicole Maines). 2015: Scream Queens, Fox, created by Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, and Ian Brennan, horror/comedy; S01, Ep5, “Pumpkin Patch” (10/13/15); Maria (Kenneth Kynt Bryan). 2015: Sense8, Netflix, created by Lana and Lily Wachowski and J. Michael Straczynski, science fiction/thriller; S01–02 (6/5/15–6/8/18): Nomi Marks (Jamie Clayton). 2015: Stonewall, directed by Roland Emmerich, Roadside Attractions, historic drama; Ramona (Jonny Beauchamp), Marsha P. Johnson (Otoja Abit), Queen Cong (Vladimir Alexis), and Queen Tooey (Richard Jutras). 2015: Tangerine, directed by Sean Baker, Magnolia Pictures, dramedy; Alexandra (Mya Taylor) and Sin-Dee Rella (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez). 2015: 2 Broke Girls, CBS, created by Michael Patrick King and Whitney Cummings, sitcom; S05, Ep4, “And the Inside-Outside Situation” (12/10/15); I (Michael Cyril Creighton) with Cher (Chad Michaels) and Streisand performers (Jimmy Wachter). 2015: Wicked City, ABC/Hulu, crime drama, created by Steven Baigelman, 2015; S01, Ep6, “Blizzard of Ozz” (12/22/15); Aunt Bobby (Roxy Wood). 2016: All We Had, directed by Katie Holmes, Straight Shot Films, drama; Pam (Eva Lindley). 2016: Better Things, FX, created by Pamela Adlon and Louis C.K., dramedy; S01, Ep1 (9/8/16)–S02, Ep10 (11/16/17); Frankie (Hannah Alligood). 2016: Dead of Summer, Freeform, created by Adam Horowitz, Edward Kitsis and Ian Goldberg, horror; S01, Ep1-10 (6/28–8/30/16); Drew (Zelda Williams). 2016: Difficult People, Hulu, created by Julie Klausner, sitcom; S02, Ep2 (7/12/16)–S03, Ep10 (9/26/17); Lola (Shakina Nayfack); S03, Ep9, “Sweet Tea” (9/17/17); with Wendy (Aneesh Sheth), Oona (Kita Updike) and Blythe (Justin Vivian Bond). 2016: Chicago Med, NBC, created by Dick Wolf and Matt Olmstead, medical drama; S02, Ep3, “Natural History” (10/6/16); Denise (Alexandra Grey). 2016: Code Black, CBS, created by Michael Seitzman, medical drama, S02, Ep2, “Life and Limb” (10/5/16); Beth (Alexandra Grey).

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2016: Faking It; MTV, created by Carter Covington, Dana Goodman, and Julia Lea Wolov, sitcom, S03, Ep4 (4/5/16)–S03, Ep10 (5/17/16); Noah (Elliott Fletcher). 2016: The Fosters, Freeform, created by Bradley Bredeweig and Peter Paige, drama; S04, Ep3, (7/11/16)–S05, Ep20 (6/4/18); Aaron (Elliot Fletcher). 2016: Grace and Frankie, Netflix, created by Marta Kauffman and Howard J.  Morris, sitcom; S02, Ep3, “The Negotiation” (5/6/16); Ana Phylactic-Shock (Roxy Wood). 2016: Heartbeat, NBC, developed by Jill Gordon, medical drama; S01, Ep7, “Permanent Glitter” (5/4/16); Ava (Candis Cayne). 2016: Law & Order: SVU, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S18, Ep6, “Broken Rhymes” (11/9/16); Eva (Sabel Gonzales). 2016: Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates, directed by Jake Syzmanski, Twentieth Century Fox, comedy; interviewee Lauralie (Bob Turton). 2016: Mistresses, ABC, created by K.J.  Steinberg, drama; S04, Ep3–5 (6/20–7/4/16); Michael (Ian Harvie); returns S04, Ep11 (8/29/16). 2016: Modern Family, ABC, created by Christopher Lloyd and Steven Levitan, sitcom; S08, Ep2, “A Stereotypical Day” (9/28/16); Tom (Jackson Millarker). 2016: Mr. Robot, USA, created by Sam Esmail, science fiction/thriller; S02, Ep1, 5, 7, 9 (7/10–8/31/16); Hot Carla (Eve Lindley). 2016: Nashville, ABC/CMT, created by Callie Khouri, drama; S05, Ep1, 4, 6 (12/15/16–2/2/17); Allyson Del Lago (Jen Richards). 2016: The OA, Netflix, created by Brit Marling and Zal Batmanglij, science fiction/thriller; S01, Ep1–8 (12/16/16); Buck Vu (Ian Alexander). 2016: Outsiders, WGN, created Peter Mattei, drama; S01, Ep1 (1/26/16)– S02, Ep12 (4/18/17); Frida (Eve Lindley. 2016: Rocky Horror Picture Show: Let’s Do the Time Warp Again, Fox, directed by Kenny Ortega, musical horror/comedy, made-for-television movie (10/20/16); a remake of the 1975 original, Dr. Frank N. Furter (Laverne Cox). 2016: Shameless, Showtime, created by Paul Abbott, dramedy; S07, Ep4 (10/23/16)–S08, Ep12 (1/28/18); Trevor (Elliot Fletcher). 2016: Star, FX, created by Lee Daniels and Tom Donaghy, musical/ drama; S01, Ep1  (12/14/16)-S03, Ep9 (12/5/18); Cotton (Amiyah Scott).

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2016: The X-Files, FOX, created by Chris Carter, science fiction/crime drama; S10, Ep3, “Mulder and Scully Meet the Were-Monster” (2/1/16); Annabelle (D.J. Pierce). 2016: Young & Hungry, Freeform, created by David Holden, sitcom; S04, Ep7, “Young & Bowling” (7/13/16); Chris (Ian Harvie). 2016: Zoolander 2, directed by Ben Stiller, Paramount, comedy; All (Benedict Cumberbatch). 2017: Anything, directed by Timothy McNeil, Great Point Media, drama; Freda Von Rhenburg (Matt Bomer). 2017: Billions, Showtime, created by Brian Koppelman, David Levien, and Andrew Ross Sorkin, drama; S02, Ep1 (2/19/17)–S03, Ep12 (6/10/18); Taylor (Asia Kate Dillon). 2017: Claws, TNT, created by Eliot Laurence, dramedy; S01, Ep6, “SelfPortrait” (7/16/17); Scarlet (Kenneth Kynt Bryan); returns S02, Ep7, “Double-Dutch” (7/15/18). 2017: Degrassi: Next Class, Netflix, created by Yan Moore, Linda Schuyler and Stephen Stohn, teen drama; S04, Ep6, 8–10, (6/7–7/7/17); Yael (Jamie Bloch). 2017: Doubt, CBS, created by Tony Phelan and Joan Rater, legal drama; S01, Ep1–13 (2/15–8/12/17); Cameron Wirth (Laverne Cox); S01, Ep4, “Clean Burn” (7/8/17) with Mckayla (Jen Richards) and Valentina (Angelica Ross); S01, Ep6, “Faith” (7/15/17) with Delilah (Alexandra Grey). 2017: Grey’s Anatomy, ABC, created by Shonda Rhimes, medical drama; S14, Ep4 (10/12/17)–S15, Ep6 (11/1/18); Casey Parker (Alex Blue Davis). 2017: Little Evil, directed by Eli Craig, Mandalay Pictures, Netflix, comedy/horror; Al (Bridget Everett). 2017: Lopez, TV Land, created by John Altschuler, Dave Krinsky and Jeff Stilson, sitcom; S02, Ep3-12 (4/12–6/21/17); Coco (Rain Valdez). 2017: Queen Sugar, OWN, created by Ava DuVernay, drama; S02, Ep5, “Caroling Dusk” (7/12/17); Toine Wilkins (Brian Michael); returns S03, Ep10, “Here Beside the River” (8/1/18). 2017: Saturday Church, directed by Damon Cardasis, Samuel Goldwyn Films, musical drama; Ulysses (Luka Kain), Heaven (Alexia Garcia), Dijon (Indya Moore), Ebony (Michaela Jaé (MJ) Rodriguez) and Joan (Kate Bornstein). 2017: 3 Generations, directed by Gaby Dellal, Big Beach Films, drama; Ray (Elle Fanning).

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2017: Twin Peaks: The Return, Showtime, created by Mark Frost and David Lynch, crime drama; S01, Ep4, “Part 4” (5/21/17); Denise Bryson (David Duchovny). 2017: 2 Broke Girls, CBS, created by Michael Patrick King and Whitney Cummings, sitcom; S06, Ep21, “And the Rock Me on the Dais” (4/10/17); Janelle (Roxy Wood). 2017: When We Rise, ABC, created by Dustin Lance Black, historical dramatic mini-series; 8 episodes (2/27–3/3/17); Cecila Chung (Ivory Aquino), Bobby Jean Baker (Jazzmun Crayton), and Seville Anderson (Alexandra Grey). 2018: Assassination Nation, directed by Sam Levinson, Neon, comedy/ horror; Bex (Hari Nef). 2018: The Alienist, TNT, developed by Caleb Carr, crime drama; S01, Ep1, “The Boy on the Bridge” (1/22/18); Gloria (Nicolo Borgatti). 2018: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, developed by Roberto Aguirre-­ Sacasa, supernatural/horror, S01, Ep1–11 (10/26–12/14/18); Theo (Lachlan Watson). 2018: Dumplin’, directed by Anne Fletcher, Netflix (12/7/18), comedy; Rhea Ranged (Harold Perrineau). 2018: The Good Doctor, ABC, developed by David Shore, medical drama; S01, Ep14, “She” (2/5/18); Quinn (Sophie Giannamore). 2018: Good Girls, NBC, created by Jenna Bans, crime drama; S01, Ep1–10 (2/26–4/30/18); Sadie/Ben (Isaiah Stannard). 2018: Grey’s Anatomy, ABC, created by Shonda Rhimes, medical drama; S14, Ep12, “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger” (2/8/18); Michelle Velez (Candis Cayne); returns Ep16,  “Caught Somewhere in Time” (3/22/18). 2018: Here and Now, HBO, created by Alan Ball, drama; S01, Ep2–10, (2/18–4/15/18); Navid (Marwan Salama). 2018: Law & Order: SVU, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S19, Ep18, “Service” (4/11/18); Jim Preston (Marquise Vilson). 2018: Law & Order: SVU, NBC, created by Dick Wolf, crime drama; S20, Ep10, “Alta Knockers” (11/29/18); Bobbi O’Rourke/Tammy (Calhoun Koenig). 2018: Mapplethorpe, directed by Ondi Timoner, Samuel Goldwyn Films, biopic drama; Tinkerbelle (Hari Nef). 2018: One Day at a Time, Netflix, developed by Gloria Calderón Kellett and Mike Royce, sitcom; S02, Ep3, “To Zir, With Love” (1/26/18); Syd (Sheridan Pierce); returns Ep5, 7, and 11 (1/26/18).

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2018: Pose, FX, created by Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, and Steven Canals, drama; S01, Ep1–8 (6/3/18–7/22/18); Blanca Rodriguez-­ Evangelista (Michaela Jaé (MJ) Rodriguez), Elektra Abundance (Dominique Jackson), Angel Evangelista (Indya Moore), Lulu Abundance (Hailie Sahar) and Candy Abundance (Angelica Ross). 2018: Rise, NBC, created by Jason Katims, musical drama; S01, Ep1–10 (3/13–5/15/18); Michael (Ellie Desautels). 2018: A Star is Born, directed by Bradley Cooper, Warner Bros., drama; Emerald (William Belli) and MC (D.J. Pierce). 2018: Supergirl, The CW, developed by Ali Adler, Greg Berlanti and Andrew Kreisberg; action/superhero, S04, Ep1–22 (10/14/18–5/19/19); Nia Nal (Nicole Maines). 2018: Vida, Starz, created by Tanya Saracho; drama, S01, Ep3, “Episode 3” (5/20/18); Sam (Michelle Badillo). 2018: Younger, TVLand, developed by Darren Star; sitcom, S05, Ep5, “Big Little Liza” (7/10/18); Tam (Jessie James Keitel).

index

NUMBERS AND SYMBOLS 3 Generations, 8–19, 54, 58, 61 9-1-1 Lone Star, 227–230 10-8: Officers on Duty, 182–190 The 40-Year-Old Virgin, 109–116 A Acceptance, based on shared traits, 81–89 The Accountant, 167–190 Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, 41, 89–93, 109–116 Actors, gender identity of, 46, 76–81 Adams, Calpernia, 132–141, 143, 144 The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, 177–181 The Adventures of Sebastian Cole, 134 Aguilar, Christopher, 109–116 AIDS crisis, 47, 62, 149 Aizura, Aren Z., 210

Alam, Natasha, 109–116 Alfred Hitchcock Presents, 171–177 Allen, Krista, 109–116 All in the Family, 76–81, 117–121 All of Us, 73–93, 109–116 All That Glitters, 1–5, 39, 117–121 All We Had, 134 Ally McBeal, 46, 135, 136, 140, 182–190, 215, 221, 222 American Crude, 41, 109–121 American Gangster, 167–190 American Gods, 227–230 American Heart, 49–62, 182–190 American Horror Story, 145 Double Feature, 227–230 1984, 227–230 American Wedding, 109–116 Amtrak, 47 Anal penetration, explicitly depicted in Myra Breckenridge, 102–109 Anger Management, 109–116

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 T. B. Abbott, The History of Trans Representation in American Television and Film Genres, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-97793-1

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INDEX

Another Life, 227–230 Anti-LGBTQ homicides, increase in, 5–8 Anti-trans murder victims, of color, 199–202 Any Day Now, 136 Anything, 8–19, 61, 135, 182–190 APA’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), 37, 102–109 Archer Management Services, Inc., 47 Are You There, Chelsea?, 46, 76–81 Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City, 227–230 Arquette, Alexis, 46 Arrested Development, 109–116 Atypical gender presentation, 8–19, 32 Audience (dis)identification, characterizations and, 167–190 Autoandrophilia, 102–109 Autobiographies self-scrutiny in, 38 sexually explicit, 117–121 transition narrative and, 102–109 Autogynephilia, 11–19, 102–109 B Bachelor Party, 11–19, 109–116 The Badge, 206 Baker, Sean, 177–181 Bambi, 117–121 Banks, Tyra, 81–89, 109–116 Barney Miller, 76–81 Basketball, 109–116 Baskett, Hank, 102–109, 133 “Bathroom” bills, 121 Beauchamp, Jonny, 137 Beauchamp, Toby, 1–19, 167–190 Beauty and the Beast, 133 Becker, Ron, 46, 76–81, 206, 208 Becker, 109–116

Benjamin, Henry, 102–109 Bernard, Rise, 171–177 Bettcher, Talia Mae, 1–19 The Big Bang Theory, 76–81 The Big Easy, 171–177, 206 Big Shots, 117–121 The Big Sick, 133 Billard, Thomas J., 34–43 Billings, Alexandra, 137, 182–190 The Birdcage, 46, 149, 177–181 Black actors, roles as drag queens and female transsexuals, 46 Blackface, 61 Black female crime victims, blamed for own victimization, 201 Black trans feminine characters black trans feminine sex workers, 167–190 black trans feminine victims, 220 sexual transgressiveness and, 182–190 Black trans feminine community, 182–190 Black trans feminine sex workers, 167–190 Black trans feminine victims, 220 Black trans male characters, 210 Black trans women, 5–8, 33, 109–116, 181 aggressive male sexuality and, 109–116 exclusion of, 182–190 overlooked by documentarians, 47 typecasting of, 182–190, 220 Blanchard, Ray, 102–109 Blast from the Past, 49–62 Blindspot, 227–230 Blood In, Blood Out, 182–190 Blue Mountain State, 109–116, 182–190 Blunt Talk, 182–190 Boat Trip, 46

 INDEX 

Bodies disposable, 215–222 policing of, 62, 167–190 Body modification for cisgender people, 102–109 double standard regarding, 102–109 physical trauma of, 55–59, 61 Bomer, Matt, 61, 135 Bones, 171–177, 202, 204, 208 Bornstein, Kate, 47 Bostock v. Clayton County, 227–230 Boston Legal, 218 Boy Meets Girl, 61, 62, 73–93, 117–121 Boys Don’t Cry, 1–19, 140, 142–145, 198 The Brandon Teena Story, 47, 142 Brokeback Mountain, 150 Bronk, 171–177 Brooks, Randi, 81–89 Brothers & Sisters, 150 Brown, Julie Caitlin, 109–116 Buckley, Norman, 171–177 Buzzfeed, 138 C Cabaret, 41 Californication, 109–121 Call Me By My Name, 151 Cameron, Loren, 47 Camp aesthetic, 102–109 Candy, 102–109 Capitalism, 202 Cárdenas, Micha, 5–8 Carell, Steve, 109–116 Carlson, Linda, 109–116 The Carmichael Show, 81–89 Carol, 150 Carol & Company, 136 Carroll, Diahann, 109–116

271

Carroll, Victoria, 81–93, 109–116 Castration, fear of, 102–109 Catherine’s Grove, 171–177, 202 Cavalcante, Andre, 1–19 Cayne, Candis, 140, 182–190 Celebrities gender-fluid, 227–230 GNC, 227–230 trans, 11–19, 37, 227–230 The Celluloid Closet Homosexuality at the Movies, 62 Chambers, Samuel, 8–19 Changeability, vs. permanence, 33 Change, possibility foreclosed by death, 11–19 Characterizations audience (dis)identification and, 167–190 harmful, 1–19 Charlie’s Angels, 40, 171–177 “Chasers,” 117–121, 133 Cherry Falls, 171–175 Chicago Hope, 11–19, 136 Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, 227–230 Choose Me, 182–190 The Christine Jorgenson Story, 145 Cina, Maria, 109–116 Cis actors, trans characters played by, 8–19, 39–41, 43, 48–62, 76–93, 109–116, 134, 135, 137, 140, 145, 146, 151, 171–177, 182–190, 218 Cis characters, 11–19, 46, 102–109, 182–190, 198–202 cis female characters, 227–230 cis male characters, 11–19, 41, 46, 102–121, 182–190, 198–202 conflict resolution and, 117–121 demasculinization of, 109–121

272 

INDEX

Cis characters (cont.) liberal sophistication reflected in drag queen associates, 46 played by trans female actors, 227–230 tolerance advocates for, 46 trans feminine characters and, 41 “Cis chaser” model, 11–19, 132–140, 142, 204, 206 “cis chaser” murderers, 181 presented as pathological, 138 Cis female actors trans criminals played by, 171–177 trans feminine characters played by, 39–41, 171–177 Cis female characters, played by trans female actors, 227–230 Cisgender aesthetic, 34–43 Cisgender audience, 1–19, 198–202 Cisgender bias, 1–19 Cisgender heteronormativity, 132–140 Cisgender heterosexual privilege, 109–116 Cisgender identity, 32 Cisgender institutions, 199 trans victimization and, 198–202 unquestioned authority of, 217, 218, 220, 222 Cisgender privilege, 1–19, 89–93 reinforcement of, 181 reestablishment of, 73–93 Cisgender society acceptance of trans community by, 1–19 perceived trans threat to, 5–8 Cisgender superiority, reinforcement of, 171–177 Cis male actors, trans characters played by, 11–19 Cis male characters, 11–19, 46, 102–109, 182–190, 198–202 conflict resolution and, 117–121

demasculinization of, 109–121 detectives, 182–190, 198–202 drag queen victims and, 46 trans feminine characters and, 41 Cis male heterosexuality privileging of, 11–19 victimization and, 102–109 Cis male privilege, 102–109 Cisnormativity gender dysphoria and, 11–19 maintenance of, 1–19 maintenance of cisnormative bias, 145 reinforcement of, 34, 202 restabilization of, 76–93 in trans narratives, 61 upholding of, 5–8 validation of, 11–19 Cis people, body modification for, 102–109 Cis sex workers, 11–19 “Cis surprise” narratives, 11–19, 135, 153 comedic genres and, 73–93, 101–121 friend version, 73–93 gender authenticity and, 81–89 mistaken identity scenarios and, 109–116 reunion storyline and, 73–93, 136 romantic partner version, 101–121 sexualized version of, 89–93 sitcoms and, 11–19 transphobia and, 11–19 Cis/trans binary, 1–19, 117–121 class and, 11–19 in comedic genres, 73–93 gender authenticity and, 59, 60, 73–93 porous boundary between, 8–19 privileging of, 61, 89–93 race and, 11–19

 INDEX 

reversal of, 117–121 Cis/trans relations, 117–121 Cis/trans romance, 11–19, 76–81, 117–121, 155 delegitimization of, 101 doomed, 148 ended by post-transition failure, 145, 149 ended through violence, 148, 149 failure of, 147 gender dysphoria and, 61, 62 invalidation of, 117–121 media and, 101–109 pathologization of, 142 presented as transgressive, 137, 138 representations of, 151 same-sex male relationships and, 153 sympathetic storylines, 135, 136, 139, 140 taboos on, 101–109 tragic end of, 148 Cis/trans sexual attraction, need for new terms to depathologize, 117–121 Cis/trans sexual relations, 109–121 pathologization of, 102–109 Cis white femininity, trans black femininity and, 182–190 Civil rights, 182–190, 216 Civil Rights Act of 1964, Title VII, 222, 227–230 Clarice, 227–230 Clark, Amber Fillerup, 35 Class, 1–5, 32, 35, 36 cis/trans binary and, 11–19 homonormativity and, 76–81 trans bodies and, 33 trans persons and, 47 trans representations and, 5–8, 11–19, 167–190 trans victimization and, 199–202

273

Clayton, Jazzmun, 46, 49–62, 109–116, 167–190 The Cleaner, 213 Coccinelle, 117–121 Cold Case, 205, 208, 214 Cole, Ralph Jr., 182–190 Colonialism, 35 Columbo, 202 The Comedians, 1–19, 76–93 Comedic genres, 1–19, 38, 102–109 affirmation of gender difference in resolution of, 76–81 “cis surprise” narratives and, 73–93, 101–121 cis/trans binary in, 73–93 cross-dressing in, 76–81 female impersonation in, 44 “poor gender performance” in, 76–81 sexual objectification and, 40 social transgression and, 76–93 trans identities in, 11–19 Comic incongruity, 76–81 Coming out narratives, 8–19, 52, 149 The Connors, 227–230 Consumerism, 32, 34–36, 40 Continental Airlines, 47 Conway, Lynn, 102–109 “Could have been” tragedy storyline, 136 Cowboys, 227–230 Cox, Laverne, 1–19, 89–93, 109–116, 133, 151, 155, 177–190 Crazy as Hell, 171–177 The Crazy Ones, 182–190 Crime dramas, fictionalized versions of actual crimes, 201 Crime genre, 11–19, 48, 190 drag queens instrumentalized in, 44 guest characters in series, 177–181 popularity of, 167–190, 202 trans identities in, 177–181 transphobia and, 190

274 

INDEX

Crime journalism, 167–190 Criminal acts, justification of, 167–190 Criminal investigators, 167–190 Criminality, on a continuum, 167–190 Criminal justice narratives, 11–19, 190 Criminal Minds, 167–190 Criminal motivation, trans identities and, 167–190 Criminals, victims and, 167–190 Cromwell, Jason, 47 Cross-dressers, 8–19, 40–49 Cross-dressing, 8–19, 40, 171–177, 215 comedic, 1–19, 76–81 definitions of, 37 male, 43 pathologization of, 102–109 ridiculing of, 218 “second-take” sight gags and, 76–81 transsexuality and, 11–19 Cross-dressing laws, 36 Cross-sex behavior, pathologization of, 207 cross-sex friendships, 81–89 Cross-sexual orientation homosocial bonding, 76–81 Crouse, Lindsey, 171–177 Crusing, 182–190 The Crying Game, 109–116 CSI Crime Scene Investigation, 167–190, 202–205, 207 NY, 197–204, 207, 212 CSI franchise, 171–177 Currah, Paisley, 8–19 Custody discrimination, 48 D The Dallas Buyers Club, 1–19, 54, 61, 134, 182–190 Daniel, Brittany, 109–116

Daniel, Lee, 177–181 The Danish Girl, 1–19, 61, 147 Deadly Blessing, 171–177 Death, 11–19, 140, 148, 182–190 Deception, 102–109, 167–190, 198 Degrassi: The Next Generation, 1–19, 147, 148, 198 Demasculinization, 109–121 D’Emilio, John, 36 Depersonalization, 109–116 Deranged, 171–177 Desexualization, sympathetic depictions based on, 11–19 Desperate Housewives, 8–19, 182–190 Destabilization-restabilization plot trajectory, 73–93 in “cis surprise” narratives, 81–89 restabilization of cisnormativity, 76–93 Desubjectification, 214 Detroit 1-8-7, 206 Detroit 9-8-1, 208 “Developmental narrative,” 11–19 Deviant: The Shocking True Story of the Original Psycho, 171–177 Devor, Aaron H., 8–19 Dexter, 202 Dhoest, Alexander, 76–93 Diagnosis Murder, 202, 204, 205 Diary of a Serial Killer, 202 Difference, 43–49, 200 Difficult People, 89–93 Dirty Sexy Money, 11–19, 140 Disciplinary power, gender boundaries and, 1–19, 34 Discrimination, 227–230 Documentaries, 47, 55 Domesticity, 151 Donnie Brasco, 167–190 “Don’t ask, Don’t Tell” policy, 141 Double Down, 117–121 Doubt, 220, 222 Douglas, Angela, 43

 INDEX 

Drag clubs, 171–181 Drag identities, 8–19, 40 “purpose” of, 49–62 minor characters in drag, 42 Drag kings, 47 Drag performers, 8–19, 117–121 Drag queens, 8–19, 40–49, 81–89, 109–116, 171–177, 182–190 celebrity, 177–181 cisgender male detectives and, 46 desexualization of, 149 gay, 43, 44 growing awareness of in 1960s and 70s, 76–81 male-identified, 46 as minor characters, 46 mistaken identity scenarios and, 76–81 reunion storyline and, 76–81 as symbols of cisgender character’s liberal sophistication, 46 tolerated as performance, 44 transsexuals and, 46, 202 as victims, 46 Drag settings, sitcoms and, 177–181 Drag shows, 177–181 Dramatic romance, value(s) of tragedy and, 155 Dramatic television shows, 117–121 Dressed to Kill, 1–19, 171–175 The Drew Carey Show, 177–181 Drop Dead Diva, 48, 221, 222 Dude, Where’s My Car?, 41, 109–116 Dyer, Richard, 1–19, 55 E Eastern Airlines, lawsuit against, 40 Edelstein, Lisa, 135, 136 The Education of Max Bickford, 11–19 Edwards, Tim, 35 Ed Wood, 76–81

275

Elbe, Lili, 147 Eli Stone, 219, 220 Ellison, Treva, 182–190 Emasculinization, 117–121 Embodiment, 32 consumerism and, 32 institutional control over, 37 Standards of Care (SOC) and, 37 validation and, 34–43 Emmy Awards, 227–230 Empathy, for trans characters, 132–140 Empire, 227–230 Employment discrimination cases, 40, 47, 48, 216, 221, 222 Enke, A. Finn, 8–19 Entourage, 31, 109–121 Equality Act, 227–230 The Equalizer 2, 167–190 “Eros love style,” 133 Erotic attraction, sexual orientation and, 102–109 Escoffier, Jeffrey, 11–19, 117–121 Esquire, 117–121 Ethnicity, 47–62 Ethnographic studies, 33, 47 Euphoria, 227–230 Evening Shade, 109–116 Everything You Need to Know About Sex*, 76–81 Exotic dancers, 117–121 F The Factory, 182–190, 212 Faking It, 11–19, 153–155 Family Law, 217, 220 Family Research Council, 227–230 Fanning, Elle, 61 Farmer v. Brennan, 47 Feder, Sam, 227–230 Feinberg, Leslie, 47

276 

INDEX

Felicity, 177–181 Female characters, hypersexualized during 1970s, 40 Female criminal imposters played by cis male actors, 171–177 played by trans feminine actors, 175 Female gender presentation desexualized, 171–177 female criminal imposters and, 171–177 Female impersonation, 8–19, 32, 76–89, 171–181 in comedy, 44 trans identities and, 182–190 Female sexuality, policing of, 177–181 Female transsexuality, homosexuality and, 102–109 Female transsexuals, 32, 37, 38 autobiographies of, 40 Femicide, gender dysphoria and, 171–177 Femininity, 36, 102–109 hegemonic, 35, 43 normative hegemonic, 40 Feminism, third-wave, 47 Feminist media studies, queer media studies and, 8–19 Feminist movement, 43 Feminist studies, 8–19 Femmephobia, 8–19 Fictionalized versions of actual crimes, 201 Fictional trans representations, 8–19, 76–81 evolution of, 1–19 progress in the 1990s, 11–19 Fired Up, 46 First Monday, 117–121, 218 Flawless, 149 Fletcher, Elliot, 153 The Fosters, 59–61, 148, 154

Foucault, Michel, 1–19, 34 Foundation for Personality Expression, 43 Freebie and the Bean, 40, 171–177 Freeman, Suzanne Elise, 109–116 Friends, 76–89, 149 Friendship based on gender sameness, 73–93 “cis surprise” narratives and, 73–93 cross-sex friendships, 81–89 desexualized, 146 reunion storyline, 81–89 Fun with Dick and Jane, 31, 40 Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus, 46 G Garber, Marjorie, 43–49, 102–109 Gates, Raquel, 1–5 Gay and lesbian characters, benchmarks in, 11–19 Gay male stereotypes, 44, 149 Gay promiscuity, stereotypes of, 149 Gay rights movement, 43, 149 Gein, Ed, 171–177 Gender, 32 legibility of, 32 trans representations and, 5–8 Gender authenticity, 32 “cis surprise” narratives and, 81–89 cis/trans binary and, 59, 60, 73–93 disparagement of, 208 mirror scenes and, 54 trans characters and, 137, 145, 222 trans identities and, 49, 54, 216, 220, 222 transition narrative and, 59, 60 Gender binary changing attitudes towards, 227–230

 INDEX 

naturalization of, 8–19 renaturalization of in comedic resolutions, 76–81 surveillance and, 216 Gender boundaries, disciplinary power and, 1–19, 34 Gender confirmation, 37 Gender confirmation surgery, 102–109, 146, 147, 171–177 questioning of desire to transition, 57 Gender conformity, consumerism and, 35, 36 Gender difference, 217 affirmed in comedic resolutions, 76–81 rationalization of cisnormative reactions to, 204–206 Gender dysphoria, 37, 89–93, 102–109, 138, 171–177 cisnormativity and, 11–19 cis/trans romances and, 61, 62 dramatic arc centered on, 49, 52–54 femicide and, 171–177 interpersonal conflict and, 57 irresolution of dramas involving, 57, 61 mirror scenes and, 54, 55 pathologization of, 102–109 representations of, 52–59, 61 Gendered physiology, of trans characters, 81–93 Gender essentialism, 8–19 Gender expression, conventional, 151 Gender hegemonies, trans bodies and, 11–19 Gender history, of trans characters, 73–93, 109–116, 202, 204 Gender identity imperative to categorize, 43–49

277

legitimized through replication of hegemonic gender roles, 34–43 physiology and, 33 vs. sexual orientation, 102–109 trans characters and, 11–19, 89–93 Gender identity disorder, 102–109 Gender incongruity, 44 shifting locus of, 32 Gender inverts, 102–109 Gender nonconforming (GNC) persons, 33 Gender nonconformity, 5–8, 36 changing attitudes towards, 227–230 transgender identity and, 47 Gender norms, changing, 40 GenderPAC, 47 Gender presentation presented as choice, 218 ridiculing of, 218 Gender roles changing attitudes towards, 227–230 conflated with other identity hierarchies, 76–81 hegemonic femininity, 35, 43, 76–81, 102–109 hegemonic masculinity, 35, 61, 76–81 normative, 132 renaturalization of in comedic resolutions, 76–81 trans bodies and, 33–43 Gender transition medical model of, 11–19, 33, 145 regulation of, 36 Generational changes in attitudes, 227–230 Genre characters, 1–5 Genre, contrast by, 1–19

278 

INDEX

Gen Z changing attitudes of, 227–230 trans or GNC-identifying individuals in, 227–230 Georgia, religious refusal and relationship recognition legislation, 5–8 Gill, Rosalind, 132 Gimme a Break!, 47, 81–93 A Girl Like Me: The Gwen Araujo Story, 57 GLAAD, 47 Studio Responsibility Index, 227–230 ten-year study of trans characters by, 175 Glamour Girl, 35 Glee, 1–19, 58, 151 Goggins, Walton, 137 Golden Girls, 81–89 Golden Globe Awards, 227–230 Goode, Minnie, 109–116 The Good Place, 133 Good Trouble, 227–230 Gossett, Che, 35 Gossip Girl, 227–230 Green, Jamison, 8–19 Green, Rashaad Ernesto, 138 Gregg, Clark, 134 Grey’s Anatomy, 150 “Grilled,” 8–19, 109–116 Grounded for Life, 76–81 Grudge Match, 182–190 Guest characters, 76–81, 177–181, 202–215, 219 Gun Hill Road, 54, 56, 58, 138, 142 H Hadleigh, Boze, 117–121 Hairspray, 43 Halberstam, Jack, 62, 152 Hale, C. Jacob, 152 Handler, Evan, 109–116

The Hangover, 117–121 The Hangover, Part II, 109–116 Hannibal, 202 “Happily-ever-after” ending, 133, 150 Happy Endings, 151 Hardy, Stan, 102–109 Harmonica Sunbeam, 182–190 Harrelson, Woody, 109–116 Harrison, Patti, 227–230 Harry’s Law, 219, 221, 222 Hate crimes, 47 Haynes, Todd, 150 Hayward, Eva, 33 Health care discrimination, 216, 222 Heat, 167–190 Hegemonic gender roles conflated with other identity hierarchies, 76–81 hegemonic femininity, 35, 43, 76–81, 102–109 hegemonic masculinity, 61, 76–81 renaturalization of in comedic resolutions, 76–81 trans bodies and, 33–43 Hendley, Michelle, 62, 73–93 Hester, Rita, 47 Hetero/homosexual binary, 76–81 Heteronormative superiority, reinforcement of, 171–177 Heteronormativity, 32, 102–109, 132–140 emasculinization of, 117–121 institutional and social validation of, 102–109 queering of, 117–121 as rationalization for transphobic violence, 205, 206 renaturalization of in comedic resolutions, 76–81 romantic fiction and, 132 trans identities as threat to, 155, 171–181 Heterosexual characters, 48

 INDEX 

Heterosexual men privileging of, 102–109 as targets of sexualized violence, 102–116 Heterosexual panic, 89–93 Heterosexual privilege, 102–121, 140 Heterosexual/queer binary, 101 Heterosexual romance, 1–5 Hierarchies of privilege and oppression, justification of, 201 Hitchcock, Alfred, 171–177 Holiday Heart, 46, 149 Hollywood Vice Squad, 182–190 Homicide, 171–177 Homodomesticity, 151 Homonormativity, 5–8, 76–81 class and, 76–81 race and, 76–81 relationship structure and, 76–81 transnormativity and, 5–8 Homophobia, 5–8, 11–19, 102–109, 200 homophobic victimization, 52 trans feminine characters and, 8–19 transphobia and, 8–19 validation of, 11–19 Homosexual cis/trans romance, 109–116, 155 addressed in 1970s through mistaken identity scenarios, 76–81 in early twentieth-century sexology, 102–109 female transsexuality and, 102–109 Hormone treatment, 56, 58, 61 Horror genre, 1–19, 102–109, 171–175 Horror villains, 1–19 House, M.D., 182–190 Housing discrimination, 216 How to Get Away with Murder, 220 Huffington Post, 138

279

Huffman, Felicity, 8–19, 135 HuffPost Live, 133 Human Rights Campaign, 5–8, 121 Human Rights Commission, 47 Hunter, Tyra, 47 Hyperfeminine consumerist aesthetic, 40 I Identification discrimination, 222 Identity categories, valorized, 1–5 Igby Goes Down, 46 I Love You, Alice B. Toklas, 76–81 Immigration, 222 Incarceration, 222 Independent film dramas, 1–5 In Dreams, 171–177 Inmate discrimination, 47 Institutional oppression, validation of, 11–19 Institutional transphobia, 198–202 International Movie Database, 8–19 Interpersonal conflict gender dysphoria and, 57 transition narrative and, 58, 59, 89–93 Interracial sexual relations, 109–116 Intersectionality, 199–202 trans representations and, 5–8 In the House, 76–81 Irresolution of dramas involving, trans bodies, 61 It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, 41, 109–121 Itty Bitty Titty Committee, 152 J Jack and Jill, 43 Jack Reacher: Never Go Back, 167–190 Jackson, Dominique, 227–230

280 

INDEX

JAG, 212 Janssen, Famke, 171–177 The Jeffersons, 11–19, 39, 81–89 Jenner, Caitlyn, 1–19, 33, 133, 155, 182–190 The John Larroquette Show, 46, 76–81, 177–181 Johnson, Austin H., 37 Johnson, David K., 36 Johnson, Marsha P., 43 Jorgensen, Christine, 33, 36, 38, 102–109, 117–121, 182–190 Journalism, 38 Justice system, transphobia within, 220–222 Just Shoot Me!, 11–19, 81–93, 109–116 K Karen Sisco, 215 Keegan, Cael, 55 The Kids Are All Right, 151 King, Marlene, 171–177 K-12 trans students, reduction of Title IX protections for, 5–8 Kurtz, Swoosie, 136 Kutulas, Judy, 40 L L.A. Law, 217, 222 Lamar, M., 89–93 The Last Precinct, 81–93 The Last Seduction, 117–121 Late Last Night, 49–62 Latinx sex workers, 182–190, 215 “Lavender Scare,” 36, 102–109 Law & Order, 167–190, 199, 202, 207 franchise, 5–8, 11–19, 201

SVU, 1–19, 167–190, 203, 206, 207, 209, 210, 213, 221 transphobic mob violence in, 5–8 Trial by Jury, 205 Lawrence v. Texas, 150 Lear, Norman, 117–121 Leave It to Beaver, 35 Lebrun, Calvin, 102–109 Lee, Christopher, 47 Legal characters, transphobia and, 216, 217 Legal discrimination, 5–8, 11–19, 40, 47, 48, 216 Legal dramas, 216, 222 Legal identification changes, denial of, 5–8 Legal personnel, 216 Legal system cisnormative, 222 transphobia within, 220–222 Le Mans, Vivian, 117–121 Take My Tool, 117–121 Lesbian-identified cis female characters, trans male characters and, 152 Leto, Jared, 61, 134 Levine, Elena, 40 LGBQ “coming out” trope, replicated in trans drama, 52 LGBTQ community, white gay male domination of representations of, 5–8 LGBQ discrimination, 227–230 LGBQ film festival circuit, 47 LGBQ groups, trans activists and, 47 LGBTQ identities, tracked together in scholarship, advocacy, and popular blogs, 8–19 Library of Congress Moving Image Research Center, 8–19 Life, 137

 INDEX 

Life Is Hot in Cracktown, 54, 155, 182–190 Lingua Franca, 227–230 Lithgow, John, 134 Little, Samuel, 177–181 Look, 117–121 Loren Sandy, 38 Lotter, John, 142, 143 Lovato, Demi, 227–230 Love Is Strange, 151 Love, queer, 155 Love, Simon, 151 The L Word, 8–19, 54, 58, 61, 150, 152 Generation Q, 227–230 Lysette, Trace, 117–121 M Magic Mike XXL, 46 Magnum, P.I., 171–177 Mainstream culture, 109–116 nominated for acting Emmy, 227–230 in pulp market, 109–116 as sexual and romantic partners for cis men, 101 Makeover television shows, 35 Malatino, Hilary, 151, 171–181 Male/female binary, 1–19 naturalization of, 1–19 upholding of, 5–8, 37 Male femininity, sexualization and pathologization of, 102–109 Male heterosexuality anal penetration as threat to, 102–109 instability as nexus of sexual power and dominance, 102–109 Male physicality/physiology, 76–81 shared traits, 81–89

281

trans feminine characters and, 109–116, 137, 142, 182–190 Mantle, Kelly, 46 Marcel, Mary, 44 Markoff, Philip, 181 Marriage discrimination, 48 Married … With Children, 81–89, 109–116 Marshall, Paula, 109–116 Masculinity, 1–5, 36, 102–109 fragility of, 117–121 hegemonic, 35, 61 Masculinization, derogatory, 76–81 Matlock, 171–177 Maude, 117–121 McCarthy, Jenny, 81–93, 109–116 McDermott, Dylan, 117–121 McPherson, Anastacia, 109–116 McRobbie, Angela, 35 Media cis/trans romances and, 101–109 as gender surveillance regime, 38 media coverage of violence against trans community, 199–202 transphobic, 1–19, 47 Medical dramas hormone treatment and, 56 trans characters and, 56–59 Medical research, 36 Medical technologies, 32, 36 Medical treatment access to, 102–109 denial of health coverage for, 5–8 Medicine, 37 Mellencamp, Patrici, 109–116 Melodrama “coming out” trope and, 52 family crises in, 50 irresolution of dramas involving trans bodies, 61 minor characters in, 51

282 

INDEX

Melodrama (cont.) mirror scenes in, 54 reliance on interpersonal conflict, 58 trans irresolution and, 62 Melrose Place, 149 The Mentalist, 208 Mercy, 49–62, 182–190 Metamorphosis: Man into Woman, 47 Meyer, Doug, 5–8 Mia Isabelle, 102–109 Mic.com, 121 Middle-class citizenship, 1–5 Mike & Molly, 109–116 Military, ban on trans personnel in, 5–8 Millennials, changing attitudes of, 227–230 Miller, Quinlan, 8–19 Mindhunters, 202 Minor characters, 1–5, 11–19 in drag, 42–49 frequency of tropes, 11–19 in melodrama, 51 Minority groups, 11–19, 47 presented only in certain contexts, 48 progression of representation of, 1–19 tolerance an, 200 Mirror scenes gender authenticity and, 54 gender dysphoria and, 54, 55 Miscegenation, 109–116 Misrecognition, 11–19, 76–89 “mistaken for straight” trope and, 76–89 mistaken identity scenarios and, 76–89, 109–116 transphobia and, 81–89 “Mistaken for straight” trope, 81–89 progressive agenda and, 76–81 Mistaken identity scenarios, 109–116

“cis surprise” narratives and, 109–116 drag queens and, 76–81 repackaged in 1970s to address social issues, 76–81 restabilization of, 76–81 Mister Cee, 102–109, 117–121, 133, 155 Mistresses, 136 Mixed Nuts, 81–89, 134 Mock, Janet, 133, 155, 177–181, 227–230 Modern Family, 8–19, 81–89, 151 Modleski, Tania, 132 “Mommy” social media influencers, 35 Monáe, Janelle, 227–230 Monogamy, 151 Moore, Christina, 109–116 Morgan, Patricia, Man-Made Doll, 117–121 Moriarty, Cathy, 109–116 Morley, Christopher, 109–116 Moxie, 227–230 Mrs. Doubtfire, 1–19, 43 Murder Me, Murder You, 11–19 Murder She Wrote, 167–190, 202 Murphy, Eddie, 102–109 Murphy, Ryan, 145, 177–181 Musical Chairs, 135 My Name Is Earl, 182–190 Myra Breckinridge, 11–19, 101–116, 121 N Naked Gun 33 1/2: The Final Insult, 109–116 Namaste, Vivian, 44 Nash Bridges, 177–190 National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs, 5–8 The National Insider, 117–121

 INDEX 

Nationalism, 202 NCIS, 167–190, 202 Necessary Roughness, 136 Nef, Hari, 227–230 Newell, Alex, 151 New York Sunday News, 38 New York Undercover, 171–177, 202 Night Court, 73–93 Night on Earth, 49–62 Nip/Tuck, 151, 175–177 Nissen, Tom, 142, 143 Noah’s Arc, 150 Non-heteronormative identities, policing of, 177–181 Normal, 54, 146 Normativity disciplinary purpose of, 5–8 normative gender roles, 132 validation of, 5–8 Northern Exposure, 149 Novels, transition narrative and, 102–109 NYPD Blue, 48, 167–190, 199, 202, 210, 212 Nyswaner, Ron, 141 O Once Bitten, 109–116 Orange Is the New Black, 1–19, 59, 61, 89–93, 146, 151, 177–181, 198 Our Lady J, 227–230 Outlander, 133 Outlaw, 220–222 The Outsiders, 155 Overall, Christine, 35 Overpersonalization, 148 P Pace, Lee, 140 Page, Elliot, 227–230

283

Page, Morgan M., 5–8 Paraphilia (sexual) disorders, 102–109 Parental custody discrimination, 222 Paris Is Burning, 47 Partners in Crime, 171–177 Passenger Side, 109–116 Passing, failure of, 109–116, 182–190 Passion importance of, 149 queer, 155 as validation, 140 Patriarchy, 8–19, 40, 76–81 Payton, Ciera, 109–116 Peacock, 171–177 Peirce, Kimberly, 142, 143 Penis jokes, 73–93 Penny Dreadful, 137, 148, 182–190 Permanence, vs. changeability, 33 Perrineau, Harold Jr., 134 Personhood, denial of, 5–8 Perversion, 101–116, 171–181, 217 Phalloplasty, 37 Phallus, 109–116 Philadelphia, 149 Phillips, Jack, 5–8 Physical changes, in trans characters, 89–93 Physical embodiment/physiology focus on, 61 gender identity and, 33 transnormativity and, 11–19 validation and, 34–43 Physicality/physiology, 76–81 shared traits, 81–89 trans feminine characters and, 109–116, 137, 142, 182–190 Picket Fences, 217, 220 Pierce, D.J. “Shangela,” 182–190 Playboy, 102–109 Playing by Heart, 46 Police buddy films, 171–177 Police Woman, 40, 171–177

284 

INDEX

Policing of bodies, 167–190 of female sexuality, 177–181 of non-heteronormative identities, 177–181 of sexual practices, 177–181 The Politician, 227–230 Popular, 48, 218, 220 Popular culture, trans consciousness in, 1–19 Popular discourse, transgender rights in, 117–121 Pornographic films, 117–121 “tranny surprise” in, 11–19 Pose, 138, 177–181, 227–230 Postcolonial globalism, 202 Postcolonial hierarchies, trans victimization and, 199–202 Post-death transcendence, 145 “Post-transition” queer identity, 37 Post-transition romances failure of, 147 presented as impossible, 145 Powder Blue, 182–190 Power, physical hierarchies and, 35 Preciado, Paul B., 37 Pre-Stonewall era, 150 Pretty Little Liars, 1–19, 171–177 Prince, Virginia, 43 Procreative sex, valorization of, 8–19 Psycho, 1–19, 171–177 Pugh, Tison, 8–19 Pulp fiction, 171–177 Pulp tabloids, 117–121 Pyle, Missi, 109–116 Q Q&A, 182–190 Queer as Folk, 150 Queer love, 155

Queer media studies, 8–19 Queerness, markers of, 76–81 Queer organizations, 47 Queer passion, 155 Queer theory, 11–19, 202 Queer trans characters, white, 48 Queer transsexuals, 8–19 Quincy, M.E., 202 R Race, 32, 35, 36 cis/trans binary and, 11–19 homonormativity and, 76–81 trans activists and, 47 trans bodies and, 33 trans feminine characters and, 11–19, 46, 47, 182–190 trans feminine sex worker characters and, 182–190 trans identities and, 46, 47 trans persons and, 47 trans representations and, 5–8, 11–19, 46–62, 182–190 trans victimization and, 199–202 Racialized characteristics, as stand-in for aggressive behavior, 109–116 Racism trans feminine characters and, 8–19 transphobic stereotypes and, 167–190 Radway, Janice, 132 Raskin, Lyn, Diary of a Transsexual, 117–121 Ray Donova, 117–121 Ray, Vanessa, 171–177 Ready to Wear, 76–81 Real Men, 81–89, 109–116 Redgrave, Vanessa, 146 Redmayne, Eddie, 61 A Reflection of Fear, 171–175

 INDEX 

Regular characters hegemonic gender commonality and, 89–93 tolerance and, 89–93 Reid, Charley, 138 Relationship structure, homonormativity and, 76–81 Religious refusal and relationship recognition legislation, 5–8, 216 Reno 911!, 109–116, 182–190 Rescue Me, 117–121 Reunion storyline, 73–93 “cis surprise” narratives and, 81–93, 136 drag queens and, 76–81 “new” friend reunions, 81–89 “old” friend reunions, 81–89 Reveal moments, 81–89, 109–121, 202, 209 Richards, Renée, 39, 146, 182–190 Second Serve, 40, 146 Ridgway, Gary, 177–181 Rise, 8–19, 58 Risky Business, 11–19, 109–116 Rivera, Sylvia, 43 River Made to Drown In, 49–62, 182–190 Rocky Horror Picture Shaw, 76–81 Rodriguez, MJ, 227–230 Romance genre, 11–19 dramatic romance, 155 hegemonic/ideological function, 132 Romantic comedies “happily-ever-after” ending and, 133 trans characters and, 61 Romantic fiction, heteronormativity and, 132 Romantic tragedy, death and, 140 Romijn, Rebecca, 89–93, 151 Roseanne, 46, 177–181

285

Ross, Angelica, 227–230 Rourke, Mickey, 46 RuPaul, 46, 177–190 RuPaul’s Drag Race, 44, 46 Russo, Vito, 62 S Sabrina, Ava, 102–109 Sahar, Hailie, 227–230 Salamon, Gayle, 1–19 Same-sex female sexuality, 152 Same-sex male relationships, cis/trans romance and, 153 Same-sex romance apolitical representations of, 151 cis/trans romance and, 153 desexualization of, 149–151 eroticism in, 149–151 representations of, 149–151 Sandler, Adam, 43 Sandoval, Isabel, 227–230 Sanger, Tam, 102–109 Sarandon, Chris, 137 Sarne, Michael, 101–109, 117–121 “Sassy hooker,” trope of, 11–19 Saved by the Bell, 227–230 Scandal, 133 Schaeffer, Eric, 61, 62, 117–121 Schreiber, Liev, 134 Schuck, John, 81–89 Schwartzman, Jason, 109–116 Second Serve (film adaptation), 40 “Second-take” sight gags, 40, 76–81 Self-attraction, 102–109 Self-surveillance, 54 Sense8, 1–19, 155 Serano, Julia, 102–109, 117–121, 177–181 Serial killer narratives, archetypal themes of, 171–177 Series character, 81–93

286 

INDEX

Seuli, Atisone, 102–109 Sex and the City, 177–190 Sex change, 39 Sex/gender binary, 76–81 as accepted facts behind the law, 216 confirmation of, 73–93 fictitious, 32 trans bodies and, 33–43 Sexism trans feminine characters and, 8–19 transphobia and, 8–19, 167–190 validation of, 11–19 Sex scenes, 133, 142–144, 147 Sex work, 11–19 cultural anxiety over, 177–181 motivations for, 177–181 stereotypes of, 181 stigma of, 181 Sex workers, 117–121, 167–190 black trans feminine sex workers, 167–190 conflation with trans community, 177–181 contempt for, 177–181 cisgender sex workers, 11–19 cis sex workers, 11–19 cultural fascination with, 177–181 dehumanization of, 182–190 Latinx sex workers, 182–190, 215 stereotypes of, 177–181 trans feminine characters as, 11–19, 48–62, 109–121, 167–190, 212–214 victimization of, 177–181, 212–214 vulnerability of, 181 Sexology, 102–109 Sexual agency, normative gender roles and, 132 Sexual assault, 102–116, 143 Sexual attractiveness, of trans feminine characters, 109–116, 175 Sexual desire, 132

Sexual double standards, 8–19 Sexually explicit media, 102–109 autobiographies, 117–121 rise of in the 1990s, 11–19 Sexual orientation erotic attraction and, 102–109 vs. gender identity, 102–109 inflexibility of in public discourse, 102–109 transamorous attraction and, 133 transsexuality and, 102–109 Sexual practices, policing of, 177–181 Sexual predation, 101, 117–121 Sexual reciprocity, 143 Sexual satisfaction, 143 Sexual violation, 109–116 Shameless, 117–121, 153–155 Shaming, 109–121 Shannon, Lori, 76–81 Sharky’s Machine, 182–190 The Shield, 182–190 Shrill, 227–230 Sight gags, 40, 41, 76–81, 89–93, 109–121, 202 The Silence of the Lambs, 1–19, 171–177 Silver Spoons, 76–81 Sitcom characters of 1950s and 60s, “queer gender” of, 8–19 Sitcom moms, 35 Sitcoms, 76–93 “cis surprise” narratives and, 11–19, 73–93, 101–121 drag settings and, 177–181 reunion storyline, 11–19 Six Feet Under, 150 Skoliosexuality, 133 Sleepaway Camp, 171–177 Smith, Anna Nicole, 109–116 Smith, Sam, 227–230 Snipes, Wesley, 46 Soapdish, 109–116

 INDEX 

Social transgression comedic genres and, 76–93 “perverse” sexual practice, 117–121 Soldier’s Girl, 11–19, 132–145 Soloway, Joey, 89–93, 227–230 Son of a Beach, 109–116 Sons of Anarchy, 117–121, 155, 182–190 Sontag, Susan, 102–109 Southland, 200 Space, Dean, 1–19 Speedway Junky, 49–62 Spin City, 149 Standards of Care (SOC), 36, 37 Stannard, Isiah, 227–230 Star, 137, 140, 177–190 Star, Hedy Jo, 117–121 A Star Is Born, 133 Starsky and Hutch, 171–177 Star Trek: Discovery, 227–230 State legislation, 5–8, 227–230 Stenberg, Amandla, 227–230 Stereotypes rejection of, 1–19 valorized through commonality of tropes, 11–19 Stewart, Patrick, 117–121 Straayer, Chris, 76–81 The Streets of San Francisco, 171–177 Stryker, Susan, 8–19, 47 Subjectivities, of trans persons, 102–109 Sullivan, K.E., 171–177 Surveillance, 34, 35, 43–49, 61, 167–190, 199–202, 227–230 gender binary and, 216 self-surveillance vs. external surveillance, 54 Suspense, 201 reveal moments and, 117–121 Swank, Hilary, 140 Switch, 171–177

287

T Tabloids, 38 Taking Woodstock, 46, 134 Tangerine, 177–181 Teena, Brandon, 47, 140, 142–144 Teen shows, 227–230 Televisual sex scenes, ideological function of, 133 Terriers, 214, 215 Thank God It's Friday, 41 Third Watch, 182–190 Third-wave feminists, openness to intersectional and non-essentialist perspectives, 47 Thorne, Dyanne, 81–89, 109–116 Three on a Meathook, 171–177 Thrillers, 171–175 The Tiger Makes Out, 31, 76–81 Time magazine, 102–109, 133 “transgender revolution” of visibility and, 1–19 “Transgender Tipping Point” article, 5–8 Tisdel, Lana, 142–144 T.J. Hooker, 171–177 Together Together, 227–230 Tolerance, 200 Too Close for Comfort, 40 Tootsie, 1–19 Torch Song Trilogy, 46 Torres, Sasha, 109–116 Totah, Josie, 227–230 Tourmaline, 227–230 To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, 46, 149, 177–181 Tragedy dramatic romance and, 155 value(s) of tragedy and, 155 “Tranny chasers,” 117–121 “Tranny surprise,” 117–121 Trans acceptance, 5–8

288 

INDEX

Trans activism, 43, 47, 102–109 LGBQ groups and, 47 race and, 47 Trans actors, trans characters played by, 59, 60, 140, 151, 182–190 Transamerica, 1–19, 54, 58, 135 Transamorous attraction, sexual orientation and, 133 Trans athletes, bans on, 227–230 Trans black femininity, cis white femininity and, 182–190 Trans bodies associated with criminality and transgression, 177–181 class and, 33 in crime storylines, 5–8 gender hegemonies and, 11–19 hegemonic gender roles and, 33–43 irresolution of dramas involving, 61 medical model of transition and, 33 race and, 33 sex/gender binary and, 33–43 white normative vs. minority, 48 “Transcendent love” models, 146, 147, 155 Trans characters, 8–19 autonomy diminished by reveal, 209 class and, 11–19 consistent purpose despite shift from villain to victim, 202 empathy for, 11–19, 132–140 gender authenticity and, 145, 222 gendered physiology of, 81–93 gender history of, 73–93, 109–116, 202, 204 gender identity and, 11–19, 81–93, 109–116, 145, 202, 222 GLAAD study of, 175 guest or minor, 51 locating of suffering in their bodies, 53, 55–59, 61 medical dramas and, 56–59

pathologization of, 207 physical changes in, 89–93 played by cis actors, 8–19, 41, 43, 48–62, 76–93, 109–116, 134, 135, 137, 140, 145, 146, 151, 218 played by cis male actors, 11–19 played by trans actors, 59, 60, 140, 151, 182–190 race and, 11–19 regular/series characters, 81–93 romantic comedies and, 61 tropes across genres, 11–19 as villains, 49–62, 175, 202 Trans civil right, 11–19 Trans communities, 43 conflation with sex workers, 177–181 continued victimization of, 222 heterogeneity of identities in, 33 intimate partner violence and, 205, 206 marginalized, 48 media coverage of violence against, 199–202 violence against, 5–8 Trans criminality, 11–19, 38, 190, 208, 220 Trans criminals, 1–5, 167–190 played by cis female actors, 171–177 sexualization of, 171–177 trans murderers, 171–177 Trans documentaries, 47, 55 Trans, drama of being, 62 Trans embodiment, 32 institutional control over, 37 Standards of Care (SOC) and, 37 Trans exclusion, 11–19 Trans exotic dancers, 109–121 “Transface,” 61 Trans feminine actors, 46 female imposters played by, 175

 INDEX 

trans feminine characters played by, 140, 151, 182–190 Trans feminine characters, 102–109, 210, 212–214 as crime drama staple, 177–181 black trans feminine sex workers, 167–190 class and, 11–19 of color, 109–116, 182–190, 210 deauthentication and depersonalization of, 40 deception and, 182–190 desexualization of, 134, 135, 151 gender authenticity and, 137 graphic and exploitative depiction of suffering of, 49, 52, 53, 55 homophobia and, 8–19 instrumentalization for narrative or generic purposes, 44 interactions with cis male characters, 41 male physiology/physicality and, 109–116, 137, 142, 182–190 masculinity and, 109–121 minority, 48 objectification of, 40 pathologization of, 207 played by cis actors, 8–19, 41, 43, 48–62, 76–81, 89–93, 109–116, 134, 135, 137, 145, 146, 151, 218 played by cis female actors, 8–19, 39–41, 43, 76–81, 89–93, 109–116, 135, 137, 146, 151 played by cis male actors, 48–62, 109–116, 134, 135, 137, 145, 151, 218 played by trans feminine actors, 140, 151, 182–190 privileging of, 11–19 race and, 11–19, 46, 47 racism and, 8–19

289

“second-take” sight gags and, 40, 41, 76–81 sexism and, 8–19 sexual attractiveness of, 109–116, 175 as sex workers, 11–19, 48–62, 109–121, 167–190, 212–214 typecasting of, 220 white, 11–19, 182–190 Trans feminine exotic dancers, 117–121 Trans feminine sexual predators, 117–121 Trans feminine sex worker characters, 11–19, 48–62, 109–121, 167–190, 212–214 black trans feminine sex workers, 167–190 death of, 182–190 dehumanization of, 182–190 function of, 182–190 Latinx sex workers, 182–190, 215 played by persons of color, 182–190 race and, 182–190 sexual transgressiveness and, 182–190 typecasting of, 182–190 victimization of, 212–215 white, 214 Trans feminine sex workers, 11–19, 48–62, 109–121, 167–190, 212–214 Trans feminine victims, 5–8, 212–215 Trans femininity, instrumentalization of, 210 Trans filmmakers of color, 227–230 Trans film roles, as villains, 49–62 Trans gaze, 62 “Transgender,” inclusivity of term, 8–19 popularization of the term, 47 Transgender Day of Remembrance, 47

290 

INDEX

“Transgenderism,” medical cisgender experts on, 11–19 Transgender Revolution, 47 “Transgender revolution” of visibility, Time magazine and, 1–19 Transgressive female figures, 109–116 Transgressive identities, contained as potential threats to heteronormative power, 109–116 Trans heterogeneity, 33 Trans homicides, rise in, 227–230 Trans identities, 11–19, 32, 43, 117–121 changing attitudes towards, 227–230 in comedic genres, 11–19 construction of acceptable, 5–8 in crime storylines, 177–181 criminal motivation and, 167–190 as cultural flashpoint, 32 female impersonation and, 182–190 gender authenticity and, 49, 54, 216, 220, 222 gender nonconformity and, 47 in legal dramas, 216 irresolution of dramas involving, 49 need for positive and varied representations, 1–19 negative representations, 1–5 positioned as distinct from cisgender identity in public discourse, 32 positive representations, 1–5 race and, 46, 47 stereotypes of, 55 stigmatized, 33 as threat to heteronormativity, 155 victimization justification and, 167–190 Trans inmates and detainees, federal denial of safe housing and medical treatment, 5–8 Trans irresolution, 49 comedy and, 49 melodrama and, 62

Transition, interpersonal conflict and, 89–93 Transition narrative, 58 autobiographies and, 102–109 gender authenticity and, 59, 60 interpersonal conflict and, 58, 59, 89–93 novels and, 102–109 pathos in, 38 physical transformation privileged by sequentiality of, 8–19 questioning of desire to transition, 57, 58 suicide in failed transitions, 57 Trans killer stereotype, 1–19 Trans masculine characters, 208, 210, 214, 227–230 lesbian-identified cis female characters and, 152 played by cis female actors, 140 Trans masculine identities, overlooked, 40 Trans masculine pregnancy, 152 Trans media analysis, 8–19 Trans media model, as surveillance tool, 43–49 Trans media scholars, 33 Trans media studies, 8–11 Trans men autoandrophilia and, 102–109 lack of attention to, 1–19 Trans murderers, 171–177 Trans murder, reinforcement of cisnormativity and, 202 Trans narratives cisnormativity in, 61 typical, 34–43 “Trans necropolitics,” 199–202, 210, 213–215 Transnormativity, 5–8, 33 conflation of hierarchical identities and transnormative representations, 76–81 homonormativity and, 5–8

 INDEX 

medical model of transition and, 11–19 physical embodiment and, 11–19 as surveillance tool, 11–19 Trans or GNC-identifying individuals, in Gen Z, 227–230 Transparent, 1–19, 56, 89–93, 137, 139, 140, 182–190, 227–230 Trans people class and, 47 ethnicity and, 47 identifying as heterosexual, 102–109 mystery associated with, 62, 73–93 race and, 47 subjectivities of, 102–109 Trans People of Color coalition, 121 Transphobia, 5–8, 11–19, 102–109, 171–177 “cis surprise” narratives and, 11–19 crime genre and, 190 homophobia and, 8–19 institutional, 198–202 as intractable, 215, 220 lack of attention to, 81–89 misrecognition and, 81–89 sexism and, 8–19 systemic, 148 trans sex workers and, 177–181 validation of, 200, 201 Transphobic audiences, 171–177 Transphobic discrimination, 49, 222, 227–230 Transphobic harassment, 49, 222 Tansphobic legislation, 5–8, 62, 216, 227–230 Transphobic media, 1–19, 47 Transphobic murders, 5–8 Transphobic panic, 89–93, 102–109, 205 Transphobic public policies, 121, 148 Transphobic reductionism, 135 Transphobic representations, 1–19 classism and, 167–190 racism and, 167–190

291

sexism and, 167–190 Transphobic victimization, 11–19, 214 class and, 199–202 ethos of, 202–215 justification of, 167–190, 198–202, 208, 214, 215, 220 postcolonial hierarchies and, 199–202 race and, 199–202 victim-blaming and, 57, 201, 208, 214, 215 visibility and, 199–202 Transphobic violence, 5–8, 11–19, 49, 62, 102–109, 121, 132–140, 222 exposure of, 47 filmic versions of real-life, 5–8 heteronormativity as rationalization for, 205, 206 presented as inevitable, 145 Trans prejudice, 81–89 Trans psychotic killers, 5–8, 11–19, 171–177 Trans representations, 5–19, 62, 76–81 class and, 5–8 ethnicity and, 48–62 evolution of, 1–19 fictional trans representations, 1–19, 76–81 gender and, 5–8 generic function of, 48 hierarchical differences within, 5–8 intersectionality and, 5–8 progress in the 1990s, 11–19 race and, 5–8, 48–62 status quo over last 50+ years, 32 Trans rights in popular discourse, 117–121 public discourse on, 11–19 Trans rights movement early, 182–190 mainstream awareness of, 47 trans narratives and, 227–230

292 

INDEX

Transsexuality, 8–19, 40–49 cross-dressing and, 11–19 denial of existence of, 81–89 drag queens and, 202 medical condemnation of, 102–109 pathologization of, 11–19 sexual orientation and, 102–109 violence and, 11–19 Trans sexuality, pathologization of, 11–19 Transsexual Menace, 47 Trans sex workers, 117–121, 167–190 black trans feminine sex workers, 167–190 of color, 11–19, 167–190, 215 dehumanization of, 182–190 Latinx sex workers, 182–190, 215 stereotypes of, 177–181 transphobia and, 177–181 Trans students, reduction of Title IX protections for, 5–8 Trans studies, 5–19, 117–121, 202 Trans subjects censuring of, 38 misgendering of, 38 presented as trans, not cis, 1–19 “Transvestism,” 40, 43, 47, 102–109 growing awareness of in 1960s and 70s, 76–81 trans psychotic killers and, 171–177 “transvestic fetishism,” 215 Trans victims, 11–19, 167–190, 202–215, 222 blamed for own victimization, 201, 208, 214, 215 criminals and, 167–190 demographics of, 202–215 of discrimination, 48 empathy for, 5–8 masculine, 210 of murder, 11–19, 121 suffering of, 198–201

trans feminine victims, 210, 212–215 “Trans visibility,” variation in, 1–19 Trans women autogynephilia and, 102–109 of color, 181–190 dehumanization of, 181 drag queens and, 46 focus on, 1–19 Trans women of color exclusion of, 182–190 typecasting of, 182–190 Trapper John, M.D., 11–19, 46 Trappings of Transhood, 47 Travolta, John, 43 Tucker, Duncan, 135 Tunney, Teressa, 109–116 Two and a Half Men, 81–89, 109–116, 136 Two-gender system, 8–19 Tyga, 102–109, 133 U Ugly Betty, 54, 59, 61, 89–93, 151 Ulane, Karen, 40 USA Today, 133 U.S. Congress, 227–230 U.S. Supreme Court, 5–8 Bostock v. Clayton County, 227–230 employment discrimination and, 222 Farmer v. Brennan, 47 U.S. Tennis Association, 39 V Vaginoplasty, 37 Vaid-Menon, Alok, 227–230 Valentine, David, 47 Validation embodiment and, 34–43 physical embodiment and, 34–43

 INDEX 

Vanity Fair, 1–19, 102–109 Vega$, 171–177 Vergara, Sofia, 8–19, 109–116 Veronica Mars, 117–121, 209, 215 Veronica's Closet, 177–181 Vidal, Gore, 101–109, 117–121 The City and The Pillar, 102–109 Villains, 167–190 Violence, 11–19 spectacle of, 199 Violent trans sociopath characters, 102–109 Vipond, Evan, 5–8 Visibility, 34 W Wachowski, Lana, 155 Wachowski, Lily, 155 Wade, Carlson, She-Male The Amazing True Life Story of Coccinelle, 117–121 Walken Christopher, 49–62 Walker, Elisa, 121 Walters, Suzanne Danuta, 76–81 Warner, Michael, 149 Washington, Kerry, 137 The Washington Post, 133 Watson, Lachlan, 227–230 We Are Who We Are, 227–230 We Are Your Friends, 182–190 Weddings, 1–5 Wegener, Einar, 147 Welch, Raquel, 102–116 Westside Medical, 39 What Not To Wear, 35 What's New Pussycat?, 102–109 White Chicks, 43 White cis filmmakers, accused of racial and class exploitation, 47 White heterosexual characters, 48 Whiteness, 1–5 White subjects, privileging of, 48

293

White supremacism, 35 White trans feminine characters, 182–190 Wicked City, 48, 208 Wilkinson, Tom, 146 Will & Grace, 150 Williams, Linda, 53, 133 Williamson, Mercedes, 121 Willis, Raquel, 138 Wilson, Debra, 109–116 Winchell, Barry, 132–142 Wings, 76–81, 109–116, 177–181 Winters, Kelley, 102–109 Without a Trace, 202, 204, 205 WKRP in Cincinnati, 81–89, 109–116 Wlodarz, Joe, 1–19 The Woman Inside, 145 Woman on Top, 134 Women objectification of, 40 sexual violence against, 101 Women's bodies attention to, 32 interventions and, 32 Women's Murder Club, 182–190 Work in Progress, 227–230 The World According to Garp, 11–19, 81–89, 134 World Professional Association of Transgender Health, 37 X Xena: Warrior Princess, 46 The X-Files, 182–190 Y You, 227–230 You Don't Know Dick, 47 Young & Hungry, 81–89 Young, Sean, 109–116