I noticed that the tailors were referring to me using they/them pronouns. I hadn’t asked them to do so, but there was also no information about my gender on any of my forms. At the time, I believed this was a silent revolution for my non-binary friends, and a demonstration of the uncoupling of gender and appearance. But I didn’t realize that maybe it was a liberation for me as well; I didn’t have to be a “she.”
I’m starting with the above quote because it is the only discussion of pronouns in Fred: An Unbecoming Woman, and as the publisher’s blurb uses both “they/them” and “she/her” to refer to author Annie Krabbenschmidt, I want to note that I have done my best to proceed respectfully and have decided to use “she/her” because that seems to be the pronouns with which Krabbenschmidt refers to herself on her website, Annsplain. And so to the review:
The truth was that since I took off to New York — to live alone, to be singular — I’ve been un-becoming a woman. I’ve been looking more and more like Fred. Who is Fred?! The people are clamoring for an explanation.
In what is essentially a collection of introspective essays, Fred is Annie Krabbenschmidt’s coming-out/coming-of-age story, and it is filled with humour, heartbreak, candour, and thoughtfulness. I always say that I read (fiction and non-) to learn about the world and how others navigate it, and Krabbenschmidt’s story — overcoming an affluent and loving childhood that, perversely, traumatised and oppressed Krabbenschmidt with its strict gender expectations — represents the perfect union of a person with something to say and the writing skills to say it; I learned plenty. I appreciate what Krabbenschmidt shares about her life, appreciate what she has to say about society at large, and although her struggles were not my struggles, there’s something relatable and universal about this story of striving to make the painful transition to adulthood with authenticity and self-love. I’m glad I read this and wish the author much happiness and success. (Note: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final forms.)
It would be ignorant to assume that every person can come out to family and friends at this moment. Not everyone has the privilege of a safe space and close confidants. But for those of us that do, our visibility matters. Visibility ensures that for every tokenized, boxed in, stereotypical representation we see of ourselves in the media, we also see someone who is a real, nuanced, and complicated human being, who also happens to be gay.
Coming from a “Marin County, nuclear-American-family, Lululemon-wearing, Duke University world”, Krabbenschmidt acknowledges that hers was an uncommonly privileged upbringing. But even so, country club societies (and social climber parents who want to fit in there) have very strict rules about behaviour and appearance that can stifle and oppress a young child who knows early that she doesn’t fit into the standard mould; sometimes the only recourse is to hide one’s true self, even from oneself. The titular “Fred” is a persona that Krabbenschmidt would inhabit at sleepaway camp — loud and dirty, definitely unladylike — and as freeing as these sporadic experiences were for young Annie, it took until she went away to college before she realised (or at least admitted to herself) that she was gay and didn’t want to conform to gender norms any more. In Fred, Krabbenschmidt reveals how painful it was for her to come out to her family and friends, how difficult to find romantic love, and how there was still much work to do to find herself even once she was out and “free”. As the essays travel back and forth through Krabbenschmidt’s history, reframing time periods through slightly different angles, it is evident how carefully she has thought about her life; how carefully she has worked on presenting it to an audience.
I’ve been perfectly honest with you, but being vulnerable with everyone isn’t necessarily the same thing as being vulnerable with someone. I’ve written you this book so that I could tell you everything I needed you to know without having to sit across from you, where I would have hoped so desperately for you to hold my hand and feared so greatly that you wouldn’t that I would have kept them clenched on my lap.
Fred is well-written, responds to my curiosity about how others navigate their way in the world, and Krabbenschmidt touched me with both her humour and her candour; I can’t ask for more.
