There were so many things to love about Dolly. Her damn good songs. (It’s really hard to write a song as simple as “I Will Always Love You” without it sounding cringe.)
Her commitment to honoring her Appalachian roots instead of pretending she was self-made (none of us are). Her giving hundreds of millions of free books to kids. Her support for queer and trans people.
Her writing “9 to 5,” inspired by secretarial workers organizing for fair pay. Her cover of Woody Guthrie’s “Deportee,” about immigrant farm workers.
I want to throw another one on the heap. Dolly was one of a handful of public figures who taught me, a cisgender, straight man, that gender is a performance. (I’ve also learned from Marxist feminists that that performance is dimmed, constrained, or forced depending the political and economic system we live in.)
Her look was—in her own words—“artificial,” “silly,” “overdone.” And she was tongue-in-cheek about it, never taking herself or how she was perceived too seriously.
She once lost a Dolly lookalike contest against drag queens and laughed every time she told the story. One of the many famous things she said was, “I look like a woman, but I think like a man.” And somehow it didn’t sound like she was essentializing gender (saying that all men are one way and all women are another) because of that trademark hint of irony in her voice.
The T-shirt and shorts I’m wearing right now might not seem as contrived as her bleach blonde hair, caked-on makeup, and long nails. I might look like just a “normal dude.” Like I’m not choosing to wear my hair short and let my armpit hair grow out while having a five o’clock shadow on my face. But I am.
I’m choosing to stay within the comfortable performance of a man in this particular society at this particular time in history. I get to choose. We all can choose. It’s all made-up. That’s the unspoken point of Dolly’s whole “dumb blonde bimbo” act.
Some days I like wearing flowy clothes and colorful bracelets. Other days, my Realtree camo hat and crocs. Neither of those days am I any more or less a man. Or any more less valuable as a human.
What I like most about seeing through the lie that gender is binary and biological is that I’m becoming more and more comfortable sharing my feelings. I get to be vulnerable and ask for help. And lean on my people when I’m sad or mad or worried. What men are told we’re not supposed to do in this society.
We’ve lost a one-of-a-kind teacher, y’all. She taught us that we’re all free to be ourselves. That there’s nothing biological or inherent or “natural” about men dressing and acting certain ways and women the opposite. That the strict, rigid gender norms we assume are “traditional” and universal are anything but. And she did it without hiding her messiness (her “trashiness,” she called it).
I went for a bike ride yesterday after hearing the news and was nearly hit by a SUV. I yelled and almost gave the driver the finger before remembering they were driving a 5,000-pound death machine.
All the way home I wondered why I’d gotten so pissed. Then I felt the tears underneath well up in my eyes. I knew what it was about. Dolly’s passing reminded me of my grandma who grew up in a big poor farming family in Appalachia too. She’s older than Dolly was, but in decent health. I’m going to miss her when she goes. I already miss her and her amazing stories now.
Let’s all cry and sing and laugh at the absurdity of this broken world. No doubt Dolly would’ve wanted that.
Did you notice any reactions, thoughts, or feelings while reading this? I’d love to hear in the comments (or email me: jeremy@mohler.coach).
With warmth & solidarity,
Jeremy
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