Let’s be real, gender conformity is just patriarchy’s dress code. It’s the unspoken rulebook we’re all handed at birth, stuffed with commandments about how to perform “man” or “woman” correctly, as if humanity came with a binary instruction manual. This isn’t just social etiquette. It’s a ritual. A religion. People follow it like it’s gospel, clinging to it tighter than their own personalities.
Some dip a toe outside the lines — maybe a flamboyant shirt here, a softer tone there — but they stay in their assigned lane, terrified of what it might mean to stray too far. Others push further. Think of butch women who shift their gender expression firmly into what society reads as masculine, all while staying rooted in womanhood. That’s a quiet rebellion in itself. They aren’t “pretending to be men”. They’re redefining what it looks like to be a woman.
Then there are trans people — people like me — who often undergo visible shifts in gender expression when we finally come out. But let’s not pretend that this automatically means we’re rejecting conformity. Quite the opposite. A trans man growing his beard, a trans woman perfecting her makeup — these are often acts of conformity. Not in a bad way. But in a survival way. Because a trans man is a man, and the world has a very rigid idea of what a man should look like. So we conform, not to hide, but to be seen for who we are.
Non-binary people often get lumped into the “non-conforming” box by default, but it’s more nuanced than that. For some, the goal is to subvert gendered expectations altogether, to live in that beautiful ambiguity that messes with people’s wiring. For others, it’s not about rejection, but reimagination. Expression becomes fluid, playful, ungovernable. A canvas, not a uniform.
But none of this is new. Gender non-conformity didn’t appear when Tumblr came online. Trans people didn’t pop into existence with Instagram filters. Just look at the glittering icons of the ’70s and ’80s — Bowie, Prince, Grace Jones. They danced all over the gender binary in heels and eyeliner and suits and swagger. And people loved it, so long as it was in a recording studio or on a stage, so long as it was “a performance”. But off-stage? That freedom was always policed. Punished.
The thing about gender conformity is that it only ever serves one master: the status quo. It’s about control over bodies, over futures, over possibility. And like most tools of control, it punishes the ones who step out of line hardest: women, queer people, trans people, non-binary folks. Especially when we don’t do it quietly.
But here’s the secret they don’t want you to know: everyone breaks the rules. Gender non-conformity isn’t an exception. It’s a pattern. A rhythm. A whisper under every shouted “real man” or “proper woman”. And once you hear it, once you really listen, it’s impossible to unhear.
So, what is gender conformity?
It’s optional. And honestly, it’s boring.