okay, i don’t hate kids. i think they’re sort of funny. i like that you can talk to them like an adult and they’ll make sounds like they understand. i taught one kid “phosphorescence” and he looked at me and said, “they could just call it glowing if it means something that glows.” the kid undid the entire science community in one sentence.
but i hate kids.
or really, i hate how they’ve always been expected from me.
when i was five i was given “babies.” i hated the hardness of dolls, disposed of them for dramatic stories between stuffed animals. i knew how to wrap, feed, and care for a baby before i could spell my last name. when i was nine i was already “watching the kids”. i was only four years older than my cousins were. i wanted to go out and play. instead i was expected to have responsibility. by the time i was thirteen all of my friends had told me about how many children they were going to have in their twenties.
my hips were “child-bearing” hips. my brother was a scientist, or a fireman, or a steamroller. i was going to make a good housewife, or mom, or nanny, or mom, or mom, or mom.
and when my body hurt, i was told it wasn’t really my body, not really, it belonged to my future children. i couldn’t cut or snip or tie anything; i was trapped by the potential energy that hung above me. a boulder, threatening. i couldn’t get tattoos, because what would i tell my children? i couldn’t kiss a girl, because what would i tell the children? i couldn’t be risky or wild or anything but a lady, because what about the children?
and when i said “i don’t want children” - not biologically, at least, not when cancer and depression and a whole other host of terrible things lives inside me - do you know what they said? “it’ll change, wait and see” “it’s not bad” “you’ll get used to it” “when you meet the right man” “you don’t want to be lonely”.
i don’t hate kids. i’m great with them.
but then i’m told again that my life will be forfeit to them - something in me snaps angry. “wait until you have kids” “you should travel before you have children” “you’ll be more happy.”
i hate kids! i’ve snarled. i don’t mean it at all. but god. please, leave me alone. i don’t want to be a biological mom.
it’s like we’re born with a uterus and told “this is your whole life. your singular purpose. your job.”
i want to be my own purpose. not here for the sake of passing genes on.
This sums up everything I’ve ever felt about societal expectation of motherhood.
You know what Good Omens does NOT get enough credit for? How it never, not once, makes gender presentation the butt of a joke.
Crowley presenting as female to be Warlock’s Nanny? The way this was filmed, acted, and written wasn’t made to be funny whatsoever. She was stunning, I loved the hat!
Archangel Michael, who has a traditionally male name, played by a female actress? Never questioned.
Lord Beelzebub’s androgyny? Only respect for the Lord of Hell.
Aziraphale sharing Madame Tracy’s body? Crowley recognized his angel and accepted it no problem. He was right about the dress too, it did suit him!
Crowley’s pure, unfiltered non-binary/gender-fluid energy in general? Fucking fabulous. Who could seriously make fun of this demon’s style? As someone once pointed out to me, you could swap him with Tilda Swinton and I’d see no difference. What an icon.
Good Omens is the first big show I’ve seen to basically avoid transphobia all together when the opportunity presented itself, and even say fuck you to the gender binary as a bonus. If the biggest binary in all the universe, Heaven and Hell, don’t give a damn about it then why should you?
Thank you! That was definitely what we were going for. I’m not certain we always achieved it – or at least, people didn’t always seem to see that was what we were doing. (It made me sad when a few people on Twitter reacted to Crowley-as-nanny as if it was meant to be a transphobic man-in-a-dress joke.)
For our angels and demons, it was intensely liberating having male and female actors auditioning for the same roles, and just picking the ones who we felt nailed the characters best.
Also, can I just hear a wahoo for the wonderful Archangel Uriel, Gloria Obianyo?
