Is 'We Are Who We Are' the Trans Story This Generation Deserves?
The trans community has undergone a lot of messy representation in TV and film throughout the years. Too often we are reduced to either villains or victims and are rarely ever offered grace.
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Apparently, HBO’s method of preventing subscription cancellation is to start promoting their brand new fall shows during the final episodes of their summer shows. This is likely why when the surreal I May Destroy You came to an end in the summer, the first trailer of We Are Who We Are aired. In a much more subdued tone and color palette than Michaela Coel’s series, a Black teenager is shown going through the motions of shaving their bare face and cutting off their hair as they proclaim, “I’m ready” as a blonde Jack Dylan Grazer tells their “No, you’re not,” and “None of the stuff you’re thinking means anything anyway.” That, sandwiched between shots of Grazer staring longingly at men way too old for him, didn't say much other than that this miniseries from Luca Guadagnino would be a queer coming of age, similar to his critically acclaimed film Call Me By Your Name (2017), which has been widely criticized for depicting a problematic gay relationship. So knowing his newest project centered on trans experiences, which are notably misrepresented in media (if represented at all), made it worth watching, while simultaneously keeping a critical eye open.
We Are Who We Are aired every Monday from September to November of 2020, along with behind-the-scenes/sit-down chats with Guadagnino and the actors segment for every episode. It was immediately clear by episode 1 that the show is intended to be an exploration of gender and sexuality through a Gen Z lens, with the conclusion being “we are who we are.” While it was excellent in its portrayals of the ways which we express and repress ourselves in the presence and absence of the people we love, there were moments both in the show and behind the scenes that almost felt like they undermined the particular brand of queerness at the center of itself, an experience profoundly different than Guadagnino’s as a cis Gen. For example, the story is set in 2016 and both of the main teenagers use keypad phones.
The (arguably) trans teen in question is Caitlin, (Jordan Kristine Seamón), a “girl” with long hair and a go with the flow personality that works against them more often than not. Their blasé attitude lands them with a boyfriend who likes “their” more than they like him, and friends who care about petty drama more than they ever could. There are some things that they love though: their father and his military ways, and soon, the new boy in town who cares just as little about social conventions as they do. Fraser (Jack Dylan Grazer) is the new kid who dresses eccentrically and innocently ogles servicemen. They are birds of a feather in their emerging queerness. In fact, Fraser is Caitlin’s only confidant when he finds out about their alter ego Harper, who dresses in masculine clothing to drink and pick up Italian girls in the main town. The two seem like the only people who understand one another in the most important ways, however, Guadagnino is quick to rule out the possibility of romance between the two: in the second episode the two make a pact that they will never kiss because what would be more cliche than girl meets boy and they fall in love? This setup proves that these characters are just as burdened by the illusion of the gender binary as anyone else.
However come the final episode, Fraser and Caitlin escape their constrictive army-base lives and get to live according to only themselves for one night. They get on a train to see their favorite artist, Dev Haynes in Bologna, Caitlin does their ‘masc’ makeup consisting of a mascara beard and mustache and they divulge their deepest secrets and feelings about their families before concluding, and screaming into the night, that they don't exist. Not to us, anyway. Here they are the truest versions of themselves, which are people who can be felt and understood by each other but not anyone else who seeks to put them into one box or another for their own convenience. They are the only people who see their essence. In the company of one another, free of outside pressure, they become the people they want to be.
This illusion falls apart soon enough, though, as Fraser takes to an age-appropriate Italian boy and spends the concert with him too high in an idealized, romantic bubble to notice Caitlin's growing discomfort. Caitlin, however, does manage to score their own date for the night, an androgynous person working the bar, and while flattered by the attention, things ultimately come crashing down around Caitlin when they acknowledge their status as an FTM trans person. “I guess,” Caitlin says in confirmation, although the mood is certainly displaced. They stop mid-make-out to run to the bathroom in tears and wash off their facial hair. It's a scene quite similar to the first time Caitlin went on a date with a girl but different in that before it was played as blatant misgendering. It would make sense why Caitlin, who makes an obvious effort to pass, would be put off by being called a girl, but in this instance, they react the same way despite being “correctly” identified, or attempted to be related to by another gender-nonconforming person. It's a surprise to us just as much as it is to them. However, it's also cathartic. Face dripping in water, Caitlin breaks into a grin. They understand more about themself at this moment than they ever had up to this point. While this journey was supposed to be about becoming the people they thought they wanted to be, it's more true to them to live in this in-between moment where they don't know and embrace themself without answering to everyone else. Right after the concert, they text Fraser that they're going home.
After the Italian boy offers to show Fraser the most beautiful church in Italy, Fraser has an epiphany about his relationship with Caitlin so powerful that the boy pops right out of the scene as if he was never there. Fraser runs to the train and Caitlin, but instead of leaving with them, he drags them to the church, the most beautiful spot in all of Italy, and kisses them. And they kiss him. And it's somehow the love story ending that no one expected, but was way more fitting than it would’ve been in any other typical teen series. Their coming together wasn't for the sake or satisfaction of the audience, but themselves as they stand by each other despite not having themselves completely figured out and not knowing what their feelings for each other mean. While this moment was undoubtedly beautiful and I am all for labeless love that doesn’t fit the binary, upon further review of the context of the show’s creation, it's possible that rather than labeless love, the story retains its vagueness in favor of trading one binary for another.
On the surface, the show is doing all the right things: in its exploration of gender identity through an AFAB person, a nonbinary person, Jordan Kristine Seamón, is cast. The sexuality of Jack Dylan Grazer who plays the gay-coded Fraser, is not on record, as it shouldn’t be. Despite the obvious need for there to be a proper representation of minority communities in TV and film, no one is owed anyone’s identity, no matter how famous or what role they’re playing, especially that of a 17-year-old. Grazer does treat his character with high respect and empathy, so in this respect, the show passes. However, there is another side of the representation discussion, which is that of the director’s intentions and perspective. While in-show Fraser exclusively refers to Caitlin by their masc presenting alter ego “Harper,” Guadagnino never does. He exclusively refers to Caitlin by she/her pronouns, despite the clear gender-fluidity that he wrote. The general feeling of seeing this misrepresentation take place after every single episode feels as though Caitlin's story is misunderstood by the people who wrote them, as if they miss the point of discussing gender identity entirely in favor of portraying something new and fresh rather than a profoundly enigmatic experience, which is more than a girl who “glamorizes being a man” in her mind.
And while it's valid to identify as nonbinary or genderfluid while exclusively using one set of pronouns, even the ones associated with the gender you were assigned at birth, that's pointedly different from a cis man writing such a character wrought with gender dysphoria and unsurety while denying them the grace of being represented as such in the real world. It’s rudimentary, to say the least.
Taking some aspects of the show at face value makes for a great exploration but when analyzing the sum of all the parts, it does feel less than perfect. But is perfect the goal? Eventually yes, obviously, but when looking at the number of series and movies depicting trans people as societal anomalies and outcasts, this is a far cry from bad. And with the emergence of queer people in positions to tell their own stories, and the opportunity for so much queer media, there's room for imperfection among the infinite possibilities and stories that are (hopefully) coming our way.
Excerpt: Luca Guadiagnino’s newest project We Are Who We Are highlights how far we’ve come in telling trans stories as well as how far we’ve left to go.