“Be careful with her, she’s a total Shane.”
“Oh I’d stay away from her, she’s such a Shane.”
“She’s a Shane; she’s so much fun.”
“You are such a Shane!”
I would bet the meager contents of my bank account that almost everyone reading this right now has heard, uttered, or been described with the phrases above, in whatever forms and mutations they may have come. In one conversation, during which the people in dialogue proceeded to dissect me while pretending I wasn’t there, it was apparently determined that I, too, am a mythical “Shane” creature. Their caveat was that their description was based in mentality and attitude only—I’m apparently far too femme to be a “physical Shane.”
I must confess: I am something of a gay anomaly. Queer scientists should study me, because as an out and proud lesbian, I had not seen an episode of The L Word until this past January. Shocking to many, unbelievable to some, I had not experienced the trite drivel that is The L Word until a mere six months ago. I had no idea who this Shane person was, why everyone hated this Jenny character so much, nor why my usually intellectually stimulating and adventurous friends and colleagues would spend hours analyzing themselves and others based on these characters. Finally, when it was conclusively decided that I was a “Shane in the brain,” I got so sick of queries that evolved into epic filibusters of explanation that I watched a few episodes. Turns out, I really don’t like Shane.
Why is she revered as a kind of social icon, someone to whom many lesbians aspire and proudly self-proclaim? She is confident, smooth, and attractive but she is also manipulative, unfaithful and plays with the hearts and minds of the women she so skillfully ensnares. I met a girl recently about whom I was ardently warned, using multiple variations of the “Shane” label. When I met her, I was attracted to the confidence with which she carried herself and we hit it off. However, I’ve begun to see what’s beneath the surface of this “Shane.” Androgynous and attractive, cocky and smooth, experienced and well known, yet inevitably these attitudes and escapades begin to reveal the utter lack of confidence beneath the veneer. Cracks begin to inch deeper into the identity self-created around sexual and romantic conquests. When one begins to define oneself by the ability to live up to a character, one begins to fumble any grasp on reality.
So what defines someone as the elusive “Shane”? Is it a striking resemblance to Kate Moenning? Is it an abundance of self-confidence? Is it a history of broken and ruined relationships? I am proud to be a “Shane” if it means that I am confident, articulate, smooth and appealing. I am ashamed to be a “Shane” if it refers to a relationship history riddled with infidelity and mental strife on the behalf of the women with whom I’ve been linked. Either way, I know from experience the quandaries that come with an identity tied to sexual prowess, and I personally know the devastating consequences of entangling one’s own identity with that of a persona.
So no, I am not a Shane. I am not an Alice or a Jenny. I’m not a James Bond or a Cruella deVille. I am not a Superman or any other character conceived in the imaginations of the creative minds of the world. I am young, I am gay, I am fun. I am high-energy, I’m a flirt, I’m uninhibited. I’m bubbly, I’m loud, I’m self-assured. I am me, and it’s nice to meet you.
Well said. In my opinion we can all identify with certain characteristics we see in someone else (or others see in us), but at the end of the day it all comes down to one little word… the word that defines every human being as being UNIQUE.
