[Pride 2021] We All Have Scissor Hands

We all have scissor hands. They’re the things that keep us at a blade’s length away. What those scissors are made of is different for each of us. But are more likely there than not, just the same. 

Edward Scissorhands is my ultimate favorite misfit; an amalgamation of Frankenstein’s “Monster” and an aesthetic that calls on elements from Dr. Caligari’s Cesare. He's gentle, romantic and wildly misunderstood; a lovingly crafted creation. Following the death of his father, Edward is invited into a homogenized suburbia from his isolated castle atop the hill. He does his best to assimilate, donning the proper clothes, using his talents to help those around him…but he still sticks out amongst the pastel and well manicured cookie cutter life of the suburbs.

Try as he might, he is simply not the same. While some accept him, others label him instantly as a dangerous “other.” He pines for love even as it's staring him straight in the face. When teen dream Kim Boggs develops feelings for Edward that eventually evolve into love, she asks him to take her in his arms and hold her, to which he heartbreakingly replies, “I can’t.” Because through society’s lens, Edward sees himself as unfinished, incapable, undeserving—dangerous.

Growing up, my personal scissor hands were crafted from a heavy secret—I am a lesbian. 

I knew this before knowing there was even a word for it. I only knew I was different. “Other.” And that otherness felt like an ugly and dangerous thing. While Edward’s scars were prominent on his face, my wounds were internal and invisible. I held queer in my hands like two dangerous knives I could not set down; I was convinced this meant I would only ever be able to love from afar, like Edward. 

This was a tragedy. 

So much love in my heart and I, destined to keep it there, loving only from a safe distance. Maybe the loneliness attached to being secretly “other” would stay with me always. My classmates were kind and my family was loving, but I wondered what they would think of my invisible blades should I ever show them. Maybe they loved me with an asterisk; accepted me with caveats. Maybe they loved me because I kept my secret, secret. The prospect of finding out whether or not this was true was heartachingly horrific. This was a real fear. So, like Edward, I did my best to dress the part and fit in amongst Suburbia, adhering to the rules of conduct. My teenage years were spent dating the boys I was “supposed” to date and when I was about seventeen, I realized that the mask would inevitably be lonelier than being alone. 

Like Edward, I assumed all of this meant I would never be able to hold the girl I would irrevocably love. Of course as it turns out, this is not entirely true. The scissor hands I had, in part, imposed upon myself. Sure, there are those who do see those bits of me as blades to stay away from, and it was because of society’s lens that I saw this part of myself as something potentially damning and dangerous to begin with. There wasn’t much representation in the media for me to fully identify with. Expressing my love through creative endeavors was an escape for me. As I got older, I realized I could create the kind of stories I craved. The representation that was lacking for me, I could provide for others.

Luckily the landscape is changing with mainstream queeros like Freaky’s Josh, and the lead characters of the lesbian werewolf movie Bloodthirsty, just to name a couple of recent examples. Horror movies have always been my solace; the “monsters'' my misunderstood friends. Now there are strong, gay protagonists in stories that do not center on them being gay in the same way stories with heterosexual protagonists do not center on their heterosexuality. It just is. This character has brown eyes, is gay and loves cheeseburgers…moving on. Stories like this didn’t exist when I needed them most. At least not in a way that was accessible to me. To that end, I had my beloved Edward, who much like myself held so much love but was afraid to touch anyone with it. There are so many kinds of love, so many ways to be a family—not all of it is the romantic brand. Sometimes that love shows up as a supportive community waiting to embrace all the bits with open arms. 

Edward may not have gotten the happy ending his gentle heart deserved, but we get to write our own stories. By this point in my life, I’m an adult who has been out for many years now. That “other” label is not affixed to me by any of the people who actually matter. It has been a journey to get to this point, and while I may not have my Kim Boggs held carefully in my embrace,  I have since held and been held, for exactly who I am—the sharp bits, the soft bits and yes the very gay bits which is what I was so afraid of as a kid. Perhaps even more importantly, I have found bands of misfits to love, embrace and be embraced by. Most importantly, I have embraced myself, with nothing to hide. I am proud of all those bits that came together as a whole, to make me who I am. Evolving, sure but not incomplete. I never was. Isolation in a mountaintop castle and pastel, cookie cutter suburbia are not the only available options. 

And if you are reading this, and have scissor hands of your own, this is a love letter to you. Please know there are actually so many of us waiting to embrace you and every bit that makes you exactly who you are.

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