Breaking Up with Your Best American Girl
Since voicing my intention to transition, I’ve been revisiting my favorite love-as-a-woman songs and reorienting myself within them.
This is Formation Jukebox, a column by Lio Min on being in transition and the music that helps them make sense of it all.
I guess I couldn’t help trying to be the best American girl
I think of those girl friends now, almost all of whom live on in my life as strangers, and feel a deep shame. We were so buoyant with affection and tenderness; we were so gifted at twisting small blades in each other’s backs under the petty spell of teenage courtship. I have no trouble meeting up with former guy friends, but I have a much tougher time talking to the girls, who are now women.
Don’t wait for me / I can’t comeYour mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me / But I do, I think I do / And you’re an all-American boy / I guess I couldn’t help trying to be your best American girl
You’re the one / You’re all I ever wanted / I think I’ll regret this.
Enter your email address to receive notifications for author Lio Min
Confirmation link sent to your email to add you to notification list for author Lio Min
More by this author
Releasing the Fear of St. Vincent’s “Year of the Tiger”
I fear it and I dream of it: total honesty with my family, opening the door of my personhood and letting them see all of me.
The Secret Asian American History Behind New Order’s “Bizarre Love Triangle”
I love new wave music for the way it makes me feel—like the cups of my interior and exterior worlds are overflowing. Turns out I’m not the only one.
What Michelle Zauner’s “Paprika” Taught Me About Making Art (and Peace With It)
What a joy it is—a singular joy, an occasion for jubilee—to allow your art’s translation through another point of view.
More in this series
Boy, You’re a Runner Now
It was the first time I’d ever pointed at myself and claimed “boy,” even jokingly.
Love in the Time of Panic
I could live inauthentically if it meant I could live with him. But my body kept betraying me with panic, and of course he noticed.
My Years of Summertime Sadness
She’s loved and lost and lost and lost and yet still loves, and I root for this assertion to take root. Every sweetheart deserves their summers.