“Will you buy me a tie?” I asked my mother one morning. It was early September and I would be starting second grade in a matter of days. The cool autumnal wind seemed to carry the fresh scent of a new school year.  

Instead of getting ready for the day, I dawdled in the bathroom mirror imagining how the regal piece of cloth would look like tucked snug against my neck, hanging down my chest like a medal. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, what kind of tie?” my mother asked with a toothbrush in her mouth while she tried to usher me along. We had a busy day of back to school shopping ahead of us. 

“Like the kind that James Bond wears when he’s fighting those bad guys” I said, striking my best spy pose in the mirror with finger guns pointed straight ahead.

We’d just returned from spending the summer in America visiting my grandmother. Her partner, Arthur, loved James Bond. In the TV room, he had a sleek collection of Bond DVD cases, all lined up along the mantel in order from Dr. No through to Quantum of Solace. Even before I watched them, I used to run my fingers along their spines curiously. 

I wasn’t technically allowed to watch them as they were too mature for an eight year old. But Art–as we called him–also had a habit of falling asleep midday with the movie already playing. At first I pretended to work on my puzzle only stealing glances at the TV but over time I became engrossed. I was mesmerized by the way Bond eased his way through a casino, charming every woman and commanding the respect of every man after exchanging only a few words.

In the blue light of the TV, I was overcome with a strange sense of envy and admiration. I imagined what it would be like to be him, effortlessly handsome and charismatic. As I watched him stop mid fight to say something witty and adjust his tie before delivering the final blow, I decided getting a tie was the first step to becoming Bond.  

“Sure, we can look for something like that” my mother said and she quickly ran a brush through my hair.

—

Before I asked for a tie, I’d never expressed a desire to choose my own clothes. I trailed behind my parents in the girls section of department stores, bored and giving little input into the outfits they bought for me. Clothes were just clothes. They never brought me the kind of playful confidence that I saw in other girls at school when they twirled in their dresses on the playground pretending to be Snow White or Cinderella. I could tell that the dresses made them feel like they could be anyone, wield magic, and save kingdoms.

On the days following my request for a tie, I kept returning to the bathroom mirror imagining that when I secured the tie tightly to my collarbone, I would feel like those girls at school twirling in their dresses. Maybe James Bond was my Cinderella. 

But as the days stretched on with no tie in sight, the bathroom mirror became a place of doubt. I remembered that right before I asked my mother, the request lodged in my throat. In that second of hesitation, I worried that the importance of the tie would be lost as soon as it came out of the mouth of an eight year old Chinese girl. Maybe deep down I knew I didn’t look the part of James Bond.

For a while my fantasies of ties faded into the background until one day my mother called me into the bathroom telling me she had a surprise. Grinning, she proudly withdrew something she’d been hiding behind her back. In her hands sat a plaid red, black, and white hairband with two pieces of cloth hanging down the sides that could be turned into a tie. The headband and tie combination was reminiscent of an English school girl tie; I could imagine it pairing with a skirt and matching tights. The thing was bulky, the headband sitting like cardboard too large for my head, the little pieces of cloth on the side wilted like deflated balloons.

As an only child, and a little bit of a brat, I was usually not afraid to voice my displeasure when I was presented with a gift that didn’t match my expectations. At this point, I would have already started my barrage of whiny complaints. But this time I was silent. I was shocked. For the first time, I saw myself through my mother’s eyes. I saw through a lens of femininity so strong that she could only picture James Bond’s tie on me through a girls school uniform. And if my mother, who knew the names of all my stuffed animals, which side of the car I preferred, and how long to leave my nightlight on after I’d fallen asleep, saw me this way, so did everyone else.

—

There is a loss of innocence in childhood that is less talked about. It’s the moment you realize that the way you view yourself and the way most of the world sees you may never quite align. From that day onward, I became more aware of how my parents’ friends who came to the house would call me “princess” “little lady” even “china doll.” 

At the same time, on the playground, I declared myself the devoted husband, cool older brother, or if those roles were taken, the family dog. I didn’t get my Bond tie but I wasn’t giving up on finding that feeling other girls go when they twirled in their dresses. I wasn’t giving up on the belief that I could be anyone.

I started to observe men and copy their movements. The nonchalant hand in the pocket like the teen boys at the mall. The firm pat on the back my dad would give his male friends. Movements I was not taught but tested out to how they felt. And with each gesture I felt more firmly suited to my skin, more in command of myself and more ready to take on the world around me. Soon enough these movements became second nature, until I could no longer remember what character on TV or kid at school they originally came from. 

“I heard you’re going through a tomboy phase, my daughter went through one too” a family friend teased me endearingly as I tore through the backyard with a stick.

I’d never heard that term before but a quick internet search told me about girls who stopped liking the color pink or wearing dresses because they didn’t want to seem weak and helpless. But being lumped in with the tomboy label felt too simple, performative even, like a halloween costume.  Being a tomboy was becoming one thing in order to escape something else. The article also talked about sexism and gender equality, words that I’d only come across while scanning my dads Economist magazine. Words that felt too serious and adult for what I was doing. Words that turned every action into a statement. 

And soon I came across a better word: chivalry. When I discovered the word in one of my fantasy novels, alongside the description of a bold dashing knight, I knew that my yearning for things like ties was more than a phase of girlhood. The word had a weight to it that tomboy did not. Tomboy was in opposition, a rejection, a response to gender roles. Chivalry stood on its own. The world felt ancient, much older than gender.

I read the word and I saw myself shielding someone from the rain with an umbrella, dramatically laying my jacket down in a puddle for someone to walk over, and throwing rocks at the window to signal a late night rendezvous. Chivalry came to me as a way to love even when the people in these daydreams were formless, faceless, genderless. It was a title you earned through courage, devotion, and selflessness.

In the years that followed, I continued to explore these qualities and as well as new ones through the long line of role models that succeeded James Bond. Through Robin Williams, I practiced softness, mentorship, and a love of the spoken word. Through Billy Porter, I discovered an exuberance for life and a flamboyance fits my tendency to exaggerate. From women’s soccer players like Abby Wambach and Christen Press, I developed a competitive spirit that wasn’t fueled by ego but by the pursuit of bettering the self and the love of the game. 

As I grew up I left behind the parts of James Bond behind that weren’t me. The moments where he never stays the night, where he’s never vulnerable, never attached. Not being born into masculinity, but gravitating to it, means that you can pick and choose which parts to adopt. Which parts meld with your personality and create something new. 

I realized that the moment I first saw Bond on TV, was a faint flicker of self recognition. But it remained only that, because in the end, I knew that I wasn’t him. I was much more.