People who first learn about Submitting Like A Man love to ask what I’ll do if (or when??) “Max” is accepted by one of the opportunities he applies to. I think this is such a popular question because it invokes images of me showing up to rehearsal donning one of those cheesy mustache and glasses disguises. I hate to disappoint you, but I won’t be pulling a Yentl.
The point of this project is not to “trick” anyone into believing I’m a man. Max is a pen name, and the reason for his existence has always been to investigate whether there would be a discrepancy in acceptances of scripts when they’re submitted under his name instead of mine. “His” work is still my work, and as such, his opportunities are still my opportunities. So the answer to what I’ll do if he’s accepted is that I’ll participate.
The next question is whether or not I’ll reveal my gender. In this age of digital communication, it’s entirely possible I could remain a Banksy-esque anonymity for the entire opportunity. However, the longer I administer this project, the more I’ve come to feel strongly that it’s my duty and my responsibility to SLAM to reveal my true gender to anyone who does accept one of Max’s scripts. To see what happens, and what kind of difference it makes (if any), needs to go hand-in-hand with the other goals of this project, and the experiences it allows me to have and to share.
The part that’s complicated is when to reveal my true gender. In lots of cases, I don’t think I’d have the option to wait very long. Many of the opportunities on my list are fellowships or mentor programs, most of which involve an interview. Since I’m not gonna do the Yentl thing, do I reveal the truth before showing up for the interview, or do I just arrive and sign in as Max? My assumption is that I’d do the latter—I’d hate for my situation to be misunderstood and my opportunity to be revoked before I can even so much as get in the door.
I’ve come to feel strongly that it’s my duty and my responsibility to SLAM to reveal my true gender to anyone who does accept one of Max’s scripts.
And this begs the question: Would I give out my real name and explain myself? Even after my gender is revealed, I could still pretend Maximilian is just the name given to me at birth. Or I could tell the opportunity about this project, which they may or may not find cool. And that raises the next issue: Even if I simply explain that Max is a pen name and my legal name is Mya, the administrators of the opportunity might know this project or otherwise Google and link it to me. I am very proud of this project, but I wouldn’t want anyone to worry that I’m out to humiliate them for picking Max when they previously didn’t pick me. (I’m not.)
This is where the “what if”-possibilities start to sound like a British farce. If I reveal my actual name is Mya, and the organization knows this projects or finds it, then the biggest problem is perhaps that the cat is out of the bag on Max’s real identity (“Max” is not the actual name I’m using to submit). I’d have to hope anyone involved in the opportunity would stay sworn to secrecy. Otherwise, I’d have to recreate my alternate male self all over again and begin submitting as Max II.
The fact that I am a woman doesn’t change anything about the quality of the work, which was liked and selected, and it doesn’t make me any less worthy of the opportunity.
Last but not least is the technicality of legal names that are sometimes needed for legal reasons. From the get-go, my dad (hi dad!), who is not in the arts, has had one main concern about my undertaking of this project: What if someone likes Max’s work and makes out “the check” to the wrong name? How will I cash it and get all my riches? It would be nice if that were actually a concern; so few of the submission opportunities actually offer money that this is the one area where I consider the pseudonym vs. real name debate to be a non-issue.
In the end, the answer is that I’m going to have to play it by ear, weighing all these factors and figuring it out as I go. I see it as a combination of the “anticipate the other person’s move”-skills of chess (which I hate) and the “yes, and…”-skills of improv (which I love). At any given moment, what it comes down to is: am I at a “risk” of spoiling SLAM or of losing an opportunity by revealing my gender and/or real name? The former is the more difficult one to figure out, requiring strategy-slash-ad libbing. The latter is the one where my hope is that the answer will be a clear, solid no; the fact that I am a woman doesn’t change anything about the quality of the work, which was liked and selected, and it doesn’t make me any less worthy of the opportunity. And any organization that felt otherwise is probably not one I want to be involved in anyway. Booyah.
Originally published on Howlround.