Otherness in Everyday Things: How Gender Lives in Objects

When we say, “I am a man,” we are not just asserting identity—we are also, often unconsciously, implying what we are not. By identifying as a man, we place women in the category of “other,” and vice versa. But what does it mean to know that someone is a man, or a woman? How do we even decide? Are there specific things that men do, or things that women do? And who decides which actions belong to which gender? 

These questions are not abstract—they exist in the spaces we live, study, and work in. On campus, in classrooms, or even in cafés, gendered expectations appear in subtle ways. For example, certain areas of the library or lab feel more “occupied” by one gender than the other. The type of bags people carry, the notebooks they use, even the way they decorate their desks or lockers—these objects silently communicate identity and belonging. A colourful planner with doodles may be perceived as feminine, while a rugged backpack might be read as masculine. These are material cues, small things that both reveal and enforce social assumptions about gender.

Otherness is also visible in actions and behaviours. Some gestures are considered “acceptable” for women but frowned upon for men. For instance, it’s often easier for a woman to express vulnerability in public spaces, while men may feel judged for the same openness. Even on campus, a man carrying a notebook full of personal sketches might attract curious glances, whereas a woman doing the same is often simply seen as creative. These seemingly small differences show how social norms create boundaries, and how material culture—objects, spaces, even stationery—reflects those boundaries.

Clothing and accessories further complicate this. The choice of a hijab, a wristwatch, or sneakers communicates identity, often dictating who belongs and who feels out of place in a space. A man wearing bright colours or jewellery may be “othered” in ways that a woman wouldn’t, and vice versa. Our material surroundings, then, become a silent language of inclusion and exclusion. They carry assumptions about gender that are rarely questioned but deeply felt.

Critically reflecting on this, I realize that otherness is not always imposed violently or intentionally. Often, it emerges in everyday objects and actions, in what is allowed or expected, in who gets noticed and who blends into the background. It is in the way spaces are designed, the things we use, and the social scripts we follow—material culture shapes and reinforces otherness in ways both visible and invisible.

In my own experience, I see this in familiar contexts: in classrooms, in my hostel, and on campus streets. Certain chairs, corners, or rooms feel gendered—not by explicit rules, but by how people move, behave, and occupy them. The pens, books, laptops, and even mugs we use are subtly coded with meaning. A shared café table may be mostly occupied by men quietly studying, while women cluster in other areas. These divisions are not rigid, but they exist, quietly shaping how we see ourselves and others.

Otherness, then, is not always a matter of identity alone—it is relational and material. It appears in objects, actions, and spaces, in what we do, what we carry, and how we behave. By noticing these patterns, we can begin to understand how gendered assumptions shape everyday life, and how material culture quietly constructs the boundaries of belonging.

Seeing Beyond the Binary: Otherness Across All Genders

Otherness does not exist only between men and women. People who identify as non-binary, transgender, or gender non-conforming often experience otherness more visibly—and sometimes in ways that binary assumptions cannot capture. In everyday spaces, material culture can amplify this.

For example, clothing and accessories may be heavily coded: a jacket, shoes, or hairstyle that does not align with conventional expectations can draw attention, curiosity, or even judgment. A non-binary student choosing a gender-neutral notebook or bag may find themselves subtly “noticed” in ways others are not. Similarly, bathrooms, lockers, and shared spaces can become sites of exclusion, highlighting how the built environment reinforces gender norms.

Even gestures, colours, and personal objects carry meaning. A colourful scarf, a patterned laptop case, or a carefully chosen pin can communicate identity, comfort, or resistance to normative expectations. These material expressions—like the objects and spaces associated with men or women—shape how people are seen and treated, and how they feel they belong.

Including multiple gender experiences in our reflections reminds us that otherness is relational and contextual, not fixed. Belonging and exclusion are lived through material culture in nuanced ways, showing that identity is far more than a label—it is expressed, experienced, and negotiated in everyday life.

Personal Reflection: Objects, Identity, and Otherness

Even though I am in a woman’s body, I often prefer objects that are considered “masculine”—clothes, bags, shoes, even toys. I enjoy wearing oversized jackets, sneakers, and carrying rugged backpacks. I like spaces and items that are labeled for men, not because I want to be a man, but because these objects feel comfortable, expressive, and authentic to me.

Does this mean I am a man? Not necessarily. It shows how material culture and social labels are separate from personal identity. Objects carry gendered expectations, but liking or using them doesn’t automatically define who we are. It highlights how arbitrary and socially constructed many of these “rules” about gendered objects are.

This reflection made me realise that otherness is not just about how society labels us, but also about how we navigate and negotiate identity through the things we use. A person can inhabit one gender, yet interact freely with objects and spaces coded for another. These choices, small as they seem, challenge societal assumptions and quietly resist rigid binaries.

For me, choosing “man’s objects” is an act of freedom, a way to define my own comfort and identity, and a reminder that belonging and otherness are fluid. Material culture doesn’t just reflect gender—it can expand it, bend it, and even make space for experiences that fall outside traditional categories.