It

Done. Reduced. A pronoun used for animals, objects, things of no value. As a thing becomes more important it takes on gender for us. It takes on personhood. Cars and boats are known as she, as are guns. Anything dangerous and tempermental is known as female.

But before she and he there is it, the large it, the word that is invisible when you're expecting it but stands out like a snake in a tub of mice when used unexpectedly.

All of which points out that English has no real accomodation of people and things that do not fit our preconceptions of gender.

'It's a long time, and I'm getting very old.'

It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the side of a cheerful fire, and in a bright room.

It was nigh two-and-thirty year since he had been there last, and he did hear say there were great changes.

It was unbelievable – the tsunami.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

It was a very quiet place, as such a place should be, save for the cawing of the rooks who had built their nests among the branches of some tall old trees, and were calling to one another, high up in the air.

It was flood tide when Daniel Quilp sat himself down in the ferry to cross to the opposite shore.

It – she is not it. it is not she. he is not it. The cousin is It

Why can't there be a better genderless pronoun for people than 'it'? It is so impersonal. And s/he is just lame.

It has been a long time coming, but it must come at last; a very long time, but it surely must come.

They don't live under the bed – they are too big. Instead they live in the cupboard at the top of the stairs: they and their nine eyes, watching.