[cw: transphobia, dysphoria]
Hey,
I went out with my girlfriend last night to see The Craft. It was one of those special screenings that comes with food and/or adult beverages that the theater organizes sometimes. (I had this amazing old fashioned made with mezcal, agave, and mole bitters. It was smoky and intense and unlike anything I’ve had before. I followed up with a nice lager to go with the all-you-can-eat pizza they trotted out before showtime.) All in all, it was a lovely way to spend an evening.
She did a sort of casual cosplay of Neve Campbell’s character from the movie, complete with a new purse that doubled as a prop. I didn’t go in quite so hard, opting instead for a floofy black skirt I got from a queer clothing swap, my new-ish pair of Docs, and a vaguely gothy makeup job.
I posted a selfie on Instagram.
I also posted it in a private Facebook group I’m in where trans people post selfies, with the caption “it me, your hot goth gf.” I didn’t see the first comment posted until I woke up this morning and was: struck.
There’s a lot about transition that I knew about before I started, just from talking to trans friends and poking around on the internet. I expected it. I psyched myself up for it. But there have definitely been a few things specific to my transition that I didn’t expect. One of the big ones: being considered attractive by other people.
Honestly, the fact that anyone would consider me attractive is sort of novel. It’s definitely not something I thought was possible pre-transition. Indeed, one of the ways my latent dysphoria manifested was by trying to make myself as unattractive as possible, either by neglect and inattention or through active sabotage. I had convinced myself that anyone being physically attracted to me was impossible, but also that if it WERE possible, I should definitely put a stop to it. I hated my body, and I didn’t want to be alone in that hate.
I’m less than a year into HRT, but it’s already done a number on my face. I’m also noticing small changes in the distribution of fat around my body; I’m becoming, slowly and almost imperceptibly, curvier. I wanted all of this— albeit at a faster pace than what I’m getting— but I still get caught by surprise by how I look. And, more to the point, how I look to other people.
Earlier in the day, I had what was maybe my worst bout of dysphoria since I started transitioning. It started last week when I tweeted about Luna Younger after someone prominent in a soccer fan community I’m part of went on an extended rant about her (replete with deadnaming and misgendering and accusing her mom of child abuse for affirming Luna’s identity). Former friend, his buddies, and a small segment of MAGA Twitter then spent the next several days camped out in my Mentions, alternately accusing me of enabling child abuse and telling me I’m delusional and that calling myself a woman doesn’t actually make me one.
All that was a slow burn that led into Monday morning, when a friend of my girlfriend’s made an unintentionally transphobic joke on one of our silly relationship posts. I tried to brush it off but I… couldn’t. I spent most of the morning and afternoon wanting to curl up into a ball and go to sleep until January. I hated myself and I hated my body, and I felt like nothing I ever did would be good enough. That being AMAB was this curse that I would never, ever escape from.
Going out in public was, naturally, the last thing I wanted to do. But my girlfriend and I had been looking forward to this for over a month. I wanted to go. But I knew going would’ve required more than just sucking it up and getting through it. I needed to actively make myself feel better about myself. In the moment, that meant gothy makeup and a spaghetti strap top to show off my tits. And selfies.
And it felt good. I liked the feeling of (mostly) nailing a look. I liked that my girlfriend felt like she could show me off in public. I liked noticing a couple people at the movie— almost all femme-presenting with varying degrees of queer coding— were checking me out. And, yes, I liked receiving positive comments on my selfies— including one from a stranger who couldn’t contain their thirst. This is a new feeling for me, and one that probably wouldn’t have been possible pre-transition. It’s weird. It’s novel. And I’m not too proud to admit that I am absolutely digging it.
I realize that depending on external validation is a losing game. But transition has forced me to be honest with myself. So, yes, sometimes knowing I’m desired by other people is exactly what I need.
But actually getting that validation is still something I’m getting used to.
Take care,
Bridget