How do we, as trans readers, engage with essentialism and invisibilisation in romance?

I open a sapphic romance, all excited for the story that is to come. I read one paragraph, two. I read the third. The entire paragraph is dedicated to the character not being attracted dicks, to let us know that the character is a lesbian. And then it ends with this magnificent conclusion: “I like men just fine as friends but nothing about penises excites me.” Ah, I am reassured she’s not a man-hating lesbian, just someone who associates gender with genitals.

I open Instagram and Twitter and I see people talking about the latest cishet romance, sharing extracts, and everything is about the masculinity of the dick size. I read a sapphic romance with a focus on sapphic communities, full of queer women, all assumed cis, set in 1880’s Paris and I have to laugh. We have many illustrations from that time representing gender non-conforming lesbians, some of whom lacked the words to describe a transmasculine or non-binary identity. For a contemporary author familiar with trans identities why not imply that there are trans characters in the large, international, sapphic community you are portraying?

As much as I dislike the token nonbinary side character in cis queer books (recently also in the form of the token trans woman side character in cis sapphic romances) because it allows for trans presence without actually engaging with transness at least it feels like the author acknowledge the existence of trans people in queer spaces.

I put down the book and I go to the lesbian bar, to Drag King Night, to the opening of a lesbian book store. Here I see us, so many of us. I saw you, all of you, reading the texts and poetry you’ve written about our lives and more. Everyone claps. We belong here.

You can’t just tell me to read trans romance. I do. And sometimes it’s the lesbians who catch the stray bullet. And I think you all know what I mean when I say most of them lay outside my interests. Still, I even read some of them.

I focus on romance, as it’s often the genre of the body and the gender roles, there are expectations, modifications, and biases from the audience (what does reverse grumpy/sunshine even mean in non-m/f romance?). And in cis romances, dick size is an indicator of strength and valor, breasts and ass are the most attractive and sexy parts of a woman and they need to be at least of a certain size. Only a deep voice is sexy on men (men with a higher pitch voice in a romance what is that? or only to highlight the gracefulness of a twink I guess) and women can’t be too hairy or you’re breaking the projective immersion. Come on, look at those romance covers: why do men get arm hairs and not women? And if you want to talk about hormone levels can assure you you can’t distinguish between mine and my brother's arm hairs. I mean the lack of visible body hairs on sapphic romance covers is a question I would love to see publishers answer.

And I’m not getting into racism and colorism that dictates the standard of Western beauty ideals and the ideal feminine romance heroine. Enough examples of sapphic romances where the Black or brown girl is read as the more masculine one by the audience when nothing in the story supports it.

I think most people do not realize how widespread essentialism is in romance. I think authors don’t realize themselves. I often feel like an over-sensitive, party-crasher person. I don’t know how to have fun. I don’t know how to let things go. I shouldn’t be too mad at authors who haven’t unpacked their essentialism and dare I say transphobia (no that’s the stronger word I’m not supposed to use). I guess people don’t see it. It’s easy to call out Harry Potter references but less easy to notice that the protagonist associates genitals and biological traits with a sexuality, a gender, a behavior (I say protagonist because they are never written to be bigoted in romance, their conflict and arc always come from another flaw). But I shouldn’t complain because it’s new to people, they’re trying their best and they’re accepting.

I once dnf-ed a book, starring two nonbinary characters, that the (cis) author had herself recommended to me. I stopped reading after an exchange that I judged transphobic and many small instances of bioessentialism. I felt uncomfortable when speaking out because after all “it’s just words” and I generally am in favor of giving a chance to people who have their hearts in the right place even if they do not master the perfect trans lingo. I tried to not make a fuss about it and quietly wrote a Goodreads review (the author still blocked me right after).

This is an indie book that you likely haven’t heard of and I would ask that you do not harass the author and read for yourself before judging.

In this book (A Jade’s Diamond), Nayvee/Nay, one of the two nonbinary butch protagonists, introduces their partner Trystan (nonbinary stone butch) to a friend. This is the exchange that followed and made me stop reading.

“I gotta be honest with ya Nay but your woman looks like a he.”

I chuckled “Technically, or should I say, biologically, they are a she. Trystan doesn’t conform to the norm.”

Trystan’s pronouns (like Nay’s) are also they/them. This is a casual exchange between friends where Nay could have said “They’re also nonbinary like me” but the author chose to reduce the character to their biology. This line felt even worse coming from a nonbinary character.

Up until this point, I had dismissed the author’s use of slightly uncomfortable language such as “cisgendered” or “I identify as” (the book came out in 2021) since the second one is still used by some trans people (people prefer to use “I am”). What had really bothered me was the incessant use of the words “female” and “male” that while not transphobic in absolute were sometimes used in transmisogynistic phrasings:

“Sweetie, it is true that males are more than likely to sexually abuse someone, but that doesn’t mean females can’t.”

When I read to read the reviews it was a bit disheartening to see the cis reviewers praise the nonbinary representation of this book. Always along the lines of “this is the first time I’ve read a book with a nonbinary character”, “glad to see the diversity in gender”, etc. I still see that book praised by some cis lesbians as “trans representation” but is it?

Okay but then when do we talk about it? When cis people aren’t looking? Can we have this conversation without me feeling the need to reassure them that they’re good allies? And focus on our alienation?

It remains a conversation I remain reticent to have in public, too many times I have seen it used to demonise lesbians and their art. It’s easy to say “that’s why i don’t consume sapphic media bc they’re transphobic” (damn trans lesbians I am sorry people consider you are not engaging and creating sapphic media) less so than looking into all cis biases.

Maybe it’s not just cis biases, I have encountered what appeared to me as clunky phrasing in books by queer nonbinary authors and I wonder if I am too vigilant about the language used. Some authors feel too obsessed with birth assignments and “socialization”.

Below is an extract from an erotica story written by a nonbinary author with a nonbinary character visiting a sex club and describing people there:

The pleasure in the stretch of their neck and the wobbling of their legs was delicious. It was then that Kai realized *how* their thrusting partner’s hand was moving, and what it meant. She had to guess that the partner in front had the sort of equipment that would have gotten them labeled AMAB.

“the sort of equipment that would have gotten them labeled AMAB” so are we just forgetting that phalloplasty is a thing now? I shared this extract with my followers who unanimously found it weird, clunky, and “This euphemism feels more like misgendering than just saying penis”.

To conclude,