When Can I Have My Femininity Back?
I tried to wear a skirt the other day. It just didn’t feel right.
Last Wednesday, for the first time since I came out as transmasculine, I wore a skirt. It was beautiful, flowing down to my ankles, pale blue with small brown buttons trailing down its front. I paired it with a tucked in, plain white tee and my Birkenstocks. I wore my fro out in its full Corbin-Bleu-meets-Daveed-Diggs glory.
I smiled when I met my reflection in the dorm room mirror. In my eyes, I was a femme boi transgressing the norms of what boys could wear. I was something of a trans biracial Jonathan Van Ness. I was pushing the envelope, and I looked cute — ready to take on a warm, autumn day at my college campus.
Then, I went outside.
I walked over to the dining hall for breakfast. As I handed the middle-aged worker my university ID in order to be swiped into the building, she attempted some small talk. “How is your morning going, miss?” Miss. I knew, in that one moment, that I’d made a major mistake. I quickly replied that my morning had been nice, thanked her for swiping me in, and bid her a good day.
I collected my boxed scrambled eggs and made my way over to the plaza to join my friends in a social distanced meal together. As I approached them, one commented, “Wow…
