Prepare for a Seesaw Ride When Escaping the Trans Double Life
The ups and downs of unmasking after a decade spent feigning manhood
“What can I get you, sir?”
The cashier’s final word sent my gut heaving. A sucker punch, considering I was used to blotting out the “sirs.” I hadn’t planned for my normal defenses to go AWOL; they should have filed notice.
Nails painted an iridescent blue, bag over my shoulder, and hat and sunglasses obscuring my face — all I wanted was a burrito bowl. Instead, he served up a side of dysphoria, his words without malice.
I get it: non-masculine appearance aside, my body nonetheless implores snap judgement. I rarely see a woman in the mirror either, though I catch rare sightings. For now, at least, I aim for androgyny, hopeful that some will at least look at me and decide not-man.
There’s also no controlling what people choose to call me: if I don’t feel I’m encountering transphobia, I opt to ignore the small things. A wound I cauterized for the sake of my sanity.
“Sir” is just a word, and who has the time to get mucked down over a single syllable? Isn’t it simpler to let the world think me a man and focus on living my truth?
