“Can I be trans if I haven’t always known I’m trans?”
That was the question I googled in June 2017 (during Pride Month, no less) after getting home from what would turn out to be the most monumental haircut of my life. I had asked hairdressers for short haircuts before, and they usually gave me feminine pixie cuts that were cute but not exactly what I wanted. I don’t know what it was about that particular day — maybe I had a hairdresser who listened better, or maybe I was just feeling more confident in my own skin — but when I got home and looked in the mirror, I knew. There wasn’t a woman staring back at me, but a man.
After that haircut — and that fateful Google Search — a lot of things suddenly made sense to me: Why I was equally enthusiastic about mud pies and the color pink in preschool. Why I didn’t want any of the fake makeup, costume jewelry, and dress-up clothes people gave me on my sixth birthday. Why I spent years rejecting anything feminine, embracing the “tomboy” label, wishing at times I would get breast cancer so I could have a flat chest again, then taking back that wish, then wanting to be a Boy Scout, before ultimately just wanting to be a boy.
I had encountered trans men online but never once thought I could be one of them. Because I liked men. Because I hadn’t always known I was trans. Because surely every woman, if given the chance, would choose to be a man instead. I said, “because, because, because...” until I couldn’t “because” my way out of it any longer.
And so at age 24, within weeks of that post-haircut Google search, I came out as a trans man. I started taking testosterone shortly thereafter, had top surgery in 2018, and now the person I see in the mirror makes sense to me. But I had so many questions along the way. Perhaps you found this article through a Google search of your own and have questions, too. If so, I’d like to help you answer them.
Absolutely.
I’ve long taken issue with the narrative of a trans person being “born in the wrong body” who has known that their birth-assigned gender wasn’t right for them since early childhood. While this is certainly the experience of some trans people, we are far too varied to fit into such a narrow and confining box. Trans people have used this popular narrative as a way to make us seem more sympathetic or understandable in the eyes of cisgender people. But it has had a blowback effect on our community, convincing too many of us that we can’t possibly be trans if we don’t fit the “wrong body” narrative to a T (pun intended). It is my experience as well that if you are curious enough to be asking questions about your gender (or wishing that you were a trans man or transmasculine), then you might fall somewhere under the trans umbrella already. Rest assured, it’s never too late to discover that you’re trans or to do something about it.
That’s okay! There are many ways to be transgender, and your transition — or lack thereof — doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s.
Rather than trying to preemptively define which actions or choices make a person trans, try to think of each step you might want to take individually. I like to compare transition to a buffet, where you can put what you like on your plate and leave the rest. Ask yourself this question about each decision available to you: Do I think I will be happier if…? Do I think I will be happier if I change my name? Do I think I will be happier if I take testosterone? Do I think I’ll be happier with different pronouns?
You might have firm answers to some of these questions already, or you might discover them over time. When I first figured out I was trans, for example, I knew that having a flat chest would make me happier, as would many of the effects of testosterone, including a lower voice, but I wasn’t sure about using he/him pronouns. Today, I use those pronouns, but I wasn’t sure about them right away, and that’s okay. I’m still not sure if I want to have a hysterectomy, and that’s fine, too. Do what feels right for you, in your own way, and on your own time.
The American Psychiatric Association defines gender dysphoria as “psychological distress that results from an incongruence between one’s sex assigned at birth and one’s gender identity.” While many transgender people do experience this at one point or another, it is not — nor do I believe it should be — a requirement for being trans. Suffering should not be a prerequisite for trans identity, which is why some trans people focus on their experiences of “gender euphoria” instead.
According to the trans writer Adrian Silbernagel, gender euphoria is a “feeling of satisfaction, joy, or intoxication, with the congruence, or rightness, between one’s internal and external reality (sex and gender, internal experience and outside expression, etc.).”
“Gender euphoria” describes the moments when you realize for the first (then the second, third, and ultimately 100th) time what it’s like to feel at home in your body. For me, it described the feeling of trying on a properly-fitting binder for the first time, the sensation of listening to my deepening voice in the videos I recorded, the pleasure of running my hands across my top surgery scars, and the joy of seeing my newly filled-in beard.
To be clear, I still experienced some gender dysphoria. In fact, it was the realization that I was trans, and there were options available to me to address that realization, that temporarily heightened the worst of my dysphoric feelings. These days, my gender isn’t often the first thing I think about. Those middle ground sort of days, when your gender isn’t good or bad but just is, are also kind of a blessing once you come out. But ultimately, it is gender euphoria that has most defined my trans experience, and it’s that same joy I wish for other trans folks, too.
I’d like to answer this question by telling you about my American Girl doll collection.
Even though I didn’t want any of the stereotypically feminine gifts people gave me when I was a child, I lusted over American Girl dolls, especially Kit Kittredge, a 1930s girl with a bob, an overalls set, and a typewriter. I never told anyone about this for fear of feeding into my family’s expectations that I would one day stop being a “tomboy” and embrace being a girl.
Kit Kittredge finally came into my life my senior year of college — an impulse purchase after realizing she was still produced. She was perfect, but I was anxious about people’s reactions when they found out I had bought her, not because she was marketed to children, but because she was a doll, which society still sees as a “girl’s toy.” Even at the age of 22, I was worried what a doll might signal about my gender.
Fast forward to today, nearly four years after coming out as a trans man, and I own eight American Girl dolls, all of them proudly displayed behind the couch in my bedroom. I’m confident in my identity as a guy and no longer worry about what others think. If anything, living as a man has allowed me to embrace not just my masculinity, but my femininity, for the very first time. So don’t worry about the things you enjoy or once enjoyed, and whether society thinks they’re masculine, feminine, or whatever. Things don’t define your identity. Only you can do that.
Apart from a few ill-fated fashion decisions during middle school (like wearing track pants every day), I spent much of my adolescence and early adulthood dressing in an average “feminine” way. I wore fitted jeans, dresses, and those layered tank tops/low-cut shirts that were all the rage in the mid-2000s.
Some trans men do wear men’s clothing before transition. But although I admired the clothing in the men’s sections of department stores — and while I firmly believed that anyone could wear whatever they want — I never bought anything. For me, wearing those clothes in the body I had at that time felt like it would be a reminder of what I wasn’t: a man. And as someone who is primarily attracted to men, I thought wearing their clothes would scare them away.
We live in a society that dictates gender norms before we’re even born. Parents-to-be cause all sorts of mayhem at gender reveal parties. Stores sell baby clothing with sexist messages that focus on girls’ looks and on boys’ strength. It’s no wonder that clothing can be a source of stress for trans people. But the clothes you’ve worn in the past and the clothes you’ll wear in the future do not dictate your gender, nor do they determine your “transness.” So if you’re comfortable in jeans and a hoodie, or if you want to rock some nail polish, remember this: Clothes don’t make the transmasculine person. You do.
For all my assurance that there is no wrong way to be trans, the reality is that most of us who transition have an ideal image in mind when we start. The good news is this: most of the physical changes desired by many trans men and transmasculine folks are achievable with hormones or surgery (not to mention a good barber, some properly-fitting clothes, and a little confidence).
Testosterone is a powerful drug, and it can cause tremendous bodily changes within the first year of use. Voice deepening, fat redistribution, muscle growth, cessation of menstruation, and clitoral enlargement can all begin to occur within the first few weeks to a year after beginning hormones. Within a few years (and contingent on your genetic makeup), facial hair can begin to grow and fill out. For those desiring a flat chest, there are more binder options than ever. More states and insurance plans in the United States are required to cover trans-related healthcare, including surgeries. There are multiple options for bottom surgery (including phalloplasty and metoidioplasty), and a wide variety of packers available for sale.
Additionally, scientists studying the effects of gender-affirming hormone therapy have found that they can bring about overwhelmingly positive mental health benefits, including decreases in anxiety and depression and improved quality of life and self esteem. In short, if you’re trans and want to transition, don’t let fear of results hold you back. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up looking exactly how you want — I’m still 5’3” after all, though I’ve been told I have “big height energy” — but there are so many options available that can help you like how you look.
Most definitely. I myself am a queer trans man who is primarily attracted to men. Trans people, like cisgender people, can fall anywhere on the spectrum of sexual and romantic orientations. In my experience, I’ve found the trans community to be less heterosexual than the population as a whole — and surveys reinforce that anecdotal finding.
Sexual and romantic orientation aren’t necessarily set in stone either. Multiple studies have shown that significant numbers of trans people have seen some shift in their sexual or romantic orientation after starting transition. While hormones may play some role in this, it’s likely that there are other causes as well.
Before transition, for example, some trans men may ask themselves, “Am I attracted to this guy, or do I just want to be him?” — and vice versa for trans women who date women before transition. After starting transition, you might realize you actually wanted to be your crush, and your attraction may expand to encompass other genders.
Coming out as transmasculine can also help change some of the anxiety-inducing ways we are perceived within relationships. I always felt incredibly uncomfortable dating men pre-transition, because I didn’t like being viewed as a woman in that context. Then I realized I don’t like being viewed as a woman in any context, because I am, in fact, a man.
So whether you like men, women, folks of other genders, no one at all, or some other combination altogether, remember it’s your gender that determines your trans identity, not your feelings about other people. And because there are about as many genders as there are people, you should feel free to make that identity your own.
What if I have regrets about transitioning?
I have good news and bad news. The good news is that large-scale surveys have found that very few trans people detransition and most only do so temporarily. The bad news is that most of those who do detransition often do so in response to external pressures, like harassment and discrimination, difficulty finding a job, or familial pressure.
I won’t lie to you. It can be a difficult world for trans people, and one needn’t look far to find disheartening news on that front. But coming out and transitioning can be a light in that darkness.
If my experiences have taught me anything, it’s that we have the power to change ourselves, and that it’s never too late to choose happiness. You will find good and caring people who can help you through tough times. No matter what anyone says, our trans identities and our trans bodies are beautiful. Our lives are worth living. And your happiness is worth choosing.
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