For a long time in my transition, I felt the need to perform. To be hyper masculine (masc), and to subscribe to this rough and tough image society portrays of cisgender (cis) men.
I was told over and over by others that if I wanted to “be a man,” then I needed to act like one. It wasn’t until stepping fully into queer spaces a few years ago that I realized how wrong I was. Beginning to attend drag shows and LGBTQ+ centered events regularly made me realize that I could show up and be exactly who I am, even if that meant I no longer fit in those boxes I tried so hard to shove myself into. I could push the boundaries of our understanding of gender expression, sexuality, and who we “have to be” and be celebrated for it. It felt amazing to finally start to feel comfortable and secure in my identity.
Stepping out into queer spaces and being seen as a man for the first time was so liberating, but that came with its own challenges. Now I face a new battle: navigating the rampant transphobia ever-present in predominantly cis gay male spaces. I quickly came to realize that many cis gay men don’t see trans men as “real men.” We are something else entirely, often not even viewed as humans. To many cisgender people, we are like an anomaly; an alien, something to be gawked at and be curious about. I can’t count the number of times I’ve talked to a guy, and the first question he has is what's in my pants. Many people want to “try out” being with a trans person, as if we’re a sample given out at a store. They have no real attraction to us or acknowledgement that we are also a human being; we are simply a vessel for them to experiment with, to use as they please, and discard afterwards. Many gay men questioning their sexuality run straight to trans men. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been told I’m “the best of both worlds.” The unique facets of my identity and other things that make up who I am are thrown to the back burner, and I am reduced only to a label.
The fascination people have with me being trans is incredibly frustrating; I am so much more than just a trans man. I have interesting hobbies and an amazing career. I’m a passionate student and pride myself on being involved both on campus and in my community. I’m a partner, brother, son, uncle, grandson, and so much more than what is between my legs. Yet, whenever meeting someone new, they often don’t see all of that and choose to see my transness first. My transness is not something I’m ashamed of, but I wish it wasn’t often the forefront of any discussion about me.
Trans people are not the only ones to be affected by this. I spoke with Billy Campbell, a Mental Health Counseling graduate student at Nova Southeastern University, who identifies as a cisgender gay man, to hear his thoughts. He talks about how there’s a stark difference between gay and queer spaces. Binary gay spaces tend to be so much more exclusive, something I also experienced early on as I got deeper into the community. “It is clear that those who identify as cis may never understand the trans experience; thus, the erasure of the trans community can be subtle but evident,” said Campbell. Going to traditional gay bars, which are predominantly occupied by cisgender gay men, I get way more stares and inappropriate questions than I ever do in general queer spaces. I often don’t feel comfortable outwardly expressing my transness, and fear for what would happen if I do disclose. Many traditional cis gay spaces are not known for being trans friendly, and trans men are often unwelcome.
We preach body positivity, that “all bodies are beautiful,” but the same doesn’t apply to trans men. My body is alienated, “wrong,” and I’ve spent my entire life hating it because others did as well. It’s taken me decades to finally feel semi-comfortable in the skin I’m in, but with every rejection in a gay male space, disgusting comments about my genitalia, and lack of trans masc representation in even openly queer media, I lose what little shreds of confidence I had. Cis men don’t have to worry about the lack of bathroom stalls or whether or not they’ll be allowed into a party or club. They don’t have to fear having their ID checked or holding their breath every time someone on the dance floor grabs them. I hear it over and over in these spaces, and Billy mentions how he also hears it in conversations he’s had. “Through various discussions with other cis gay males, it is clear that transphobia is alive and well even in these spaces. It’s unfortunate that, although we are in the same community, trans individuals still experience discrimination from cis gay males.”
The call also comes from inside the house. The erasure of trans men and trans masc people in our own community runs deep. We often hear the discourse of “protecting the dolls” (which is vital and so important), but never do we hear one mention of trans men. Trans men with uteruses are excluded from conversations about reproductive rights, ignored when talking about men’s mental health, and often glossed over entirely. The intersection of trans masc people and those of butch or sapphic identities is deeply entangled in our history, but many trans men are shamed from entering those spaces and vilified for doing so. The heteronormative patriarchy that is our world, intersectionality, and the boxes society is forcing us into, are things I could write entire novels on. For now, I will share some words of encouragement. To my trans men and trans masc people: you are beautiful and amazing exactly as you are, and your identity is valid no matter where you are in your journey. You deserve to take up space, in our community as well as in straight and cisgender places. I see you, and I hear you, and you belong in this crazy world just as much as anyone else does.
Sign up to receive the OutFAU newsletter here
