I’m starting to question my gender identity. After six years of identifying as nonbinary, I think I might actually be male.
See, here’s how it is. If you’re trans (or fat, or disabled…), you’re expected to perform gender to a higher standard than someone who isn’t. Trans women get chastised by gender specialists for not wearing lipstick. And yet if they criticised a cis woman for the same thing, they’d likely be asked what fucking century they thought this was.
So, because I’m trans, I’m expected to strut around all day, every day with flat shoes and trousers and a great big bushy beard, as well as great big bushy everything else? I don’t bloody well think so.
I absolutely love shaving my legs in a hot shower, letting myself air dry and rubbing my shiny smooth legs together. It’s one of the greatest small pleasures on this earth. If I hadn’t been socially conditioned to adhere to feminine gender roles, I might never have discovered it. And yet discover it I have, and I wouldn’t trade that sensation for the soft-side-of-the-velcro thing most guys have going on. Nope.
What the hell does having scratchy fuzz on your legs have to do with being a man? I bloody love shaving on a Saturday morning so I can do my karate training with freshly smooth legs. It’s so satisfying.
I also love matching my nail polish to my suit or tie. Chest bound, tie tied, nails coordinated. Dapper is the word you’re looking for.
If I had been assigned male at birth, this would have been an eccentricity, or just attributed to my sexuality. As it is, it has been used to question my gender identity by people who were supposed to have cared about me.
I think perhaps I assumed, if my masculinity wasn’t traditional, I couldn’t be male.
I think I need to stop looking at myself as “a trans person” and just think of myself as “a person” for a bit. Perhaps I’m male, perhaps I’m NB, but I have to consider myself, and not my body. Its shape is irrelevant. I have to stop thinking of gender as something I perform- but rather something I am.