Finn, East Lansing, MI, USA -- they/them

God… I’ve had to fight so hard for this identity. This queer identity. I’ve lost so much for it; family, friends, a home, my faith, partners (even queer ones that couldn’t accept my nonbinary identity), nearly everything. The funny thing is, I’ve never regretted it. I’ve never once regretted coming out as queer or as nonbinary. I’ve lived on opposite ends of life stability – I’ve slept on park benches and dug food out garbage cans. I’ve also received a prestigious fellowship to complete my PhD. The contrast of those things in my life is stark, but they are deeply connected. Without the family rejection, without the stigma and discrimination I experienced on the street, I wouldn’t have found my chosen family, my unconditionally loving family. I wouldn’t have pursued a career in research to try help queer people be able to live their best lives.

What kept going through all of that - what keeps me going now, is me. My identity. Through all the struggles, all the ups and downs, I refused to compromise me. I refused to claim I was something I wasn’t, and I proudly clung to my queer self. I told myself, they can try to take every single last damn thing from me, but they can never take away my queerness. I own that. It’s my superpower.

Andi, Indianapolis, IN -- they/them

The first time I shaved my head, I was a brand new freshman in college. My dorm was populated with the kind of girls who probably went on to join sororities. They were hyperfeminine and excited to use their new freedom to become sexy, pretty women.

I wonder what these girls thought as they helped me shave my head. It was probably transgressive, an adventure, and alien. It was fun to do to someone else, but why would any woman want to rid herself of the crown of her femininity?

Well, because, in my experience, a girl really has to be pretty; to be otherwise is against the rules.

Pretty has something to do with cheekbones and the golden ratio, sure, but facial plainness can be forgiven as long as a woman adorns herself with makeup and clothing designed to reveal as much as conceal. She also must be young, thin, and sexy. If she lacks any of these remaining criteria, it is required that she always be trying to become as young and thin and sexy as possible. Natural body shape, disability, lack of money or time: none of these are adequate excuses. As long as it is possible for her to be thinner, look younger, or have more sex appeal, a woman is required to keep trying.

I don't want to be pretty. And I'm just so tired of trying. Because, no matter my effort, I could never crack the code of femininity. I could see the parts but not apply them. For me, pretty is a losing game. Pretty happens to other people.

In claiming a trans identity, I've liberated myself from the social requirements of femininity. I can take up space in the world, speak my mind, and be unpretty. Not because I've found a cultural loophole where I can have approval while failing at feminine requirements, but because I have created a space for myself where I need that approval less.

Every time I shave my head, it feels as liberating as that first time. I'm erasing femininity, othering myself, declaring to the world that I am not playing their game.

But even in this space, it's hard to give up on pretty altogether. I still fight urges to be as thin as possible. As a transmasculine person not on hormones, it's even more difficult to avoid the siren call of thinness because less fat equals less curves. God, I'd love to have a slender slip of a body with sharpness instead of softness.

Where do gender dysphoria and body dysmorohia intersect? At what point am I apologising for my body instead of affirming my identity?

The night before I was to sit for the portrait that accompanies this piece, I hadn't yet decided what I would write about. I found myself stress eating late into the night, a feeling of dread steadily pooling in my stomach. The later it got, the clearer my dilemma became. The thought of exposing myself on purpose, with no hiding, was terrifying. Maybe if I made myself sick, I could avoid having my picture taken. Maybe I could escape without being seen.

But I showed up. I took my dark eye circles, my puffy face, and my insecurities, and I made myself sit so that you could see what it is like. To be unpretty. On purpose. And so I could remind myself that the consequences of abstaining from the pretty contract are complex and worthwhile. Every time I am unpretty and don't apologize for it, I gain selfhood.

It is always a risk to be seen. I can still pass as female, and it feels safer to do that sometimes. Now that there are places where it is safe to be seen, though, I am finding that my concept of self is flowing outward to fill the the space around me. And as I emerge, I'm allowing myself to revisit the idea of beauty as it relates to self. I've been outside of the pretty contract long enough to glimpse what is truly beautiful about me.

I have delicate wrists, but strong hands. I love how my ears stick out and the way the curve of my eyebrow and the shape of my hairline echo each other. I am even beginning to enjoy the contrast of my masculine posture and my feminine silhouette.

The best parts are in the set of my jaw, where you can see bravery, and the way my eyes crinkle to show that I am kind. The person I am is written all over my body. I am learning to reclaim all these messages that my body sends about who I was and who I am becoming. And more and more often, I'm revealing them when people like you allow me the space to be vulnerable, to be authentic, and to be seen.

Emma, Indianapolis, IN, USA -- she/her

Being transgender sucks. It’s like living in a surreal alternate reality at times where nothing really seems to make sense. I’m actually pretty lucky as far as being transgender goes.

When I came out at work everyone was supportive or neutral, and I got a similar reaction when I came out to my friends. With a bit of work--make-up, wig, the right kind of clothes--I was able to pass long before I began HRT. Since starting HRT, I’ve noticed changes far earlier than I anticipated seeing them.

These are all things that I’m extremely grateful for. What they don’t change, however, is that for years I struggled to form emotional connections with people because I felt like there was something I was holding back and keeping secret, but even I didn’t know what it was. It doesn’t change that whenever things were good and I thought I was happy, there was always a nagging feeling that something was missing. It doesn’t change that I was never happy with my appearance and I didn’t know why.

When I look in the mirror, I see my face and on it are the remaining bits of stubble trying to grow back despite several attempts to burn them away with a laser. I notice how big my nose is relative to the rest of my face. I look at my hair and know that it’s just and overgrown boy’s haircut. I feel my chin and somehow it’s become absolutely massive. I can see how broad my shoulders are. I can see what remains of the muscles I worked so hard to build up to prove how manly I was. I can see so many things that I’m terrified will indicate to people that I’m a man rather than a woman.

Except, most of the facial hair I once had is gone. My nose looks completely normal, and although still short, my hair is the longest it’s ever been in my life. There isn’t anything wrong with my chin and I’m not really all that muscular anymore. If anything, I look pretty androgynous. It’s all in my head. My gender dysphoria is distorting what I see.

Then there’s the rare time where I look in the mirror and I see me, I see Emma. In that moment, I don’t see any trace of my old self. For that brief moment, everything seems right. For once in my life I feel like I’m beautiful. It’s a rushing feeling of being giddy and elated and relieved all at once.

And in an instant, its gone. I can no longer see myself in the mirror. Reality comes crashing back down and I’m left with a longing to get that moment back, to be able to see myself every time when I look in the mirror.

Thankfully, as time has gone on, I’ve been able to get more and more glimpses of myself in the mirror. Being transgender sucks, but it doesn’t have to forever.

Bert, Indianapolis, IN, USA -- he/him

don;t CRY Boi

Forward NEVER STR8 

boi. Never! fill ur heart with

hate boi.

Relax boi,

And enjoy

Stoopid Fokboi

"The show."

TEA! Indianapolis, IN, USA -- she/her

Hi, I am 67 years old, I lived 50 years in the closet. I use she, her, hers, but when I came out only a very few considered "Binary or non-Binary" with "gender". I lived my life honestly with the caveat that I pretended to be 100% male for those 50 years so now I am gauging my honesty over a lifetime rather than absolutely living my gender ambiguity.

I have been a clown, a drag racer, mechanic, bicycle shop owner, a candidate for US House, a husband, a GM of a radio station, owned a bicycle shop for 44 years, volunteered for probably a dozen organizations, an activist against I69, the owner of a PAC, three Indiana governors in a row knew me by my first name and didn't like me. I have been a bicycle coach for a number of racers. Those were before I transitioned. Since then I have become a nationally known trans burlesque performer semi famous for my blacklight routines, a model, a designer and organizer for BloomingtonTrashion.org. I was a nationally elected Bernie Delegate to the State and National Conventions in 2016. I am currently an elected Delegate in 2018 and now a Precinct committee Chair for the Monroe County Democratic Party. I am a member of Bloomington Stonewall Democrats, an organization that will go public this spring. On Facebook, I am both this persona and my burlesque one, TEA! You will see that persona at facebook.com/tea.tease.