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.
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