When Can I Have My Femininity Back?
Tags: Transgender, Nonbinary, LGBTQ, Gender, Queer

Last Wednesday, for the first time since I came out as transmasculine, I wore a skirt. It was beautiful, flowing down to my ankles, pale blue with small brown buttons trailing down its front. I paired it with a tucked in, plain white tee and my Birkenstocks. I wore my fro out in its full Corbin-Bleu-meets-Daveed-Diggs glory.

I smiled when I met my reflection in the dorm room mirror. In my eyes, I was a femme boi transgressing the norms of what boys could wear. I was something of a trans biracial Jonathan Van Ness. I was pushing the envelope, and I looked cute — ready to take on a warm, autumn day at my college campus.

Then, I went outside.

I walked over to the dining hall for breakfast. As I handed the middle-aged worker my university ID in order to be swiped into the building, she attempted some small talk. “How is your morning going, miss?” Miss. I knew, in that one moment, that I’d made a major mistake. I quickly replied that my morning had been nice, thanked her for swiping me in, and bid her a good day.

I collected my boxed scrambled eggs and made my way over to the plaza to join my friends in a social distanced meal together. As I approached them, one commented, “Wow, it’s weird to see you in a skirt again.” I laughed politely and agreed. I chose to shake off my interaction in the dining hall and enjoyed a meal with my friends.

After breakfast, I was off to Spanish class. This was when I realized the hazardous effects of my mistake for the second time. Up until that point, I had chosen to present fairly androgynously or masculine. I had requested to be called by he/him pronouns in class, because there is no noncontroversial gender-neutral option in the Spanish language.

My skirt wrecked my carefully crafted masculinity in that class.

For group work, I was paired with two female-identifying students. When we ended our practice Spanish conversation, one of them said “Adiós, amigas.” Amiga. I silently hoped that my classmate had misspoken because I had made my gender preferences abundantly clear, but I didn’t hold my breath for an apology. I chose to shake it off and focus on practicing my conjugations.

I had virtual Ancient Philosophy that afternoon. I entered the Zoom code into my computer and hopped on the call. When I turned on my camera, my professor said, “Ah, there she is.” She. I did not bring this mistake up to him in the moment. I simply changed my online name to show “Oakley Phoenix (they/he).” I did email him after the fact.

I don’t know that I can blame the skirt for this because it certainly wasn’t in the computer frame when my professor made that remark, but the story is worth including regardless.

I learned a handful of valuable lessons that Wednesday.

I am not viewed as a feminine man by the general public (yet).

I am viewed as an androgynous woman. Until I cross the threshold where I pass as a man, wearing a feminine-coded article of clothing will send me flying back into the she/her category.

I am not the same person I was a year ago.

I almost exclusively wore A-line skirts when I first came to my university last August. They fit my frame well, and I had a few that were rather versatile and comfy. When I came out as transmasculine nonbinary in November, I stopped presenting femme. I wanted to be taken seriously as a trans person, and I knew certain aspects of my previous presentation needed to be disavowed in order to make that shift.

My university still has a ways to go before it becomes a fully gendervariant-inclusive campus.

We have made some significant progress in the last decade: encouraging students to introduce themselves with their pronouns, only addressing our prospective students by their preferred names when they come to visit, making it free for students to change the name on their university IDs, putting gender-neutral restrooms in every building, and the list goes on.

But, we still have a massive hurtle to climb: not assuming the pronouns and titles of others. I should not have been addressed as a “miss” in my dining hall, and I cannot fathom that I am the first trans, nonbinary, or gender non-conforming student this has happened to. I will be emailing the dining leadership to inform them of this oversight in their protocol.

I am in between selves.

I no longer identify with the girl who would proudly wear makeup and skirts a year ago — before I came out, and I am also not yet seen as the femme transmasc boi that I envision myself to be. That will take at least a few more months on T. Until I pass as male, it is not worth it for me to publicly go against the norms of a gender that I am not yet seen as. Until I’m no longer seen as a butch woman, wearing a skirt does not carry the meaning I intend it to.

I cannot have my femininity back until it stops cancelling my newfound masculinity out.

At the end of the day, it was worth testing the waters. I am glad that I tried wearing my skirt, even if it tampered with the identity that I have worked so hard to forge for myself. If I am going to climb back into any gender box (read: for my own safety and so that I can be gendered properly), it needs to at least be one of my own creation.

I am not wearing any more skirts until I can still pass as a man while wearing them, and that is my choice.

With love,

Oak

September 2020