The insane transphobic harassment, or “transvestigation” of Olympic boxer Imane Khelif—a woman who is not trans—brings things up for me, and I can only assume, for a lot of trans people.

For most of my life, I’ve felt daily anxiety around my gender. When I allowed myself to fantasize about the possibility of transitioning in the future, I only experienced more anxiety, sure that I’d never be able to “pass” as female.

I’ll spoil the end of the story by telling you that “passing” isn’t even a thing I consider anymore. I don’t worry about it, I don’t care about it, and I don’t even aspire to do it.

“Passing” has always been about traditional outward forms of femininity (or masculinity for trans men). If someone walks by a trans woman on the street and sees them as a woman, they “pass.” That’s great for them, and I’m sure it does a lot for their self-esteem. The good lord baby Jesus knows most trans women can use every boost of self-esteem they can get.

But—and I’m sure I’ve talked about this before, but play along with me here because there’s joy in repetition—the more I come into focus through the wonders of pharmacology and personal change and acceptance, the less I believe I would have ever fit into a traditionally feminine role or stereotype.

Had I been allowed to grow up female, I believe I would have still been a punk and a Rasta and a general ne’er-do-well, I would have still been a queer woman, and I would have still gravitated to the alternative, whatever it was, and wherever I was.

So, the odds are I would have never walked down the street looking too traditionally or stereotypically female (which I see I kind of touched on in this post). I would have walked down the street looking like a rock star. Because that’s what I am, regardless of which gender lens you see me through.

A side note, if I may: I work in the business world, where people have a habit of calling other people who are good at what they do “rock stars.” That always amuses me since they don’t have any inkling of what it takes to really earn that title.

Anyone who dedicated their life to music, who put in the work for countless hours, months, years, who toured on a zero-budget, climbed onto filthy stages far and wide to play for people (whether they wanted to hear you or not), is a rock star.

Being really good at spreadsheets or project management doesn’t make you a rock star, honey. So take off that kutte, or I’ll take it off for you.

Ha ha. So menacing! I’m not taking anything off of you, don’t worry. I don’t have enough upper body strength to make anyone do anything anymore. But at least that’s out of the way. Just a point I’ve always wanted to make.

Anyway, I said I don’t aspire to “pass,” but if that’s true, why am I suffering through electrolysis? Well, the hair removal is for me. That’s dysphoria stuff, which is just the work I have to do to make the me in the mirror fit better with the me in my psyche. Beards are so 20th century anyway. Who are you, J.D. Vance? (Here’s me hoping someone reads this in ten years and says, “Who?”)

Everything I do that’s related to gender I do for me. Like every other trans person on earth. We certainly aren’t doing it for the world at large because we could never do enough for the world at large. We will always fall short in the eyes of the world at large.

And maybe that’s part of what’s brought me to my current attitude of radical acceptance. The fact that I’m good enough for me and I’m all that matters. Because I’m a rock star! 😻

WRITTEN BY A HUMAN