Conforming to Non-Conformity
Dear Baby Maybe,
I’m sitting in Bryant Park eating lunch. It’s November, and the Holiday shops are already all set up, so there are a lot of people bustling around and someone around every corner. It’s crowded, but not uncomfortably so. That is until I’m sitting eating my salad and feel someone standing a bit too close for comfort. The moment lingers until I look up to find what I’m assuming is a man trying to get a better look in one of the shops or maybe he’s just looking for a friend. Seemingly not even aware of the person sitting in the chair below, me. This isn’t the first time someone has invaded my personal space in public, but I realized in that moment a shift that has happened in my life.
When you first start to explore your gender, you’ll be far more non-conforming than I am today. Our presentation was louder, colors brighter, and overall we were much more noticeable. People were very aware of me in public, and I was always very aware of that. You’ll find that it comes with hidden perks, like usually having the last empty seat next to you on public transit. Although whether we can call it a perk or just a positive spin on bigotry is up for debate. I used to laugh at the ways that people interacted with, or avoided, me in public. But sitting in that park this November, it suddenly dawned on me that my experiences have changed over time.
(Photo by Jody Christopherson)
It was only five years ago that I really started to call myself and understand myself as a woman. (I had been calling myself and understanding myself as non-binary for about eight years at that point.) I was having those conversations with close friends in the beginning of 2020, and later that year I noticed a shift. I don’t want to give you too many world-wide spoilers, but in 2020 I spent a lot of time at home, away from other people. And it wasn’t until I didn’t have to go out and see people on a regular basis that I settled into my womanhood in a way that made sense for me. I realized that there were some stereotypically feminine traits of mine I had actually put off embracing because I didn’t think I could or I should. I had a lot of limiting thoughts about how I had to be, and what being non-binary meant and looked like. My early attempts at femininity in my wardrobe and expression were showy and loud. My nickname in college was literally Glitter. I used to wear a ton of it. (I rarely wear anything even shimmery these days.) I had jeans that were every color of the rainbow, and would always mix and match colors and patterns in my outfits. I always had an undercut, convincing myself that a full head of hair wasn’t right. I rarely wore dresses because they were too obvious an indicator of femininity. I wasn’t going for a traditional brand of femininity. I wanted something that was specifically gender non-conforming. I wanted to break norms and make my own rules. But those rules were really limiting my expression, and ironically tying it to my identity in a way that I don’t actually believe a person has to.
Then in 2020 I started to let go of those limitations. I started to embrace the full depth and scope of my femininity and figure out what works for me. Not dealing with the societal pressures every day helped me settle into an expression and life that felt far more authentic than the genderqueer limitations I had placed on myself. I realized that in a weird way, I had actually been conforming to non-conformity. I wasn’t letting myself experience my whole self, because I had a bias that my identity came with restrictions. And I want to be clear, I don’t actually believe that. I never project that onto other people, and I think that anyone with any identity can express themselves in whatever way feels best for them. But for some reason I wasn’t letting myself have the same luxury.
Then the shift started shifting.
When I finally dropped into my full self in that way, I started to be treated differently. As I started going back out in the world and being around other people, I realized that they started perceiving me and treating me as a woman. This had happened on rare occurrences before, but it started happening pretty consistently. And honestly, not much had changed besides my mindset. I hadn’t completely changed my wardrobe, I hadn’t even started HRT yet. I just started to embrace the parts of myself I had been suppressing for far too long.
It wasn’t until I noticed this shift, until I lived with it and got comfortable with it for a while, that I started to make those bigger decisions for my life. I did ultimately start HRT, beginning a medical transition about a decade into my social transition. I call this time in my life a sort of re-transition. It’s not exactly when I transitioned from non-binary to woman, but it is when I started to call myself a woman more than I was calling myself non-binary. Non-binary is still a part of my identity, but it’s no longer the most important or visible part. I realized over time that I would rather people know me as a woman and not understand that I’m non-binary than have people know me as non-binary and not realize I’m a woman. I contain multitudes. And I’m allowed to choose which -tudes get seen and acknowledged.
So in November, sitting in Bryant Park, I realized that I wasn’t being avoided like I used to. I didn’t elicit the same fear and disgust in people that I was once accustomed to. And it wasn’t just the guy leaning too close to me, that was just the first time I actually put it together. In general, since 2020, I have had a far smoother interaction with strangers and the public. And I don’t think it’s just that I’ve become accustomed to or don’t notice the way people repel anymore. I consider myself pretty observant, especially when I’m alone in public and on alert. No, I think having a bit more conforming of an expression has changed the way people treat and interact with me. It’s not even that they can’t tell I’m trans, I don’t believe most people assume me to be cis. That’s not something I’m after, either. I really think it’s just fitting into an identity and expression that makes a little more sense to them. Truly, take my aesthetic and slap it on any cisgender woman and I’m just your basic Starbucks loving Swiftie. (I’m neither of those things, but I’m aware of how I look.) I guess I never realized that I could be seen as trans and still be treated as a woman. I always thought the fact that I was trans would garner the responses I first got when my expression was far more non-conforming. I had heard plenty of other trans women describe that experience over the years, and I never understood that I could get to the other side without being cis assumed. But I think I did.
I’m not trying to hide my transness. I didn’t start presenting more traditionally feminine with the goal of having people treat me better, or blending in. I always knew that being cis assumed would not be on the table, and I really don’t want that. I love what I look like and I love that I’m trans. But I have a new appreciation for the women who do work toward that goal. Seeing the shift in how I’ve been treated, I can understand the allure of shifting it even further. There’s a safety that comes with it, there’s a lot of perks. But I don’t want to make those decisions on fear or expectations. I already learned to let go of the limitations and biases I had put on myself. I’m not about to turn around and accept them from other people.
Your future,
Mae
