A Trans Woman's Privilege

on privilege in transness and gender nonconformity

Wait… aren’t I supposed to feel like a victim?

Aren’t I supposed to be a mentally unstable person who also happens to be on the autism spectrum?

Well, actually, I might be one of those last things. But I’m not on the spectrum, as far as I know.

Certainly though… I don’t feel like a victim. Not at this point in my life. Nor at this point of my gender transition.

Yes, I still have to deal with your average dunce staring a hole in the side of my face like I’m not a human being and they’ve forgotten all of societies rules.

Don’t stare like an inbred yokel. I mean, come on. That one’s not hard.

I still have to deal with angry glares when I use the restroom. Mother’s Day is a fucking nightmare for me spending time in public with my daughter. The whole world seems triggered at trans women that day, especially trans mommas.

Still, by and large, I feel free. I feel lucky to have this opportunity to be myself after a lifetime actually spent in victimhood. And I feel privileged.

I’m white, I’m pretty, and my transness is binary.

This trinity of things bestow me with privilege that many trans people, and others, do not have.

So, let’s break them down.

My White Ass

Funny story—I thought I was Spanish my whole life, until last year when I discovered my grandmother had gotten a little busy on the side, and my grandpappy was not actually my grandpappy.

You go grandma!

Still, to my disappointment, that means I’m white as wonder bread.

But even if it had been true that I was a Spaniard. I’d still be white passing. Which is the same fucking thing.

My whole life I’ve been afforded the privilege of having white people stationed in positions of authority everywhere having a far greater chance of seeing themselves or a loved one in me. Giving me the benefit of the doubt they may not give a brown person, who they subconsciously ‘other’, and cannot help but be wearier of. Even when they don’t hold overt prejudices—which many do.

To fully grasp the impact of this unseen privilege is impossible. Effecting things holistically across my entire experience of living, for my whole life, means I genuinely cannot comprehend what it feels like to be someone without this privilege.

The closest I think I’ll ever get to glimpsing the everyday bullshit that black and brown folks face when moving amongst a white-default civilization, marred in subconscious prejudice, was when I was very early in transition.

It was the first time in my life I had even realized how important social validation was to me.

I had thought myself an island of contentment built by me and me alone. However, when the constant coddling of a society that saw me as one of the ‘good ones’ was ripped away. And I suddenly began experiencing life as one of the ‘others’, I saw how much the feedback of people in public was crucial to my self-confidence and general attitude.

This was my greatest struggle as I moved through early transition. Learning to cope with the funky vibes you get in public for being a visible trans person.

But something recently changed about the way people treat me.

It took me a while to figure out what it was. Even longer to believe it. And I’m still working on owning it.

But I guess...

I’m Pretty Now?

Is this what that feels like?

The awkward energy I receive upon walking into the room as a tall-ass trans woman started as a kind of repulsed and pained toleration. Now, it’s just dodging eyes everywhere. People staring when I look away—eyes darting when I turn around.

Men generally steer entirely clear of looking my way, especially when they’re with a significant other, definitely when they would have to make eye contact. I’ve just gone invisible to them, bona fide woman style.

Before they would project angrier vibes and stare more. Now, their leers are less violently intimidating and… more sad and gross.

Frankly, everybody is even more awkward with me now. And as this shift happened I was super confused about it. Because up until this point, things had just gotten progressively better as I exited early transition and began fitting better into the ideal of womanhood, presentation wise.

It took me going on a few dates with queer folks who confessed to me after lots of conversation, like I must know it already, and as if they didn’t want to seem superficial. ‘You’re so pretty.’

I’m like… excuse me?

But this is repeated a few times over with these cool queer people I’m meeting. And things start to make a little sense.

The awkwardness I’d been getting in public did have a flavor I wasn’t grasping.

Am I pretty now?

I mean, I still have trouble owning that. But it does make sense with the vibes I get these days.

People are intimidated by me. Because I’m a tall obvious trans woman, I have a deep voice, I don’t wear make-up, I’ve got a style that’s not princess-mode, and apparently I’m pretty. On top of that, I’ve gathered it reads as a natural beauty, and that is not what people expect from trans women. Media has taught them to expect drag queens.

I am trying to internalize being ‘pretty’ in a healthy way. I still haven’t. Lot’s to overcome for me there. And also because there are truly a select few who are able to vocally acknowledge it without terrifying levels of awkwardness.

Still, I don’t mean to not have empathy. I get it. This is all a little different. Beauty in a form people aren’t used to.

Sometimes I go too long between connecting with queer folks who are able to be straight with me, though. The vibe in public is so mistakeably similar to disgusted resentment, and there are still totally pockets of people that want me to be out of their presence and will make me feel that until I go. Along with the scary violent vibes from smelly dudes in trucks who need to hydrate—which are even worse now that I’m pretty. Like, how dare I make them feel uncomfortable sexy feelings!

Truthfully though. I’ve always felt so incredibly un-pretty. Having lived a life with body dysphoria. Always ashamed and not able to really look at or enjoy myself before. So, as you can imagine, I’m still an insecure person to my core.

Being pretty is not something I have been able to internalize at all. And I don’t have anyone around reminding me.

These experiences stack up when you go months and months being treated this way. Its hard to keep reminding yourself that its because you’re pretty and not feel crazy about that.

But I am. You’re all just tripping about it. I’m sorry. I won’t be gaslit by society.

Still, even with this whole pack of nonsense to deal with in my public life, and all the juicy trauma triggers that come along with it.

I feel incredibly privileged.

Because the people who don’t cower from me are the coolest people.

And they look at me like they never did before. Like a fellow cool person. So hey! I take my wins.

But also, there is a respect to the kind of avoidance that is paid to me now. That doesn’t come if you haven’t crossed some superficial boundary of ‘pretty privilege’, that my crooked nosed, squinty eyed ass feels entirely blessed to have edged beyond.

Yet, in regards to transness itself. I have one greatest privilege.

I’m a Binary Bitch

I grew up within and internalized deeply the modes of thought that split everything into two boxes. Men and Women. Masculine and Feminine.

It’s how I was taught to see people. That’s why when I was growing up, it was always, ‘I want that other one’.

So, that’s what I gave myself. Because that’s just the way I work. And it’s what my heart wants most.

Still, I respect non-binary people so much.

Literally—it’s the way of the future.

What a simple way to not boil people down and fit them into pre-built containers which prescribe their interests and capacities to them. Which, even when known untrue, still effect the natural outcome of how a person chooses to move through the world.

What an amazing grace we would bestow upon our children to decide as a collective to not choose for them.

To give them the time they need to know for themselves.

And to make it a reasonable choice that would be accepted in the world around them to not choose one of those boxes.

Yes, biological sex will always exist. I hate that people fighting over semantics make me have to say that. But we need to acknowledge the socially constructed elements of gender. And we need to fucking dismantle them. They are a burden and a curse upon our civilization and the authentic expression of our people.

Still, despite my obvious support for the burning of gender roles and creating space to exist for non-binary folks. Along with children having space to not be projected upon by these false ideals. I’m a girl. Because I still think in a binary way. And that makes me fit better in the workplace, at the grocery store, on the phone with customer service people, filling out my contact info on a sheet at the doctor’s office.

I switched sides, in a world built for two sides. That makes me quite privileged.

Non-binary people in my workplace—a company that has policies which try their best to support trans and nb folks—have more trouble being respected in their identity than I do. Because people still think in these two modes. Black and White. Girl and Boy.

Me too. I want to do better for non-binary folks. I have trouble not gendering people. It’s something I’m working on.

Oh yeah, one last thing.

Trans Men Are Magic

Transgender men too often go unseen in all things. Trans rhetoric is so often centered around trans women. I think we could pick apart why that is all day. And I know people more informed than me have, so I will leave that to them.

But when I see trans men. I see the most insane courage you could ever know.

It’s so beautiful that in the face of a world which has nearly no positive representations of healthy masculine ideals—where nearly every expression of who they might be is toxic and repulsive—they find the courage and strength of self to know who they are.

And how brave, to step out from within labels that have likely been a shelter and a safe haven in a world so twisted by cis men. To own that they are a man. And by god, they know how do to it better than these cis boys ever would. They choose to be who they are, when likely, the only positive community they’ve had has been women. Who’ve accepted them as a woman. And to make that step towards freedom anyway. Because they know what their heart is telling them.

That’s magic… they’re magic. I see them in all their amazing beauty and strength.

I will end with this; words that came through to me so clearly when I needed to hear them.

Any claim to freedom, no matter how distorted, is always divine.

---

---