The other day, during a conversation with a trans-woman friend, I realized that, even though we were speaking english, we sounded like we were conversing in a foreign tongue. It dawned on me for the first time that there is a complete and unique nomenclature to gender expression that people on the outside of the phenomenon probably find as in comprehensible as that African clicking language does to me. Take gender-specific labels and references, for starters.
Within the trans community, you are what you say we are. If you identify as female, the original, or even current, zoning of the real estate between your legs is immaterial. Nor does it matter if you don’t live permanently in your gender identity. In the trans-world, your word is your gender, end of story. It’s totally normal for a middle aged man in a business suit to be referred to as, “she,” and, “her,” among our community because that is her authentic gender identity, regardless of her gender expression at any given moment. And it was commonplace to hear phrases like, “her wife,” or, “his husband,” in reference to the genetic female or genetic male spouse of a trans-woman or trans-man years before same sex marriage became legal in this country.
Drag queens and female impersonators, like many artists and artisans, also have a distinct vocabulary. For example, when they put on their makeup to perform on stage, it’s called getting in, “face.” (As in, “I was driving home from a show the other night in full face and remembered I was all out of cat food and eggs. So I ran into Walmart and picked out what I needed and went to the cashier. I swear to God that woman was twice my age and she was wearing more makeup than I was!”)
Conversely, most in the transgender community who don’t do theatrical drag would never use a term like that. They refer to the act of assuming the outward accoutrements of their intended gender simply as, “dressing,” or being, “dressed.” To wit, “I was meeting some friends for dinner last night, but I was going dressed, so I left work two hours early and had to dress like a bat out of hell, but I made the reservation.” (FYI, for many non full-time trans-women, swapping out genders in just two hours would be setting a land speed record. Adding curves where they don’t exist normally and replacing visible masculinity with convincing femininity can be a very involved, almost alchemical process.)
“In drab,” is the opposite of, “dressing.” That’s the term for assuming the attire of the physical gender one is given at birth – generally when we would prefer not to. (And you can trust me on this. Even if we don’t say anything, we seldom want to wear the mantle of our birth gender.) Some trans-women who haven’t transitioned to living permanently in their gender identity even call it, “sending their evil twin.” As in, “My wife and I got tickets for a play, but her sister’s going with us, and she doesn’t know Gina (or Ashley or Coleen), so my evil twin’s going in my place.”
Most transgender women, particularly heterosexual trans-women, start out dressing in secret. They hide their activities from parents and siblings, friends and, later, girlfriends, spouses and children. Consequently, as with lesbian, gay and bisexual individuals at the outset of their journeys, trans-women commonly begin, “in the closet.” Very often, that soon ceases to quench the need to express their gender truth, so the trans-person musters the courage and finds opportunities to get “out” into the world presenting as their true gender.
(“Getting out,” and “being outed,” are two very different things. Getting out is a momentous event in a trans-person’s life. Being outed means being exposed involuntarily as transgender. It is an act of malevolence that can sunder the soul of the victim. Irrespective of how much or little material damage it does to the trans-person’s life, there are few things as wrenching as suddenly realizing that there is someone who is so evil, so consumed with hatred for you that they would deliberately attempt to destroy your world.)
For me, getting out took a weekend trip to New York for an amateur cooking class, a bottle of chardonnay, a denim miniskirt, a red peasant top and kitten heel black sandals. I argued with myself for three hours in my hotel room while I got dressed. And then, suddenly, before I realized what I was doing, I was standing on Sixth Avenue in my auburn wig, my makeup done as well as my limited skills could manage, feeling a pronounced draft up my skirt and waiting for a horde of angry villagers to start chasing me with torches and pitchforks. I had been dressing in private in my home for years, and I was certain to the pit of my soul that, the moment I ventured into the world, everyone save the recently dead would see that I was a man in women’s clothing and would besiege me for besmirching my birth gender.
Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice me or, for that matter, care about my gender complexity if they did. One elderly black gentleman eventually asked me, “are you lost, Miss?” I wanted to offer to bear his children for the, “Miss,” but I resisted and merely shook my head. I walked around Times Square for a couple of hours, window shopping and venturing into a few stores that first night. I even got Starbucks and nearly cried when the barista asked for my name. For the very first time ever I said, “Gina,” out loud, to another person! It was one of the greatest moments of my life. The woman inside me was in the outside world. She was real!
“Passing,” is the first Holy Grail for a trans-person. It means to pass visually as a member of your intended gender. When you start interacting with the world as the woman (or man) you’re supposed to be, nothing is more fulfilling than to be accepted as the person you are inside. One of the first truths many of us learn, however, is that we don’t pass perfectly, and probably never will. For a trans-woman, whether because of our physicality, our bearing, or our voice, people will generally always know we are smuggling Y chromosomes under our dress. The more important second truth we discover is that passing is nothing more than a chimera. Whether it happens or not is ultimately meaningless. What matters is being accepted as our authentic self (first by ourselves, and then by the people who are important to us and, finally, by the world), is the only key to successfully transitioning.
Hopefully, if you have occasion to overhear, or participate, in a conversation with a transgender person, this will help you better understand what they’re talking about.