I saw a gorgeous transwoman standing in the cafeteria at work today. She was waiting for something at the seafood station, dressed in a summery, beige skirtsuit. I’m sure no one else noticed anything out of the ordinary — to the untrained eye, she probably passed flawlessly. But I have a lifetime’s worth of learning how to see. It’s the only way I can be sure I’m not alone. I’m not perfect at it, of course, but today I was certain.
It’s so tacky that in my mind’s eye, I’m always tempted in these situations to go up to a complete stranger and tell her she’s beautiful. I mean, not only when someone is gorgeous and easily passing, but in general, when I see anyone I recognize as MtF*. I’m sure it’s partly a reaction to being completely closeted and having no one to talk to in person about being trans. The other, more petty half, is envy, which automatically makes my motives suspect. What am I hoping will happen? That I’ll make a new friend, or even get a brief moment of rapport? It’s insane. Obvious, obvious desperation.
And, if she’s stunning, like today, my head is filled with: If only I could look like her. Pass like her. Oh, there we go. I wish I were…, she says, five more times. The tally for the day rises.
And hey, congratulations! I’ve objectified a woman based on her looks! I’m a horrible person.
…
Meanwhile, there’s danger afoot. I’ve caught myself presenting more effeminately at work, in posture and movement. My nails have gotten noticeably long again, and I find myself slipping back and forth between my normal voice and something slightly higher-pitched, slightly more flowery. I’m sure it’s a lot more subtle than my racing mind imagines, but this is work. It’s roughly the last place I want to be out at the moment.
But these things are tied together. I’ve said before that I see transgendered coworkers all the time, and I generally only stay within a two-building radius of my own office. It stands to reason then that if I’m looking for a community to belong to, that this is the likeliest place for me to discover one. But how to find it without gathering up the nerve to ask someone? And how do I even find out whom to ask?
So I plant my thread, like Ariadne, and hope someone follows it to me. It’s a dangerous, and imprecise. But it’s something.
(*Ugh, that reads badly. I’m not trying to imply that only MtFs are beautiful (I certainly don’t think so!), but that this urge mainly hits me with MtFs… which reinforces the idea that it’s at least partially a product of physical envy.)
earthbound 