Let me tell you about the last time I experienced real gender euphoria:
I was waiting in line at an op shop holding a striped button-down. I had meant to buy it last week, but I forgot and left it. Now it's blazing hot, and I hate the outfit I'm wearing. I've got 15 minutes before I need to catch my train, so it still being there feels like kismet.
Often when I hate my outfit it's not because it's bad. It's just not... Right. Sometimes it's a physical comfort thing - like when I've worn a good outfit but the tights keep slipping down because I haven't worn tights in a while. Sometimes it's a body thing - like, I chose a good outfit, but I'm mourning the outfit that no longer fits, the one I might have chosen in the past, and fatphobia and nostalgia make it hard to accept my current body. Sometimes it is just my brain and my anxiety. And sometimes, I've realised, it's probably a gender thing: I've gone for an outfit that looks good, that I would love on anyone else, that I would have loved in the past... But I don't know if it’s me anymore.1
That day, I'm not sure what it was about my outfit. But I knew I ha.ted it.
"Can I help you sir?"
I stared at the lady at the register, confused. I don't feel particularly masculine. I have a purse and a lip tint on. She can't be talking to me.
"Oh sorry! Ma'am!"
Oh. She WAS talking to me.
And now I feel great.
She's clearly flustered by her 'mistake,' but I feel better than I have in a while. When I change into the shirt I don't know if the outfit is better2, or if I just feel better about myself. It takes me 30 minutes of ruminating before I realise this is gender euphoria.
Too often, I settle for the absence of dysphoria - and not even the complete absence sometimes. Like, it does feel bad to be called a girl or a woman and to have she/her pronouns used, but not enough for me to speak up every time. If I was born different, I assume I'd feel the same way about being called a boy/man - what feels good is the confusion, the androgyny. I don't want to transition to a binary gender, but I sometimes wish I wanted to. I wish I felt the same euphoric rush when I’ve dressed in drag or wore a binder. Maybe then I'd have a better idea of what feels good. It’s much easier to identify what feels bad.
It's worse around this time of year, as the dress-up occasions begin. I love my sense of style, but dressing up for special occasions always feels fraught with a expectation. Should I put on makeup? Should I buy a suit? Should I wear a dress, skirt, heels? I'm not skinny enough to pull this off. I'm not busty enough to pull this off. I'm not flat enough to pull this off. I'm not toned enough to pull this off. I should have just stayed home.
Trying to simply mitigate dysphoria isn’t working for me. The world is too cruel, and my dysphoria has a way of worming through all my insecurities, gender or otherwise, to be able to effectively silence. Even just typing it out is enough to give it power. I gave it a voice, so even in the most positive of contexts, it has to make itself heard.
But I didn’t write this to rehash all my debilitating anxieties. I wrote this because I wanted a record of my euphoria.
I spend a lot of time wondering if I’m really trans enough. I’m not medically transitioning. I’m not transitioning across the gender spectrum in a way that’s obvious to cisgender people. I’m socially transitioning, but not in a way that guarantees I’ll always be gendered appropriately when I meet strangers - and I guess I don’t always want strangers to ask me my pronouns. Sometimes I want them to be flustered and confused. Sometimes it feels like dysphoria is the only proof I have - but do I really want to define myself through pain? I would never want that for my trans siblings. Why do I allow myself to do that?
My transness is in more than my dysphoria. It’s in my gender euphoria as well - no matter how fleeting those moments are. I’m sick of just trying to avoid discomfort and pain - I want to be brave. I want to embrace my joy. I’m just trying to figure out how.
Thanks for reading! Have a treat:
We Made Them Look Like Us by Takuma Okada is a wonderful solo LARP3 game about rituals of gender euphoria. I highly recommend for all my trans and gender-diverse friends.
And for a more seasonal treat:
The worst part is this was all one outfit! Getting dressed with me is exhausting.
It did, but I didn’t take a photo of it, so I have no proof. Next time.
If you’ve never played a solo LARP and are generally suspicious of games, maybe think of it as a framework for a creative journaling prompt.