Welcome to Trans Tuesday! Today we’re going to talk about something that I suspect is pretty personal and important for most trans people, in one way or another: HAIR.
I’ve mentioned so many times how I figured out I was trans a long time ago, but my transition was delayed for reasons I don’t talk about publicly. I started by exploring my transness and transitioning in “socially acceptable” ways that no one would really suspect were related to being trans.
So I took my time working through things, BODY HACKING to change my body into one that was closer to what I wanted (even if still light years away from the goal). But the other thing I did was start growing out my hair.
You have to understand what a huge thing this was for me, because… if you weren’t familiar with me pre-transition, I had about a 1/8″ buzz cut for all of my adult life. You can see it in the pre-transition photo of my transition timeline in all of my annual check-ins with where my transition is at. Here’s the six year version.
That buzzcut happened not long after I moved out on my own, and I’ll tell you what prompted it. As a kid, I never had much in the way of a hairstyle. When I was little I had bangs and my hair was pretty straight, though I had a few cowlicks that gave me fits.
But when I hit middle school my hair just started growing… up? And out? It was weirdly poofy for reasons I did not know. But hanging flat was not a thing it did anymore. I got made fun of for it a lot, among other things, like the failure to conform to what boys were “supposed to be,” and my nerdiness and my… “big lips”??? Kids can be so mean.
So on top of being miserable in my own body all the time, I had this extra external source of discomfort with my hair that people were calling out, which made me even more uncomfortable. When I moved out, I decided to just get it buzzed because it was “easier” and “low maintenance.”
Those things are certainly true, and on top of that for a very long time we were very financially insecure, so buying one pair of clippers and then just buzzing my head again every couple months saved money, so it felt like a win-win-win.
And she never thought about it again. For a very long time, anyway. Because I actually quite liked never having to think about it or worry about it, and reader if you’ve been paying attention, I bet you know why that is.
You can see me talk about something incredibly similar in the essay on HALLOWEEN (and the fear of embracing your true self), where costumes and makeup and wigs gave me complicated gender feelings that terrified me, so I avoided them at all costs.
I was afraid of what would happen if I grew my hair out. And, like, what would actually happen? Literally nothing, except how it would make me feel, and there you have it. The thought would have made me shrivel.
So it was easier to not examine that, to bury it super deep and pretend it didn’t exist. I just “didn’t have the time” to worry about a hairstyle, “didn’t care” about that shit, and why would anyone?
That also ties right into my pre-transition feelings on clothes and fashion, because all of these things are interconnected, and you can’t really separate one aspect from the others. So see the essays on HEAVILY GENDERED CLOTHES AND TRANS PEOPLE and FINDING OUR TRANS STYLE.
In order to actually grow my hair out, even while already knowing I was trans, I had to have a “reason.” I had to give myself permission somehow, because doing it just because I might be trans and to see how it made me feel was unacceptable for some reason.
Maybe because this level of self-examination is really difficult? And I was still a long way off from real transition and full self-acceptance? I don’t know. I try to be as kind to myself through all of this as I would be to anyone else, but it just took me so long that it really frustrates me.
This is yet another thing we have to do if we ever want to self-actualize, so see GIVING YOURSELF PERMISSION TO EXPLORE GENDER.
The “excuse” I concocted was that my grandfather was bald as a cue ball, and so what if that happened to me too? I’d never experienced what having long hair was like, so I’d best grow it out just in case, before I didn’t have the option!
Listen, lady. You were trying, but talk about some sad bullshit. But to all the people who knew me when it was growing out, and I was presenting as male, who asked about it getting longer… when I gave you that reason about my grandfather, I wasn’t lying!
I really (partially) believed it at the time. I had to, or I’d have never been able to make that leap. And even still, the fear was so strong… this was as far as I got:
That was it. I… liked it, but liking it made me so uncomfortable that I made up yet another excuse about how it wasn’t worth the extra time it took to shampoo and take care of. and then I buzzed it all back off again.
And
it
broke
my
heart.
That alone was so difficult to deal with. I’d done it to myself, sure, but the bigger issue was being so upset about it was a big indicator for me. And you might not think so, because of course men and nonbinary people can have long hair too.
And my hair wasn’t even that long! I mean look at that photo, it was still pretty damned short. But it was enough of an indicator to me of where things were going, and the truth I’d buried for so long, that it was hard to deal with.
It absolutely rocked my world, and the fallout from that took me a long time to get over. I don’t know how long it was before I decided to try growing it out again. It was a while. Might have even been a year or more.
But when I finally worked up the courage to give it another go, that’s basically when I knew transition was something I likely had to do. It shouldn’t take courage to do these things, but our transphobic society means that it absolutely does. See TRANS COURAGE for more.
That concrete confirmation would fully hit me when I got a makeover from a makeup artist and caught the first, tiniest glimpse of the real me in a mirror, which I’ve talked about in several essays. The most relevant to this discussion is COMING OUT AS TRANS, so see that for more.
I mean in hindsight I was sure, I think, but I needed that safety net of saying I didn’t need to be sure yet, because I couldn’t do anything permanent until that certain far-off date in 2020 anyway.
I remember one day I was at Costco standing in line for pizza (I am predictable, yes, Costco pizza turns up in a remarkable number of these essays, but listen I know what’s good). And then this woman behind me in line asked about my hair.
At this point it wasn’t even long, per se, maybe just an inch more than in that photo above. But much to my surprise it was coming in… wavy? What? Why? It’s a mystery. But the hair on the back of my head had this deep wave in it, and she loved it.
She wanted to know if I’d used some product to get that effect, or if it was natural. And uh… nope, it just came in like that? Even though it never used to? I have no explanation.
But the feeling her words gave me was something I’d never really experienced before. And that held true for all of growing it out… the first time it was long enough that I could feel it swaying on the back of my neck was just extraordinary.
The first tiny ponytail I could manage sent. me. to. the. moon. Every new milestone in length was this burst of joy in my heart.
All of that was some of my earliest encounters with GENDER EUPHORIA, one of the greatest things in the world… yes, it’s even better than Costco pizza.
Early in transition I was terrified to even trim it, because it meant so much to me. Which is weird, because it’ll grow back. But feelings aren’t always logical.
I love having it down, but for sleep and exercise I am she of the big floofy pineapple (you gotta protect the curls), and I love watching it bounce and flop and sway when I turn my head. Why? I dunno. It’s a super visible sign, to me, that I’m a girl? Maybe?
And it’s so long that when I’m doing push ups, even pulled up in that pineapple, it flips down over the top of my head and smacks me in the eyes. Which is super annoying and yet somehow also great at the same time. I gotta hold it down with a headband.
I never imagined myself with hair like this because as a kid it was straight. I had no frame of reference, but I’ve come to kind of love it. Because it’s mine.
And it wasn’t long before I started contemplating bangs, because I thought it miiiiiight be great? But also was worried it might be weird, with the curls. And unless this is your very first Trans Tuesday, you’ve probably seen my million and one selfies, and already know that I do, indeed, have curly bangs. Getting them was a terrifying, amazing experience we’ll talk about in the follow-up to this essay.
I know it’s hard, but try not to be too afraid of digging deep within yourself. Or, you know, recognize the fear for what it is and then sit with it, and dig deep anyway.
Because you might just love what you find inside.
Tilly Bridges, end transmission.
tillysbridges@gmail.com