(un)desirable
nothing screams fresh start like a new haircut. carrie bradshaw cut her enviably long curls off after her breakup with aidan. betty suarez left her fringe behind as she storms the streets of london in ugly betty’s series finale. and tyra banks loved to traumatise the antm girls at the start of each cycle with a dramatic makeover.
it was with this spirit that last week, keen to celebrate my relocation to melbourne, i walked into a spacious minimalist genderless salon to chop my hair off, become a redhead and fully welcome this new era of my life.
my hair had been an insane source of stress over the last year: rapidly, and visibly, thinning, growing at sluggish speed, overall sporting a look of depletion. whilst i was aching for long luscious locks, the strands on my head were reluctant to give into my fantasy, and so i decided to stop pushing for an unachievable standard and work with what i’ve got.
terrified i would feel like catie from cycle 2 when her hair was cut off, i instead walked out of the salon feeling somewhat boy-ish but most of all beautiful. i was also posted on the hairdresser’s instagram account, which is a particularly fab form of validation.
despite the overwhelming joy, this change also came with a wave of fear, specifically centred on my desirability. or potential lack-of.
it feels important to preface my discussion of desirability with an acknowledgement (that feels incredibly vain and boastful but also necessary) of my privilege - i’m slim, mixed race and able-bodied. it also feels important i don’t drown in (purposeless?) guilt at my privilege, and allow myself to honour, and dissect, the insecurities i do hold.
i was a borderline asexual teenager, so desirability only came in the picture with the realisation of my queerness in my early twenties. for pre-transition me, non-binary but achingly always read as male, feeling hot came easy as i indulged in dancefloor pashing at any chance i could. whereas transition me (badly) grieved the lack of club pashing a transfeminine identity came with, but welcomed a newly found attention from men with fetishes for chicks with dick. for post/re-transition me, with a somewhat remasculinising face & body, but also little titties, and now short hair, things feel less straightforward, and desirability is something i now find myself obsessing over.
despite the fact i have been shown before, by caring and beautiful lovers, that my gendered uncertainty, historically spiritual, now also bodily, is not an immediate turn-off, i also live in an extremely gendered society and in my self-deprecating head - both of which have often told me otherwise. i didn’t grow up with physical liminality being seen as an attractive trait so it’s hard for myself to see it as such.
a few months ago, my friend jenna posted the above story (it clearly made me stop and think for a second too since i have a screenshot of it on my phone).
in my two years and a bit of medically transitioning i primarily chased desire from men who wanted me to be as feminine as possible. it was an exhausting dynamic that i felt was driving me crazy. sometimes i actually question whether my decision of stopping hormones was motivated by how exhausting that dynamic was. time will tell. alas, if i am freed from that dynamic, what does my queerness look like then? even more generally, what do i look like when desire all together is removed from the equation?
i don’t know whether i can truly go on journeys of self-exploration without also thinking about attraction. i want people to think i’m hot. i want to flirt and make out. and there’s a part of me that sometimes can’t help but feel like, with my transition, i’ve willingly made myself more unattractive to most people. but, there’s also a part of me that recognises there’s nothing more attractive than the active pursuit of joy, which is what my transition was all about.
“you’ve always felt a bit restless towards your gender” my friend joel once told me after i lamented him with my uncertainty. “YEA!!!!!” i immediately responded before he could even close his mouth. it was a simple statement shared nonchalantly but also one of the most impactful things that’s ever been said to me.
people love throwing around the concept of “feeling seen” - something i’ve always had a visceral eye roll reaction to. to my annoyance, the only way i can describe that moment is exactly that. in that moment (and tbh in life in general) joel made (makes) me feel seen.
in that moment, my identity, which i’d delusionally convinced myself too complicated for anyone to ever understand, was actually completely understood, and implicitly appreciated, by joel. joel seeing me made me see me. joel seeing me brought me hope that i will keep on being seen. a 10/10 feeling, shoutout joel, i love you.
so, in my lowest moments, where i melodramatically question whether i will ever make out again in my entire life, i hold onto that feeling of being seen. and whilst “restless” or “uncertain” or “someone who simultaneously looks like a twink, a karen, a k-pop boyband member and an alt chick (aka how i see myself in the mirror currently)” are not popular answers that love island contestants will shout out when asked what their type is, i also know they are sexy identities.
i took this picture at sunnyside north beach. a nudist beach an hour drive away from melbourne where i went to with four gay men who all got naked within five minutes of us being there. surrounded by ball sacks, i felt shame i wasn’t able to even take my bra off. i felt like a bad queer, not liberated enough, a prude. i felt sad at my insecurities and discomfort. i felt like i was missing out.
and then i closed my eyes. and reminded myself to show grace to myself. and then had the best time ever.