A shrinking violet I am not. As a black transgender woman, I believe I’ve fought for my voice and, frankly, my looks. Right now, we’re in the midst of what I affectionately refer to as a Transgender Renaissance.
Put simply—and there's no other way to say it—transgender people are having a moment. We have existed for generations, but only now are we being widely represented in politics, film, pop culture, and IRL. Your neighbors and coworkers are proudly coming out as transgender, and deserve to pull up a seat at the table.
I live in New York City, and in Brooklyn and Manhattan, trans girls are going on dates, hanging out in cliques, and dining at all the buzzy restaurants. When I have conversations with other dolls, some have expressed wanting to blend in or appear “stealth”—aka passing for cisgender. While I support a woman’s right to live her life the way she sees fit, I choose to live mine loudly and vivaciously.
With the far right looking to and , there is no time like the present to simply, yet beautifully, exist. I’m social and love a good party, but I also cut a fine figure and enjoy the simple pleasure of feeling the sun on my skin. I love cleavage and naked dressing, as well as a ball gown skirt worn with a vintage T-shirt and sky-high stilettos; or a raincoat in an eye-catching color.
The resurgence of seems nigh, and we’re all inundated with on social media. That’s all well and good, but I don’t want to blend in with the crowd; I want to dre.
