Tangled Up In Trans-Denial
So anyway, back to my life story. After I listened to my aunt’s husband’s drunken old cousin, I decided to beg my parents to enroll me in a cosmetology school because I thought that’s just what people like me were meant to do. How wrong I was! I was the only male in my class, though no one knew that until the scratchy-voiced, teacher-lady, Miss Martini called my name aloud. My long hair and tight pants made me look like a female to everyone in the room but that just made me seem colorful to the rest of the girls. Honestly, I just wanted to learn a trade and have something to fall back on and had been more or less misled into thinking hairstyling should be that trade but as usual, I was sidetracked by insecurity and fell into the “I must be a character in order to be liked” mental trap, so after realizing I had no hair styling aptitude whatsoever, I basically just absorbed everyone else’s expectations of me as a class clown and became the resident entertainer of the group. I stuck around because it was a place to socialize and make other people laugh with my antics, but hair was not my passion at all. I should have known this as I’d never felt a desire to do anyone’s hair, except my one Barbie doll’s, but even that was just limited to brushing.
One day, one of the older girls from the class above us decided she was going to use me for one of her hair assignments. At that point, my dark hair was halfway-past my back and I loved everything about it. I loved the freedom of finally having long hair after all the years of being forced into wearing my hair short. I loved running my fingers through it and flicking it back like I don’t know, some sort of sexy horse. Either way, I, as usual did what others wanted, not what I wanted and I let her cut my hair off…and like Samson, I felt the power drain from me with each falling lock. To me, that hair represented a semblance of femininity in a body that was still largely male-oriented, to see it fall before me shattered the early beginnings of my true self and caused me to once again assume a persona that others were more comfortable with. I’d been wearing girl clothes…but stopped after my hair was cut because of some of the girls’ comments and “suggestions” about what looked good. Who the fuck cared about what looked good? I wanted to look right! Right for me! But that was something I lacked the strength to express until some time later.
Eventually, I ran into some problems with one of the older ladies who attended the school. She was extremely large, balding, had a thick Brooklyn accent and wore white spandex stirrup-pants. She had been my first friend at the school, but quickly turned very jealous when I became friendly with two sisters who were also in our class and decided to go out to lunch with them instead one day. Anyway, the whole thing quickly snowballed into a very messy ordeal and that, coupled with my utter ineptitude and lack of interest in doing hair, led to me becoming a beauty school dropout. It was also around this time I met my first boyfriend…though that’s a story for later.
Posted on May 23, 2011, in Ongoing Memoirs and tagged angst, bisexual, coming out, confused, gay, gender identity disorder, glbt, lesbian, lgbt, lgbtq, queer, questioning, self-help, teen, transgender, transgendered, transsexual, transsexualism, transsexuality. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.