by Jamie
When I came out as a trans-masculine person, I was terrified of being ugly. Now, after years of my transition, I can’t help but giggle. Out of all of the difficulties you might have when you come out — prejudice, health, resources — mine was going from being called a ‘pretty girl’ to those words most I found unsavoury. ‘Ugly boy’.
So, I made a terrible mistake and practically binned my entire wardrobe. Every dress, every t-shirt, everything I had loved so dear. Until I had only the bare bones of who I truly felt I was. Keeping anything that was big and baggy enough to hide myself.
If I couldn’t be a pretty girl, I would have to be a simple boy. Being at the very start of my self-discovery, my sense of gender was admittedly rigid. How flexible you could be with your presentation was not familiar to me yet. Despite how miserable it made me; I escaped my feelings of gender dysphoria with un-feminine clothing and accessories. It gave me a sense of security, because I could never fail as either gender (at least in my own eyes). Most importantly, I could still feel handsome.
One freezing day in Sixth Form my friend suggested we duck into a charity shop for warmth and have a browse. It was a tiny British Heart Foundation, barely bigger than a shoebox. As I sheltered from the cold, my eyes fixed on the most beautiful grey coat. With big shiny buttons and a trail that was almost on the floor. The ghost of my true self must have awoken and possessed me that day, because I bought it before you could say ‘sold’. I had already made up my mind: that coat was mine.
After that fateful encounter, I wore it everywhere. It’s actually quite embarrassing now, especially when I look back through my phone’s photo gallery and see myself in that infamous coat. Yet in spite of this, I won’t forget how I felt wearing it out. It encouraged me to continue finding items of clothing that made me feel that good.
Unfortunately, I was about 16 years old and money for a new wardrobe was limited.
When I first began this mission, I spent a few months wandering into big named brand stores and bought things similar to my beloved grey coat. Money quickly drained and I was left with more clothes than I knew what to do with. Even worse, clothes that I wasn’t that fond of. Not in the same way as when I entered the charity shops.
Eventually, I knew what I had to do. It felt obvious. I found myself back at that British Heart Foundation. What I love about charity shops is that everyone’s clothes are there. A grandmother’s once favourite blouse. The suit of a retired businessman. A preppy girl’s now abandoned emo era. All for the smallest price you could fathom. After already shopping there before, I knew what I liked. Lavish, classic, and subtle. Plenty of older folks had donated just that to the charity shop. Their years of maintaining fine garments, were now going to a little butch enby in need of an outfit.
Fortunately for me, the town I live in has a street of just charity shops. As you would at a shopping centre, I trundled down the lane and raided them. Filling up bags of clothes to reassemble my wardrobe to its former glory. It was from those affordable clothing outfits that I was able to diminish my ‘plain boy’ look for good.
It felt like I was ‘me’ again. I was a red coat, a fine pair of shoes, a leather belt. All for about less than thirty pounds. Ka-ching!
After a while, I realised that my first ideas on gender had a fault. That I could be as pretty as I felt as a girl, even if I am not one. I can be as handsome as a boy, too. Especially when charity shop clothes are so cheap. You can get 20 clothes for £20 and come out completely fabulous. It creates so much room for experimentation.
Moreover, it felt like doing something good. Every item I have purchased over the years has now contributed to something good in the world. Something that will bring about a positive change. From as wonderful as medical research to supporting people in need. To do something so good, and to look great whilst doing it, is a satisfying feeling.
I still have that grey coat. When I was 16 it drowned me — it was a coat meant for a grown man, not a teenager. Now, I am an adult. And with the added year and a half of medical transitioning, it fits me just right. As I said before: I knew that coat was mine. Perhaps it’s no wonder it has grown to suit me so perfectly. Though it is no longer my constant companion, I wear it lovingly and with pride.
It can be daunting when we first find who we are. We may believe that we are wrong and ugly, because of the blaring noises we hear in the media about our ‘wicked trans-ness’. Our bodies, which home and carry us, deserve the same love we give to our physical homes.
Might you go and find the style that makes you. Whether it’s hidden in a box, hung up for a quid, or tucked away in the back. There is plenty of time to experiment and learn as we find ourselves. These old clothes can give life to our new beginnings. They give a little helping hand to those indeed. Most importantly for us blossoming trans folk: they let us feel beautiful as we are.