Step by Step Feminisation, or How I Accidentally Invented Transness

All my life, people have told me I’m stuck in my own head, and lately I’m starting to understand what they mean. Of course, I’m an introvert; I’ve taken enough online quizzes and had enough long moments of introspection, wondering what the hell could be wrong with me, to have figured that one out by myself. Of course, I overthink; see the previous explanation. Of course I have doubts about who I want to be, who I want to be with, what I want my future to look like, what I want people to see me as. Of course I’ve asked myself grand questions such as What is the meaning of life? What’s my purpose in this universe? Who the fuck is stupid enough to name their kid ‘Joshua’ without a second thought?

But I’ve also felt like there was something more to this. Being stuck in my own head, to me, meant that I couldn’t escape. Whatever I did, despite how hard I wished for it not to be the case, looking at me from beyond the mirror was always the same guy. Who I was supposed to be. Who I inevitably, inescapably was. From the day I was old enough to look at my reflection and understand it was my body I was looking at, it felt as if he was someone else. Like Joshua was a fictional character whose role in life I was playing. As though I were an actor auditioning for a particular role in a film but being relegated to play as an extra.

And that is why wearing make-up was so groundbreaking. I couldn’t openly admit it in front of Ash, but when I saw myself, it shattered everything I’d been bottling up for years. It showed me that, if I try hard enough, there is still hope that people see me as something else, even after years of being raised as and growing to be him.

Him. Oh, the irony; this word, the way I’ve always referred to that shell, that husk of a person that my consciousness pilots on a daily basis, that people have to put up with, shattered as well. Fractured, by its own reflection too. Her.

I don’t know if these feelings are normal anymore. At some point I thought every guy felt like that, but I no longer do. Because if I'm honest with myself, although until recently I was very mindful and even afraid of how I was perceived, most people aren't, and have never been. Hell, the people who are goth, punk, openly gay even, make a statement about who they are. So if everyone wanted to be perceived as a girl, all those people, who don’t give a flying fuck about what others think about them, would just be girls. Is that what it means, letting go of your toxic masculinity? To realise men are so boring you don’t even want to be one? Maybe. If so, congrats, yesterday-night-me, you crazy infant of a bitch, you did it. You finally understood you don’t want to be a guy.

So, what now? Well, if I'm doomed to feel like I'm playing a character all my life, why should it not be a character that's fun to play? If I have to stare at my character’s butt for hours, I'd rather be staring at a g— wait no that doesn't work. If others have to stare at my butt for my whole life, I'd rather have it be a girl's butt. There, better. So yeah, why could I not be a girl? When I think about it, it’s not like I would actually be appropriating femininity. Other women can still have it, for all I care. Hell, Ash wasn’t a girl before but is now, and she has all the rights to be pulling it off as well as she is.

Sure, she and I were born and raised as guys, I guess, but Ash is clearly a girl. Like, it’s only been three days since I first saw her even simply wearing nail polish, and now I can’t picture her as a boy at all anymore. It’s as if her wearing make-up had helped shift my perspective. Besides, I’m into girls, and I’ve got it pretty bad for her. Why should I resist the urge to see her as one? It’s not like I really care about what’s down there or whatever, to be completely honest with you — not to say I don’t have thoughts or even doubts about what it could be like, say, to have sex with her. But that’s food for later thought; we haven’t so much as kissed.

The reality suddenly hits me like a truck. It’s okay to wonder about that, now. She likes me too! I’m in love with her, and she’s presumably in love with me! God, what would it be like to kiss her? To feel her lips pressed against mine, to run a hand through her long dark hair, to hold her body close and whisper just how much she means to me? These are definitely questions I will have to find the answers to at some point. Admittedly, I might have been a bit hasty with the whole girlfriend thing, but well, it’s not like I’ve ever been in a relationship or even asked anyone out before. Can’t nail it on my first try.

With these multiple trains of thought taken care of, I enter the kitchen to make my usual morning cup of coffee; we’re far from rich enough to go to a café more than like once a week. Honestly, I’m pretty intimidated to face Ash now, after what happened yesterday night; before going to bed, I headed sheepishly to the bathroom to remove the beautiful work Chloe had done on my face, being mindful of not looking too much at my reflection while doing so — which was pretty hard — before going straight to my room. Which means that this morning, Ash will see Joshua again, the second she steps into the kitchen to eat breakfast. As much as that name now irks me for some reason, it labels the sight she’ll behold pretty well, and she couldn't possibly be in love with him.

“Hey you!” her chirpy voice greets me as she enters the room.

“Morning,” I say between two sips of my morning fuel. “Slept well?”

“Well enough.”

She moves on to preparing her own breakfast. Gosh, is the conversation actually awkward or am I just freaking out? “So… what’s the plan for today?” I ask. Good, let’s not bring up our mutual feelings just now. We’re not together yet, after all; she only said she’d love to be my girlfriend, not that she is. We haven’t even been on a single date! And before you say anything, no, the Eiffel Tower doesn’t count.

Her face lights up. “I’m glad you asked. I’ve been meaning to go clothes shopping, and you’re coming with me! If you want to, of course. That way, we can find you some make-up, and maybe some articles of clothing as well, if you feel like it!”

Gosh, kiss me already. Just grab me by the waist and— no, no, nope, nuh-uh, I need a cold shower or something. Seriously, she’s so dependable. Should I just tell her everything I’ve been thinking about since yesterday? That I actually want to do the whole girl thing for real, like her? It probably would be more careful not to, at least for a few days. Not until I’m perfectly sure this is what I want. I clear from my mind some last lovesick thoughts before answering. “I’ve never been a fan of clothes shopping, to be fair, but I’ll go with you, that way I can help you choose stuff. And I do need make-up, if I’m gonna be serious about this.”

She grabs my hand, sending waves of electricity up my nerves. “I’m so proud of you. I know you want to, but don’t feel pressured to do this so early if it stresses you out too much, alright? You can take your time,” she says in a caring tone. “Have you thought of a name, by the way?”

“Not really… I had a few ideas but it’s a bit early to tell just yet. I guess you can call me Jo while I look like… that.”

She smirks. “You sure about that, Jo?”

Ugh, yeah maybe not. “Ugh, yeah maybe not. Oh I just said that out loud.” Well, no point in feigning confidence, I suppose.

She giggles. “Don’t worry, I’ll just avoid using a name entirely for now. Anyway, I think we shouldn’t linger here too long, I have a whole wardrobe to update, after all.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you really need that much? What’s wrong with your current clothes?”

“They’re boys’ clothes is what’s wrong with them, stupid.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Oh my god you’re right, actually,” I say as the realisation dawns on me. Being a girl means wearing feminine clothes. Holy shit how did I not think about this. “Wait. Does that mean I should…”

“You don’t have to,” she immediately says. “This is a big step, and it can be scary. I've been meaning to do that for a long time myself, but it’s okay if you aren’t ready yet. Besides, you look really cute in your current clothes,” she adds, booping my nose.

I blush. What’s particularly cute about a pair of jeans and a hoodie? “I’ll see if I buy anything once we’re there. But, uh, just in case…”

“Yeah?”

“Would it be alright if I borrowed some of your make-up to go out?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Holy, you are not wasting time, huh? Well, the skin stuff won’t really match your colour so it’s probably best to avoid it, but you can use the rest for sure.”

Let me explain my reasoning here. I am very tempted by girls’ clothes. Frankly, I’ve always found them cuter, more interesting and varied than mens’, and I’m not sure I’ll resist the temptation to buy at least one article today. And it sure would be embarrassing to try on and buy a feminine piece of clothing while looking like a guy. But I’m pretty confident I can convincingly make myself look like a girl with some basic make-up and my hood up. Ergo, I need to use Ash’s make-up, just this once.

After washing our mugs, I follow Ash to her room where she lends me a headband and some supplies. After some deliberating, I grab the eyeliner.

“You’re starting with that?” Ash asks incredulously. “You know it’s the hardest thing to nail, right?”

“Chloe did say something like that but… Oh well, it can’t be that bad, right?”

Ash just leaves her room suppressing a giggle.

It turned out it could actually be worse than that bad. But after four failed attempts, a lot of discarded cotton discs and even more pressing calls from Ash telling me to hurry up, I finally have something I’m more or less happy with. I then put on some mascara, and take a few seconds to examine my face in the mirror. I look… Well, I don’t look like a girl just yet. The last steps on the list are to brush my hair so that it frames my cheeks a bit better, and put my hood on my head, so I do just that.

There. From a distance you could definitely mistake me for a girl — or more accurately, correctly identify me as a girl, if I’m being serious about this. 

Huh. You know, maybe I don’t need the whole ensemble of products Chloe put on my face last night to be feminine after all. Maybe, just like it did with Ash, my perspective will shift, and I’ll end up seeing myself as a girl whether I’m wearing make-up or not. That would be nice.

But, for now, I definitely need something to cover my square jaw; it’s not like I can change my body to make it rounder or something. The hood will suffice for the time being but I’ll have to find a more permanent solution.

I exit Ash’s room and hear a wolf whistle. “Alright, I’ll admit it was worth the wait, but we should really go now,” she says, earning a blush and a nod in response.

“How do I look?” I tentatively ask.

“Like a pretty girl.”

“Aaa.”

I try my best not to melt on the spot, and we finally go outside, walking to the nearby bus stop. Our part of town is still fairly unoccupied, but there are noticeably more people than in recent days. And a lot of them are obviously students.

“So… I guess it’s only a matter of time until someone recognises us, right?” I inquire, as we make our way through the empty bus to sit at the back.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, honestly. I’m about to get a ton of new clothes, and you just look like a hot butch lesbian with the way you styled your hair earlier. And the make-up helps, too.”

I let out a yelp. “I l— look like… a what?”

“A hot butch lesbian? Isn’t that the kind of look you were going for?” she asks innocently.

“I was just going for girl!” I practically yell.

She giggles. “Well, you certainly achieved that, and more. So yeah, as long as we look like this, I don’t think anyone will recognise us. Not until we’re back at uni, that is. Anyways… How are you holding up, so far?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the whole ‘going outside as a girl’ stuff?”

“Oh, well, it’s stressful, honestly. But it helps to know that I probably won’t get recognised, I guess.”

She grabs my hands, and the muscles in my whole arm tense up. “Just say the word, and we’re going back home. Don’t push yourself, alright?” she says, looking up at me. Her eyes catch onto mine like magnets, and I stare into them helplessly for a few seconds. We both look away, blushing slightly.

Within a bit more than ten minutes, the bus takes us downtown. The city’s main shopping street slopes downward, and we stand at the bottom for a little while, taking in the view. If our neighbourhood, near the campus, was mostly devoid of people, the city centre positively buzzes with activity. There are people everywhere; on benches, in the nearby parks, running errands through various shops, simply hanging out with friends or zooming around on bicycles and electric scooters. At this time of day, wonderful scents and aromas from all over the world are also emanating from the various street food restaurants that line the sidewalks.

There’s something about going shopping with your… girlfriend? Soon-to-be girlfriend? Girl you’re not fully dating yet but who you’re also not not dating? And there is especially something about doing that while being perceived as a girl. Maybe ‘perceived’ isn’t the word; people don't really seem to care about me or even notice my presence any more than they did when I looked like a boy. The only difference is that this time, I’m a girl. I look like a girl, I feel like a girl, I want the world to see me as a girl, and god it feels amazing. I don’t know why I’m like that, I don't know why I've never experienced anything remotely similar before, but at the moment I don’t give a fuck. The only thing I know and care about is that I’m gonna have a good time with Ash.

“Ascend, to girlhood!” she says, pointing a finger up the street. “And remember that you don’t have to buy any clothes if you don’t wanna.”

⁂

I… did buy clothes.

It turned out that, much similarly to the ticket saleswoman back at the Eiffel Tower, the employees of the various shops we visited didn’t seem to be judgmental of our looks and clothing choices whatsoever. There’s probably a thing to be said here, about capitalism sucking the life out of people, forcing them to say the same few lines to hundreds of customers everyday. Hello, miss. That will be 121.95€, please. Want a receipt? Alright, have a great rest of your day!

Miss.

I’d been mistaken for a girl a lot when I was little, but as I got older, it had become less and less frequent. I’d never really paid much attention to it in the past, but now that I actually put some effort in looking like I did, being called various feminine terms that French is brimming with for some reason felt very rewarding. It was nice, really nice. During our shopping spree, I couldn’t help but notice just how gendered the way people talked to me was, much more so than when I was a guy. Did I just notice it more because it was ‘miss’ instead of ‘sir’ now, or had I looked androgynous enough as a dude for people to avoid gendering me at all then, I didn’t know, and neither did I complain about it.

To begin with, Ash pretty much dragged me (by the hand!) through a large cosmetics outlet, helping me navigate the long make-up aisles and grabbing the correct products in my stead — she’d thankfully written down what Chloe had applied on my face. We also bought some nail polish so that I wouldn’t have to borrow hers again.

Then, it was on to the clothing shops proper. For a solid hour, I followed Ash around and helped her make choices. She was mostly going for winter stuff — it would be needed in the next few months, and she was definitely not rich enough to buy four seasons worth of clothes in a single afternoon — but she also picked some generally lighter wear for home.

As for myself, I had no idea where to start. Everything she chose was super cute, don’t get me wrong, but I felt like it wouldn’t fit my style — not that I had one yet, but it was just too… bland for me, I guess. I wanted to go all in, I didn’t mind being seen anymore. So I didn’t get anything from the first shop.

The second one, however, was a thrift shop. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a thrift shop, but they are something. This particular one was pretty much just a large warehouse where tall shelves and metal racks lined up, all of them full of an eclectic assortment of clothes, shoes and accessories — there were even all sorts of disguises and costumes! At some point, my eyes stopped on a pair of Vans branded skateboarding shoes. They were cute as hell, with a black and white checkerboard pattern on the sides, covered with cherry blossoms. They seemed to be in good enough condition, roughly my size, and the price was an absolute bargain. In other words, it was now or never; the pair would surely be gone within hours. After quickly trying them on to verify they fit, I stuffed the shoes in a bag and joined Ash, who was looking through a rack of jackets. She congratulated me on my find, and we went on with our shopping.

After that, I had slightly less trouble actually finding and buying stuff. A couple of band tees promptly joined the shoes in my bag, and the next shop had some tights and skirt combinations I wasn’t strong-willed enough to resist. It meant that I would have to shave my legs, but I was in too deep to care. In fact, I had the distinct feeling that getting rid of my body hair might actually be something of an improvement.

The bus ride back home is a little more complicated than this morning; there are only two seats left unoccupied and not a lot of free space to put our shopping bags, but we somehow manage not to spill their content on the floor. Once we’re back in our flat, we run the clothes through the washing machine and dryer, whip up a quick dinner consisting mainly of pasta and air to make up for the billions we just spent, and collapse on the couch.

“Want to go to Paris tomorrow?” Ash asks. “I meant to visit the Louvre before school starts again!”

I giggle. “You’re such a tourist, I can’t.”

“Well, maybe, but I’m a cute tourist.”

“I can’t deny that,” I say with a smirk.

“To be clear, I’m asking you out on a date,” Ash says without the slightest hesitation, turning me beet red in the process. “There, better!” she adds. “There was a distinct lack of blushing in this conversation.”

“Hey, not fair!”

We spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence. Which I eventually break.

“Ash?”

“‘Sup?”

“I think… I might have thought of a, uh… a name.” Among the band tees I bought, there is one with the cover art of the album Closer, by Joy Division. I’ve listened to their music a couple times before, after letting the obscure algorithm of whatever streaming platform I was using guide me through its recommendations. I’m not an avid fan or anything, but it’s alright. “I think… I want to be Joy. I kinda liked the sound of ‘Jo’, so it’s like, the same thing but better?”

“Oh my god, okay, that’s adorable! And I’m only happy it’s an English name the normal amount.”

“The normal amount is zero.”

“Shut up, Joy.”

I turn my head away. The way she said my name with a lower voice makes me want to reply something witty like ‘make me’ but I’m blushing too much for it. And we still haven’t been on a date.

Tomorrow will certainly be interesting, though.