Step by Step Feminisation, or How I Accidentally Invented Transness

Lying in bed, way past midnight but not tired in the slightest, is a great opportunity to process what happened during the day. They say that when you sleep, your brain sorts the information acquired in the last twenty-four hours but honestly, I don’t need to be sleeping for mine to do that. It’ll just happen, whether I want it or not.

Let’s review everything methodically, starting with the first thing that was on my mind when we stepped outside our flat: my nails. At first I was terrified, then scared, then terrified some more. And that was the case all the way until I had other things to think about — read, some weird emotions caused by my girl-like flatmate. But that is progress, right? It took some time, but I did manage to forget about them eventually.

Huh. That’s not really the end goal though; I’m supposed to be comfortable wearing nail polish, not completely dismiss the fact from my mind, I think. Let’s look at the root of the issue: why does it feel so weird to be perceived as a guy wearing nail polish, then?

A jolt of understanding surges through me. Of course. There is only one possible explanation, and I have no idea how I haven’t figured it out earlier.

It must be because of internalised homophobia! Men with painted nails are often considered gay, whether they actually are or not. It has to be because I subconsciously don’t want to be seen as gay that I’m so scared to show my manicured hands in public. Satisfied with my reasoning, I get up and make for the kitchen. There is no way I’m sleeping anytime soon, so let’s just get something to drink. Herbal tea should do just fine.

So, I’m homophobic, then? I don’t actually care who people are dating, but I guess that doesn’t absolve me of it. In the end I’m just a guy, and guys always want to prove they are more masculine than each other, which includes making fun of gay people. Oh, that must be what that ‘toxic masculinity’ thing I constantly hear is all about!

The thought in itself is enough to make me shiver. If I had a choice in the matter, I would have gladly let go of my male socialisation right there and then. But that’s the point, right; you can’t just do that, you need to deconstruct it, and read about it, and learn what it means to be a good, non-toxic man. Ugh, girls have it easy. They can just be girls, they don’t have to worry about all that male socialisation stuff. I should ask Ash how she dealt with it, she probably had to work a lot on her internalised issues before feeling free enough to be so feminine on the outside.

Right. Ash. That’s the next issue on the list. Well, she’s not an issue, but you see what I mean. Do I have feelings for her? What does that mean for my own sexuality? Despite everything, she’s still a guy, ultimately you can’t just become a girl because you look like one. That would be misogynistic even, to appropriate womanhood in such a way. One can dress as a girl, sure, but that doesn’t make them actually one, even if they ask to be referred to as a girl, like Ash did.

I sit down on the couch and start to sip slowly from my mug so as not to burn myself. The photos Ash bought at the Eiffel Tower lie face down on the coffee table. So far I haven’t looked at them, for different reasons. Firstly, Ash bought them because she wanted them. She wanted pictures of herself in which she likes how she looks, they must mean something special to her and it’s not my place to intrude. Secondly, I don’t exactly want a repeat of what happened on Monday, when I saw that ugly, bulky, hairy man in the mirror, jarringly contrasting with his immaculate manicure.

The photo shoot replays in my mind. I must have looked so dumb compared to such a confident and happy Ash. Among the mixture of feelings I have for her there is envy, this one I can identify more easily than the others. She’s free, she’s herself. The man in the mirror is not myself, or at least I don’t want him to be. I envy her for having finally found out who she is, for having obviously wrestled with the internalised homophobia and misogyny any guy has to deal with, and having won the fight.

I wash my mug as silently as possible; Ash has been sleeping for a few hours already. She seemed tired on the train ride back home and we didn’t talk much. Or maybe it was because she was weirded out by how I behaved during the photo shoot, that also makes sense. She probably made this show of affection because she found it funny that the photographer thought we were together. And I rendered the whole thing actually awkward by being the picture of fluster, while she was just having fun. Yet another hint towards toxic masculinity; I can’t even be around someone who looks like a girl without thinking their behaviour towards me means they’re attracted to me. I really should work on getting rid of my self-centredness.

An idea starts surfacing.

Ash wants me to try things, like she’s done herself. She wants me to experiment and let go of the idea that I should necessarily look like any other guy. I haven’t decided what I’ll attempt in order to improve my appearance so far. But maybe I can copy her. Maybe I can try being more feminine myself. She already suggested I try on make-up — which doesn’t mean anything; make-up doesn’t have to be feminine. But I could ask her to go all the way and help me bring out my girly side. That would even kill several birds with one stone; it might help me get rid of my internalised homophobia and misogyny, as I will experience things gay men and women have to live with, and understand them better for it. But most importantly, I’ll be so exposed that it will definitely help me forget about how others view me.

And, who knows, maybe I will like it, the same way Ash does.

⁂

Bean Academy is our go-to coffee shop in town, and for some reason they haven’t raised their pricing that much in the last few years — from what I’ve heard, at least. I suspect that at some point, the university bought shares in the company so that it could stay open, because it’s probably one of the sole caffeine bastions left in the area that manage to actually attract students, and keep them awake for study hours. As a result, the place is crammed with people most of the time, and even more so during weekdays; everyone goes there with their friends as soon as some free time between classes and workshops presents itself. It’s almost tradition.

The place looks great, too. When you come in through the door, you are greeted by so many plants everywhere that you feel like you just stepped foot in a rainforest, or perhaps more accurately a coffee farm. The main room is rather large and cosy, with seats of various shapes and sizes scattered around the place, and gathered in small groups at the whims of the students. There's a shelf with a few books written by people who somehow make a living talking about the blasted liquid, using fancy terms like ‘comparative tasting’, ‘ground coarseness’, ‘pre-infusion’ or even ‘over-extraction’, whatever those all mean. The wall at the back of the main room is inlaid with large rectangular windows so that everyone can see into the back shop, as if the managers wanted to prove that yes, we actually do roast our own coffee here. That will be 8.99€, by the way. Yeah the prices haven’t changed a lot, but that doesn’t mean they’re cheap. It’s a coffee shop, what can you reasonably expect; maybe it was always overpriced. But it’s our special espresso blend from Guatemala! Shut up, imaginary barista.

One of the perks of coming back to your flat earlier is that you feel like you’re in a ghost town, and yes I count that as a pro and not a con. There’s something strangely eerie about an ultra-modern university town devoid of students, but in a good way. Especially after being forced to be around the same few people for a whole summer. Even Bean Academy is almost empty, though a few seats are occupied by other early birds, or students who actually live in the area full time — preposterous!

I order my usual cup of pour-over with a croissant, Ash requests her latte, and we make ourselves comfortable in our usual spot, near the window. There is music coming out the speakers, for once — or maybe I just haven’t heard it before because of the sea of conversations this place usually drowns in. Japanese city pop, huh? Whoever cooked up the playlist is a person of culture as well.

“I don’t know if it’s your plan working or what, but I don’t give a shit about people seeing my nails anymore,” I say.

“Ooh, nice! And, you know, maybe I shouldn’t have brought you to the, like, seventh most visited place in the world for your first time out with them painted,” Ash says apologetically.

“No worries, I think it sort of helped, in a way. I was kinda stressed out at the beginning, sure, but after a while it was fine.”

“Yeah, it can be surprising how much people don’t care about this sort of stuff,” Ash says.

I spend a few seconds in silence, going over how I’ll broach the subject. I do plan on following her into femininity for a while, but there is no way I’m telling her why I’m doing it. At least not before the whole thing is over. “So, I’ve been doing some thinking since last night,” I start. Ash looks at me expectantly. “And I think there is a specific look I want to give a try. One you could easily help me with.”

“Okay?”

“I’d like to…” Gosh, why is it so difficult? “Uh….” Come on, Jo, it’s just some deep-rooted internalised bigoted views, nothing much. The word “Iwannatrylookingmorefeminineforawhile” eventually stumbles out of my mouth. It’s german, I think.

Polyglot Ash gazes at me with something in her eyes that I can’t quite identify. “Oh,” she says in a controlled tone. “Alright… I thought this might happen. Are you sure you really want to do this? I think I might have been a bit, let’s say, administrative the other night, but you don’t actually have to…”

“No no no,” I stop her, “I’m doing this for myself. I think I could like it, you know? And it’ll probably help with the whole ‘going outside without feeling examined all the time’ stuff.”

Ash frowns. “Well, it can also have the opposite effect, but why not? I sure won’t stop you from experimenting with gender presentation,” she reassures me, smiling.

“So, what do we start with?”

“Eager, I see,” she says with a smirk. I feel my face heating up; don’t say it with that voice, jeez. “It’s okay, I get it! Anyway, make-up would be a good first step, I think. Do you wanna try that?”

I look down at my knees and shyly nod. “I… I think I’d like to.”

Ash instantly grabs her phone. “Alright,” she says as she writes something, “I would have offered to do it myself, but I’m far from good enough to do other people’s make-up yet. What do you say I ask Chloe to come hang out at our place later today?”

I search my memories. “Chloe… Is that the girl we went out with to see the new Spiderverse movie? She was with her friend, right? Whose name I’ve completely forgotten.”

“She’s called Jenny, and she’s her girlfriend, dummy. Gosh, you’re so much denser than even I expected. Though, considering what you just said? Maybe not,” she adds to herself, looking thoughtful.

I try to hide my now perpetually red cheeks by looking out the window. They were girlfriends? “Well, if you think she can help, why not? She seemed nice.”

“She can definitely help. She finished her cinema studies earlier this year and she just landed a job as a make-up artist for TV!” she says proudly. “Also, she has some experience with people… like us.”

Like us? Okay, so Ash truly thinks I’m doing this because I want to look cute and stuff, like she does. Which, I mean, maybe, but I can’t know that until I’ve tried it. And it’s also not the primary objective, of course, just a little side effect that could possibly be fun.

She finishes up her message and sends it. “Alright, I invited her over for tea, and I told her to bring her stuff. If we manage to find something you like, we’ll make a list of the products to look for next time we go shopping!”

We pay for our breakfast and start heading back home. Well, that went better than expected, right? I’m not sure what I expected exactly, but it was certainly not Ash inviting a literal make-up artist over to our place to take care of me. The whole thing is starting to freak me out a little bit; I’m not sure if this is actually a great idea. Am I intruding on women’s lives by trying out more feminine looks? Surely not, right; the whole point is that it’s misogynistic to view these as exclusively for women. I breathe in the cold air as we traverse a park, and try to focus on the noises of the wind in the leaves and the cars on the highway in the distance. I can do this. Ash will help me, Chloe will help me, and I’ll come out of this a better man.

⁂

The intercom buzzes me awake. Yup, should’ve slept more last night, Jo. I get up with difficulty and my head emerges from the pillows. I fell asleep on the sofa while watching some dumb reality show, apparently. Ugh, too much light.

Before I can do anything, I hear the front door closing and hurried steps heading downstairs, signalling me that Ash is taking care of it. I let out a groan while stretching. It’s got to be her, right? It’s a mystery how long I napped for, but we weren’t expecting anyone else this afternoon so the options are limited. After putting on a clean sweater, I quickly make my way to the bathroom to splash some water on my face, in order to appear as alive as humanly possible. For my standards, it’s somewhere between ‘vampire’ and ‘retail worker’, a narrower spectrum than most imagine. And, well, I gotta have a clean face for what I’m about to be put through — thank god I shaved this morning. After drying myself with a towel and brushing my hair in record time, I make for the kitchen to get some water boiling.

The door opens, and Ash and another girl— I mean, Ash and a girl step inside the flat and start taking off their shoes.

“Heya, Jo, how’s it going?” Chloe asks.

Holy shit she is absolutely beautiful. Not in the same way as Ash; Chloe’s make-up is much more out there. For instance, her eyeliner is very pronounced, almost in a goth style, but I have to admit it goes incredibly well with her red and black long-sleeved dress and white stockings. She is also a few centimetres taller than me, which means she is way taller than Ash. If my roommate is elegant, Chloe is striking. Was she like that a few months ago, when I last saw her?

“It’s rude to stare,” my roommate whispers in my ear.

I shake my head and blink a few times. “S— Sorry! Yeah, I’m great, how about you? Congrats on finding a job!” Unwilling to evaluate the awkwardness of my greeting, I force myself to stop looking at her by rummaging inside a cabinet. “Do you want some tea? We have, let me see… green and black tea, Russian Earl Grey… or perhaps you’d like some herbal tea?” I ask, turning my head back towards her.

She’s smiling. “Nervous? Don’t worry, I’m a professional now,” she reassures me with a giggle. “Sure, I’ll have some black tea.”

My cheeks heat up. I hand out mugs for the three of us, and the two girls start— I mean, the girl and the boy start… Fuck it. The two girls begin catching up, talking about the movies they’ve seen since the last time they spoke, while I quietly listen to the conversation. I can’t help but notice how easily her friend is gendering Ash correctly. And thankfully, despite being a girl Chloe doesn’t seem weirded out by my flatmate’s new look, meaning she won’t judge me either. Over the course of several minutes, I slowly relax and let the tension in my shoulders fade away, while stealing some looks at the very professional-looking suitcase on the ground. Her stuff.

“Alright. Should we get this started?” she finally asks me.

I close my eyes and take a long inspiration. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

We make our way to the living room. Chloe starts by pulling back my hair with a headband, and I mentally congratulate myself for sitting with my back to the mirror. If there is something I hate about my face, it’s how it looks without my hair in place to hide its squareness.

She then moves on to the make-up proper, producing cosmetics from her suitcase. Each time she’s about to apply a new product to my skin, Chloe shows me its packaging and explains what purpose it serves. I learn that she starts with a base, which helps all the rest settle on my face. She then proceeds to apply some foundation and blush on my cheeks, this stuff she calls ‘bronzer’ that supposedly makes the face look rounder, and finally shadow and liner on my eyelids and mascara on my eyelashes.

“Ta-da!” she triumphantly says as she expertly takes off my headband. “Do you mind if I snap a pic for my Instagram? I’ve been trying to build up a following alongside my day job.”

I think about it for a few moments, but really, what’s the worst thing that could happen? After all the time she spent carefully painting my face, I must look nowhere near what I usually do. It couldn’t hurt if she shared the result to gain a couple followers. Besides, I could do a before-after comparison with the photos from the Eiffel Tower! This seals the deal. “Works for me. Just don’t share my name and we’re good.”

“Gotcha!”

She proceeds to snap a few pictures of my face from various angles, and I shoot a questioning look at Ash. “What do you think?”

“Just… wow…” my roommate says. “That… fits you so well!” I don’t know what to reply, and my heart is beating a bit too fast for comfort. “Maybe you should take a look for yourself.”

I oblige and turn towards the mirror, closing my eyes. Here you are, Jo. You wanted to try this, for whatever reason, so don’t chicken out now. Think about how this will help you get rid of your toxic masculinity. Think about how this will make you a better guy in the end. Why is this not helping?

I open my eyes.

Oh.

There is no man in the mirror anymore. A girl is looking at me instead, her mouth open in surprise and her hands clutching her sweater. Her hair is a little short for a girl, and messy, but it looks kind of cute on her. The make-up she’s wearing is absolutely flawless, but not over the top either; it just fits. And she is a little blurry.

“What are we thinking?” Ash carefully asks.

“Uh…” I say, my voice immediately ruining the illusion. “I… That’s… me?” I whisper. Better.

“Seems like it!” she says with a grin.

“She looks so much… better than him.”

“I think she is beautiful,” Ash murmurs, and she slowly wraps me in her arms. For a moment everything is gone; Chloe and her make-up gear, the sofa, the mirror, and we’re back on the windswept first floor of the Eiffel Tower. Ash is the only real thing left, and I melt into her embrace.

“You girls are so cute together, I can’t,” Chloe’s voice says, snapping me back to reality.

Girls? Cute? Together?

Ash lets out a yelp. “Chloe! You can’t just say that.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me. Cute.”

I blush furiously, and Ash does the same thing. “I… We’re not…” I whisper. What we’re not, I don’t exactly know, but we are, among other things, still definitely wrapped in each other's embrace, and unwilling to let go just yet.

“Oh come on,” Chloe says, “you’re so into each other it hurts. Ask her out already, Ash, for goodness’ sake.”

Her?

Ash looks at me, then Chloe, then me again. “I… You… Would you…” she asks.

“I didn’t… I thought you… Uh…” I reply.

“Want to go on… a date, with me?”

“Y— Yeah, if you… want to…”

“I’d love to.”

“Okay, then… let’s, uh… do that, one of these days…”

“You beautiful mess.” I can feel myself turn crimson, but thankfully the make-up covers it. Mostly.

⁂

Alright, so we might have a problem. My plan might be working too well. Things are moving very quickly, and it’s kind of hard to keep track of what’s going on. But let’s try, anyway.

First of all, I like it. I like how I look with make-up on. I like it enough for me to actually want to look like that, and be seen like that. I guess I’m like Ash.

Second of all, I also like Ash. I definitely have feelings for her, warm, fuzzy feelings that I can confidently say become way too strong to ignore when she holds me.

Third of all, Ash likes me too, apparently. She asked me out on a date! I didn’t dream that up, did I? Judging by the satisfied smirk Chloe had on her face for the rest of the afternoon until she left, I probably didn’t.

Fourth of all, I can’t see Ash as a boy anymore. I don’t like calling her a boy, and she doesn’t like being called a boy otherwise she would have kept her boy appearance. I can keep trying, but it just feels wrong for the both of us. And I can’t pretend to know how this works anyways. For all I know, I like girls, and I like her, which means, to me she’s just a girl.

Fifth of all, uh, Ash’s supposed to like girls too. And as it turns out, I don’t exactly look like a boy when I’m wearing make-up, who could have seen that coming? But I’m not actually a girl, obviously. I might be like Ash in that I enjoy wearing make-up and looking like a girl, but I am not a girl. Despite that, though, Ash still—

“Jo? What’s up?”

I cringe; I really don’t look like someone called ‘Jo’ at the moment, but after everything that happened, it’s the name I’m uncomfortable with, not the appearance.

“Overthinking?” Ash continues.

We’re both wrapped in blankets on the sofa, watching videos, and it looks like my mind drifted off at some point. “Uh… yeah, maybe,” I admit. “Listen, I was thinking about this nickname, ‘Jo’...”

“You don’t like it? You know it’s gender-neutral, right? Just like ‘Ash’.”

“Huh? Why would I— Oh. I guess, yeah, if we go outside or something with me looking like that, it’s better to have a feminine or at least gender-neutral name picked out, right? I don’t mind the sound of ‘Jo’, but it just… it just feels weird, for some reason. Like it’s lacking something, it’s not a proper full-length name.”

Ash smiles. “Do you have another one in mind?”

“Not off the top of my head… I guess I need to think about it.”

She shuffles closer to me. “Take all the time you need,” she says. Gosh her voice sounds so stupidly cute when muffled by the blankets. Oh and now she’s snuggling against me, and it’s warming up my tummy.

I can’t take it anymore. “Ash, I uh… I really like you,” I begin.

She holds me a little tighter. “I like you too.”

“Would you, perhaps, like to be my… girlfriend?” I ask, tensing up slightly. My anxiety spikes up. Was it offensive to use that term? Maybe I misread everything, maybe she’s just a boy after all. Oh god, I screwed everything up didn’t I?

Her head rises from the blankets, and she’s beaming at me. “I would love to be your girlfriend!”