QUEERLY TRANS

Did Testosterone Improve My Sense of Direction?

Response to Queerly Trans Writing Prompt: “When I was a Baby Trans”

My wife and I were walking along a street in a part of town that should have been at least a little familiar.

At the intersection, we were both very confident that we knew which direction we were supposed to be going in to get to the comic book store. Unfortunately, we were each pointing in opposite directions.

Since my body was overflowing with man juice, as usual, my confidence was a little more intense than my wife’s confidence. I just started walking in the direction that my masculine sense of direction had indicated was the way to go because I didn’t need to consult anyone on how to get anywhere. I’m a man. I know everything. Grr…

Unfortunately, my wife is always right about all of the things. One of these days, I’ll learn to listen to them. Instead, we walked all over town until my exasperated wife started asking strangers for directions. Both our cell phones and my manly inner compass had failed us.

Let’s back up about a year.

I was out and proud at work as a trans man. I had a trans flag on my cubicle alongside some rainbows and a chart to explain how pronouns work, but I didn’t have the benefit of Testosterone to give me false confidence in where I was going.

I’d been asked to find someone. We’ll call him Mr. Anderson. I had an important delivery for this guy who was located somewhere in a large building. No one had told me where in that building I might find him. I’d just been told that Mr. Anderson was a very important person and that I would figure it out.

That was the day that I learned why (trans) men don’t ask for directions.

I’d managed to pass as a dude earlier that day, but it seemed that carrying around a bunch of rolled-up papers that were taller than me changed how I was perceived. I think it was the sheepish look on my face that kept getting me clocked.

It turns out that people expect women to ask for directions. If you are lost, and believed to be a helpless woman, everyone will stop and guide you on your way. Everyone who initially misgendered me came right over to help me, while indicating with nearly every other word what they thought my pronouns should be. No one guessed he/him.

When I would stop them to ask for help finding Mr. Anderson, I could see a calculation happening as they tried to figure out what was happening. I didn’t look like I needed help. I looked like a man.

Everyone who initially thought I was a man tried to walk past me without getting involved in my predicament. When I would stop them to ask for help finding Mr. Anderson, I could see a calculation happening as they tried to figure out what was going on.

I didn’t look like I needed help. I looked like a man. Then, they’d smile, indicating they’d clocked me. They would immediately get very helpful while misgendering me with every other word.

It’s tough to correct someone when they’re trying to help you, despite not owing you any of their time.

This experience taught me a lot about gender.

I learned that men aren’t expected to ever need help. They’re not expected to ask for directions. It’s often the punchline to a stereotypical joke that men don’t ever ask for directions. In theory, we know that this is just a ridiculous gender stereotype with no real truth beyond a cultural construct.

In action, people are so unconsciously certain that men don’t behave this way that they would routinely clock me as transgender when I would ask for help finding a place. They would assume that I must be a woman to have asked for directions.

Now that I’m on Testosterone, I never ask for directions, even when I desperately need them.

Why? Am I better with Google Maps now that I’m a dude?

Nope. I’m just ridiculously overconfident that I always know where I’m going. I also would rather wander around aimlessly all over creation than get clocked over and over by strangers.

This is why I need my wife to take pity on me and ask a stranger for help on my behalf. Alternatively, I could just listen to them in the first place and be certain that we’ll get where we’re going, but that would be too easy.

This is a story of being a baby trans man, new on Testosterone.

Well, I’m currently 10 months old in Testosterone years, so I guess I’m still a Testosterone baby writing about a time earlier in my trans babyhood. It is also the story of when I was only 1 year old in social transition years. I’m 2 years old in social transition years now, so I’m in my terrible two’s of transness. Either way, this is in response to a writing prompt, called “When I was a Baby Trans”:

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