This is not, however, a sad story. As the years went by, I found support and love from the friends I chose, and slowly began shattering the stifling shell that is acting like a straight man. Once I got to college, I grew my hair out. I dyed that hair pink. I shopped the women’s section of Forever 21. I learned to apply makeup. It was a steep learning curve, but I learned well. Soon enough, I was building a small following on social media and even modeling in photoshoots. My newly discovered world of glitz and my newly adopted attitude of giving the rest of the world the finger if they stared was fresh and thrilling, but I wasn’t happy.
As it turned out, glamming up and serving fish was not a personality. I thought I had found myself, but it ended up being just a mask I briefly enjoyed wearing; one that had turned the person underneath into someone I was no longer sure I knew. Feeling content as neither a woman nor a man, I felt lost but also guilty, somehow. Guilty of deceiving everyone who saw me. Of concealing some true identity I didn’t even know. I shaved my hair off. I gave my dresses away. I graduated college. I moved to San Francisco. I got a dog. It’s a work in progress.
My father likens my personality to a butterfly, but I think the more appropriate stage to categorize me is currently the chrysalis. I am evolving and dancing between forms through metamorphosis, ever changing and preparing for the day when I have my wings.
// Photography courtesy of Griffin Moskowitz.
