Every now and then there are life situations or circumstances where I find it very difficult to imagine that the average given there is actually the real average. The table in the information brochure on hormone replacement therapy for trans people is one of these situations. According to many, the first physical changes caused by testosterone start from the third month. Not for me. It took two weeks for me to experience the beginnings of the trinity of male transition/puberty: Hungry, Hairy and Horny. For those who are interested in transitions, but are too respectful/scared to ask questions.
Content Warning: Further down I will briefly mention some sexual assault statistics and I will also talk about some unpleasant incident that happened to me in that regard.
I sweat, therefore I am
Maybe it’s all the food, maybe it’s the accelerated metabolism, maybe it’s a mixture of both or something else entirely… Since the temperatures have been above 8°C, I’ve been walking around in shorts. The last time I actively froze was just before Christmas last year and that was still pre-transition. Sometimes I wish I could wrap myself in a silver-coloured rescue blanket. However, these thin sheets are neither particularly resilient nor stylish. Instead of waiting for my dream role as a tin man, I gave my flat a new flair consisting of rescue blankets.
They have the advantage of being much cheaper than the special window films that offer sun or UV protection and even let light through. I don’t sit in the dark during the day, but in a golden yellow glow. If you want it to be darker or are often away from home, I recommend shielding blankets for the car windscreen. Both in combination with a fan in constant use make the flat bearable at 30°C outside.
When it comes to clothing, I take the less is more approach, which is probably only half right and not necessarily the healthiest option. Sun cream or not, a full-body condom made of light cotton clothing would probably be more appropriate, but I sweat so much that even the most loose-fitting clothes would turn into a sticky mass within minutes and if there’s one thing I hate more than the feeling of my skin burning away, it’s clothes that stick to me. Bandanas, shorts, tie tops and sandals are my faithful everyday companions.
A similar rule applies to my bags: as little contact surface on the skin as possible. Strap rucksacks or messenger bags therefore have to wait for winter in the wardrobe, but the alternatives are: trolley, wheeled suitcase, bike bags, shoulder bag, briefcase, canvas bag, or fannypack or the good old trouser pockets.
What I advise everyone to do is to switch from a deodorant to an antiperspirant. I can hardly imagine that I prefer both without an artificial odour, my own is enough for me, although it has only increased slightly and I used to have none or very little.
The bathroom „panic“
There are countless trans memes that deal with life with binders, packers or the infamous toilet issue. Many of them come very close to reality. Because when it comes to public toilets, I also ask myself which one I should use, or rather which one is safer for me. There is less chance of problems at university than in a small shopping centre in a small town in eastern Germany. It’s similar with changing rooms, although I’m certain that I won’t set foot in a cis men’s sports changing room until I’ve had a top surgery.
Even university is not an inclusive paradise. Yes, there are gender-neutral toilets, which are also the disabled toilets. There’s nothing wrong with that to begin with, because to be honest, the disabled toilets are the only toilets here where you have a decent amount of space to coordinate yourself and your rucksack, including your winter jacket. The real problem is the door mechanism. As the toilet is designed for people in wheelchairs, the door opens with the help of a switch. So far so good, but unfortunately this automatic door makes an incredible amount of noise and it opens completely every time. If someone wants to use the disabled toilet, firstly the whole building notices and secondly the door also blocks part of the corridor to the lockers, which is heavily frequented.
Call me paranoid, but since the disabled toilet is the only unisex toilet, using it as a person who is not disabled is tantamount to coming out, because why should people who are not in wheelchairs make such an effort to go to the loo? Right, they have to rely on this toilet for a different reason… How could the problem have been solved instead without remodelling the toilets in the university? Right, just remove the gender signs and replace them with ‘sitting loo’ and standing loos, or put a short description of the toilet facilities outside on the door. Both are much more precise anyway.
Otter vs. Twink?
Not only peeing is political, but also body hair. Everyone has it, and no matter which sociological category of analysis you apply to it, it makes sense. In society at large, there is still a perception that ‘real’ men are hairy and ‘real’ women shave. Consequently, athletes in (Olympic) disciplines such as swimming, wrestling, gymnastics, high diving and water polo are not ‘real’ men, because the highest of hairy feelings there is armpit hair. While I can still explain the lack of hair in water sports by the reduction in water resistance, I suspect discriminatory beauty ideals in all other sports. At the same time, I am in favour of more otters and bears deserving to take part in competitive water sports (the vanilla ones for once).
For me, the only question that remains is how much otter or twink vibe do I want to allow myself? Sure, body hair can be sexy, but testosterone doesn’t just give you hair on your lower legs, forearms or a happy trail; testosterone gives you body hair everywhere, even in places where I wouldn’t have expected it. My interim solution consists of ‘partial shaving’. The beard fuzz doesn’t look good (yet) anyway, and since I wear shorts but no hot pants, most people can’t see that I’ve shaved my thighs but not my lower legs. So I still have a feeling of smooth skin, which I like, but also a slightly more ‘masculine texture’ due to long and coarser lower leg hair. Even when people notice that I have quite a quirky shaving pattern, no one has commented on it.
About the binders you won’t find in office shelves
The trans state of one’s own consciousness is known to play its own game. But above all, this also means that you become aware of yourself, and unfortunately not in a positive sense. Realising that you are trans is one thing; accepting the resulting consequences and actions is quite another. As socialisation and societal ideals would have it, trans people are not immune to emulating beauty ideals or gender stereotypes – (un)consciously or as a survival strategy. The high-femme trans woman, the very masculine trans man and the androgynous non-binary person – but an ideal is an ideal, and often one’s own body or the lack of clothes, hairdressers and make-up puts a spanner in the works.
Because, as we all know, women can’t be tall and have a deep voice, and men are neither short nor do they have breasts. Even I am not immune to having a wide selection of binders in my home. Not only because you sweat in them and you can wash them straight away after putting them on once, but also so that I feel my identity is taken seriously and so that other cis people take my gender identity seriously. Because at the end of the day, I know that I am male or that I have my own interpretation of masculinity, and nobody can talk me out of that. I’ve had enough therapy to tolerate my breasts. They’re just there, they don’t get any more attention from me. What helps is that they are very small and have shrunk even more due to the testosterone. If I already had the feeling before that they were just sitting on my body and not part of it, the effect was intensified by the testosterone.
The phenomenon is called ‘phantom flat chest’. In this sense, I feel best when I’m not wearing a sports bra or a binder, but either walking around topless or just wearing a T-shirt. Believe me, just feeling fabric and not some weird polyester-cotton blend is great. Except it doesn’t help you fool people into thinking you’re a 16-year-old cis boy and not a mid-twenties lesbian tomboy. Which is why I know the days when I have to actively plan my binder usage, or turn around again in the hallway because I realise a t-shirt doesn’t fit enough, or that my passing is more important to me than ‘fighting’ active gender norms.
The (missing) visit of Aunt Irma/ shark week/ THE time of the month or Bloody Mary
I was one of those who were freed from the cycle in the meantime. My periods stopped immediately, which surprised even my gynaecologist. For me, this meant less suffering in everyday life, but disadvantages when inserting the hormone coil. Just because menstruation stops, it doesn’t mean that trans men can’t still get pregnant. Surprisingly, my eggs are still working hard according to the ultrasound and don’t even think about stopping. It came as it had to, after eight months I did get a (small) part of my periods back and I really didn’t miss them. I was prepared for this eventuality in terms of product technology, but not for the emotional or psychological strain, not to mention the pain.
There is a claim that men are less sensitive to pain than women, but I think that’s a lie. Not only because cis women regularly survive their periods and give birth less regularly, but also because even with two painkillers I was still lying on my bed in the foetal position and thought someone was ripping out my intestines. So much for ‘strong men’. I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. I don’t know what will happen next, as no one can say whether my period will stay away forever or whether it will come back from time to time.
„Dick I choose you!“
‘What’s in your pants?’ is one of those famous corrected questions on dating platforms that many trans people don’t want to hear. ‘What’s in your pants?’ is often followed by a statement along the lines of ’You Gender is what’s in your pants.’ Which is bullshit, because none of the trans men I’ve met in my life are socks… nor are the two cis genders of our planet called ‘penis’ and ‘vagina’. It’s especially funny when you realise that there are now packers who don’t imitate human penises. Accordingly, the default gender would be: werewolf, alien or centaur.
So far I’ve only had to have one such conversation, but having something other than a sock or nothing at all in my trousers would definitely improve my everyday life. Unfortunately, this is a long-term project, because packers are not only incredibly expensive, but also so ‘numerous’ that you are spoilt for choice.
Realistic penises, different skin tones, various materials, different widths, lengths and shapes. It’s not uncommon to have up to five different penises in your wardrobe, depending on their use: Sex, work, sport, etc. The same question applies to all of them: How do I find THE right one? And above all, what is the right size? The answer to both questions is: fuck around and try out, which will take (a lot) of money because there is no size chart for packers like there is in many online clothing shops.
The remix consisting of muscle growth and lost hips
Technically, I knew that the testosterone would change my body’s fat distribution. But I had no idea of the practical effects until I stood in front of the mirror one day and realised that all my trousers were baggy. The little bit of hip, I had, had disappeared. Belts only help a little with trousers that fit differently and as I don’t have the money for a tailor, I bought a multipack of boxers and currently wear all my summer shorts baggy.
The Good, the Bad, and the Weird
The Good
In addition to introspection, there is also interaction with the outside world and that can sometimes be quite exciting with mediocre passing. So I thought I’d share some situations I’ve experienced over the last eight months. I was standing at the counter of my GP waiting for the receptionist to give me my fourth annual referral to my endocrinologist. While waiting, the following dialogue unfolded:
You: ‘Tell me, Mr. X… that was a cardiologist, wasn’t it?
Me: No, an endocrinologist.
You: Oh yes, right, I can never remember these specialists….
Me: Never mind, it’s more of a niche problem.
You: You’re funny, you know… There are so many people who have thyroid problems. They just don’t talk about it…’
It took me a moment to realise that firstly, she was serious and secondly, that I didn’t understand at all that I didn’t need thyroid tablets, but testosterone. So much for the niche problem…
Another time, I was sitting on a bench outside the same GP waiting to be called in. Two ladies were sitting in front of me, another one had just joined them. The new one wanted to know who exactly would be in front of her, the lady in front of me just pointed at me and replied, ‘Him’, then she looked at me repeatedly and said, ‘Or her… Excuse me, what are your pronouns? I’m not sure right now and these days you sometimes have to ask.’
I replied and my pronouns were accepted without question. No funny looks, no questions, nothing. If this elderly lady has grandchildren, you’ve done a great job, if not kudos to her.
The Bad
Sexual harassment in the form of stupid chat-up lines or groping is unfortunately still the order of the day for many women today. In 2023, there were 12,186 reported cases of ‘rape, sexual assault and sexual assault in particularly serious cases, including with fatal consequences’ in Germany, 10,160 of which were solved. I feel that every sexual harassment is one too many, but I hope that the number of unreported cases in this area will shrink in the future.
Although society, the media and institutions are increasingly having to deal with the issue, the perpetrators are also becoming more creative and younger. I was taking an unsuspecting walk in our park one sunny afternoon when I heard teenagers on an e-scooter approaching me from behind. Nothing unusual so far, until I heard a loud ‘SMACK’, my bum burned and then the e-scooter with two young boys whizzed past me. The driver of the two turned his head back towards me and gave me a big grin before they turned a corner and disappeared.
That’s when it dawned on me that the arsehole had knocked me on my arse at full speed. Still too stunned by what had happened, I just looked after him, perplexed by his audacity and insolence. Especially as the two of them were barely older than 14. Unfortunately, I missed the opportunity to give him the middle finger.
I know that he doesn’t know how gay this sexual harassment has actually made him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was displaying shitty behaviour. The fact that his mate held him tightly from behind during the ride so that he wouldn’t fall off the speeding e-scooter didn’t make me feel any better afterwards.
The weird
The last situation happened one afternoon a few days after a local election. The electoral office rang me and asked if I would be willing to take on the role of secretary rather than deputy secretary at the next election in a few days‘ time. The election office wanted to fill the position of deputy secretary with a woman, so I had to give way. On the one hand I was happy about the promotion, on the other hand I wondered why I should be the secretary and not the (new) woman.
I knew that I was listed as ‘Mr’ in the register of election workers, but at the same time I knew that my passing was almost non-existent and that it was only thanks to my election supervisor that everyone, without exception, had gendered me correctly on election day. So maybe it was this ‘male privilege’? Simply being promoted even though you hadn’t done anything except your job? And the women or the woman went away empty-handed? To this day, I don’t know why things went the way they did… and I am still ambivalent about this event…
As you can see, there are a lot of changes and I’m far from finished. But as a larger interim conclusion, I can say that transitioning is not a sprint, but rather a marathon in every respect.