I was cleaning out the cupboards in the spare room/my office the other day.
We’ve been living here since 2018, but it’s only been my office since mid-2021, when - upon changing remote jobs - I suddenly needed a work space with the privacy of a door. I’d sort of just wedged my computer setup into the corner, but otherwise didn’t disturb much of its previous junk room character.
On emptying the cupboards completely, I found a lot of things I hadn’t even remembered existed; the ADHD “out of sight, out of mind” thing, y’know? These included:
- The new set of polyhedral dice I’d bought with the intent to start regularly going to the queer pickup D&D game night thing held by the Toronto Gaymers…in February 2020 💦;
- Vile, long-expired discounted seasonal candy, which, I’ve managed to restrain myself from going too wild after candy holidays lately, but;
- A final three bottles of the Trappist beer I had to rent a Citroën in Den Haag and drive to Vleteren, West Flanders to pick up from the monastery brewery in person in 2019 for my husband, while he was recovering from one of his several bottom surgery revisions; and
- Wigs.
My hairline started receding in my 20s, and was a tremendous source of dysphoria for me even before I figured out The Gender Stuff, to the point where I was just fully shaving my head from 2014-2017. When I did start transitioning in early 2018, one of the things I started trying out was wigs; I figured I’d never have femme-looking hair I’d be happy with, so I may as well, right?
What I soon discovered was that I hate the wig experience. It’s just full-on sensory hell for me to have something heavy - that has to stay in place - on my head for longer than an hour or two. I tried different styles, different wig caps, even fun colours, but it still just didn’t work for me. I wore a wig at work all of twice before giving up on it. But as I said, I’d forgotten about most of this until reminded by cleaning out the cupboards, which prompted a mild “Oh, yeah…” when I found the first one. And then “Right, okay, I did have several, huh…?” for the second and third ones.
And then I found the hot pink wig.
I remember why I bought that one. I wanted to look different. I wanted - even if I didn’t quite grasp it at the time - to be Visibly Queer, rather than just blending into the background all the time. I remember being sad that it didn’t really work on me, and then I remember packing it away in a box, where it would sit for the next four years.
My hairline did eventually recover enough on HRT that it doesn’t really bother me any more. I found a mid-length bob hairstyle that really works for me, balancing ease of care and sensory comfort with maximum femme-coding that works with my face. And since March this year, I’ve been dyeing my hair hot pink - first just highlights in the front to test the waters at work, then the full head every month or so. It works for me. It’s the most Me I’ve ever felt. I love it, and I am a goddamn hot chubby 40-year-old office milf.
I think a lot of trans people have had the experience of imagining, what if I could go back in time, and tell myself as a child who we are. I certainly have. But five years into transition, what struck me - as I held that cotton-candy-coloured cosplay wig in my hand for a long minute - is how much I wish I could have told 2018 Grace that we didn’t need that wig. We turned out better, and happier, than she could ever have imagined in that first year.
Then, I threw it in the garbage bag with the rest of the last five years’ unnecessary detritus.
We move forward.