Hannah McKNight: How I learned to stop worrying & love not passing

Hannah McKnight: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Not Passing

It doesn’t take long for us to get bored being all dolled up with no place to go. For years a quiet Saturday night watching a movie while wearing beautiful lingerie was not only lovely, but it was also enough, if you will. When I started to wear, well, real clothes such as dresses, blouses, and skirts, I started to longingly look at the real world, the world outside my living room.

Wearing a tight pencil skirt, black stockings, heels of a “reasonable” height (whatever that means, lol) and a cute top was an amazing experience. I thought I looked, well, ready for the real world. I didn’t look hideous. I looked… presentable. I looked like I worked in an office or in a similar professional setting. I saw girls dressed like I was all the time. They might be stopping at a store on the way home from work or treating themselves to faaaaaancy coffee before a long day at work.

I daydreamed constantly about what the world was like in a skirt and heels. It sounds shallow but that’s okay. I wouldn’t be a masculine presenting person looking at cute panties in the lingerie department of a shop, I’d be, well, me looking at cute panties in the lingerie department of a shop.

I had everything I thought I needed, whether it was a purse or the confidence, but I was missing the ability to “pass”. Because of this, I stayed home for even more months.

I was too tall, my hands were too big, my voice a little too deep… the list goes on and on.

But fast-forward to today and I can recall countless makeovers at salons, popping into gas stations, trying on dresses at the mall, having dinner at faaaaancy restaurant, and yes, looking at cute panties in the lingerie department of a shop.

What changed? Nothing physical. I am the same height (if anything I am taller as my fondness for REALLY tall heels grows), my hands are the same as always, and my voice is still my voice.

What changed was the important thing: perspective.

Based on the comprehensive and exhausting research I did by googling “how many women are in the world”, I am told that there are 3.95 billion women in the world. Annnnd all 3.95 billion of them are different. Some have long hair, some have short hair, some have no hair. Some of them are like my wife and are as cute as a bug and as short as a minute, and some women have a penis.

What changed was the important thing: perspective.

For every physical attribute that a human being can have, there is a woman out there with it, whether it’s a certain facial structure, the sound of her voice, or a certain genitalia.

Essentially there are no rules or standards a woman must have. When I realized this it was like a lightbulb going off. I didn’t have to be a certain height. My voice did not have to be as lithe and as delicate as a princess from a Disney movie. There are cisgender women who are taller than me even in my tallest stilettos. There are cisgender women who have a deeper voice than I do.

Before I knew it my heels were clicking down the pavement and the wind was blowing through my hair.

For years I was afraid of what others were thinking of me. I realized that I didn’t know. Someone told me once that what someone else thinks of you is none of your business and my goodness they were right. And how would I know, anyway? Unless I strutted up to some random dude at the mall and asked what they thought of me, how would I know?

Hannah gives up her worries about “passing” – who cares what someone else thinks, anyway?

Also! Who cares what someone else thinks? I dress for myself and my life is lived for me. Why do I think I need to dress or live for someone at the coffee shop that I never will see again? Many women could care less about what a man thinks, anyway. I certainly don’t care about what a man thinks of me and whether or not he thinks I meet the arbitrary standards or possibly unattainable standards of what he thinks a girl “should” look like. Not long ago I saw a tweet from some dude who said that Margot Robbie was “mid”. I don’t think it’s possible to not think that Margot Robbie is one of the most beautiful people in the world. If Margot Robbie is mid, then what chance do any of us have when it comes to meeting this man’s standards of beauty? Besides, what makes him, or any man, think that I am trying to meet his expectations of femininity? If someone doesn’t think that I am a girl, that’s their problem.

Another thing that helped was when I shifted my thinking into realizing and accepting that everyone knows that I am transgender. I used to be afraid that someone would think and/or know that I’m not cisgender but not only would I never know what someone else thought of me, I also realized that if someone knew I was transgender, well, they were right. I am transgender.

I’m proud of who I am, and I am proud to be transgender. Why should I be afraid of someone knowing something about myself that I am proud of? Accepting yourself is one thing… Embracing yourself is another.

Although there are no standards as to what a woman “should” look like or what a woman “should” wear, most people associate someone wearing lipstick or wearing a dress or heels as a feminine person. As such, many people at the mall or wherever I am wandering about on a given day will respond to me influenced by my presentation or outfit. People know I am transgender and will likely interact with me based on their feelings and thoughts and attitude towards a gender nonconforming person.

Do people treat me “like a woman”? I am called “ma’am”, men hold the door open for me, and other chivalrous acts. My thinking is that they do not do these things thinking I am a cisgender woman. My thinking is that they do this because they see me as a woman… even though they likely know that I had a different gender assigned to me when I was born.

I would much rather have a man hold a door open for me who knows I am transgender as opposed to a man holding a door open for me because they think I am cisgender. I don’t want anyone to be kind to me because they think I have a vagina. I much rather that someone knows I am transgender AND they still choose to treat me like a lady. Not only do they respect women, but they also demonstrate that they know that transwomen are women and should be treated as such.

Why do I like this? Honestly I love kindness. I love when people do something small to make someone’s day even just a tinier bit easier. We are acknowledging that we are all living a life the best that we can, that everyone is trying to get through their day, and that everyone is fighting a battle that we know nothing about. We don’t know if the person next to us at Starbucks is treating themselves to expensive coffee because they are having a horrible day or if they are celebrating a job promotion. Holding the door open for someone takes almost no effort, it takes perhaps a few extra seconds out of our likely busy day, but what the gesture means can linger with someone for a lifetime.

And yes, I remember the first time a man held the door open for me. It happened on the first day I went out en femme and yes, it happened at a mall. Where else would I go on my first day out?

Kindness to a “non passing” gender nonconforming person like myself also says to me “I acknowledge that you were likely assigned male at birth and I am going to treat you like a lady”.

Of course, I could be looking toooo much into a simple gesture. It’s more likely that it’s just people being kind and polite to one another and really, that’s not a bad thing at all.

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