Body Week is Them’s annual look at what it means to live in a queer body today. Read more from the series here.
Some days, I think about how beautiful it is to be transgender. Other days, I relieve all the embarrassing, bizarre, and awkward memories from earlier in my transition, when I was trying to keep up with my changing body. But perhaps most often, I find myself swinging wildly between feeling grateful for my metamorphosis and cringing at myself in the same second. How wonderful it is to be able to figure out who you are — and how humiliating it sometimes is to do that after you’ve already gone through puberty once! Whether it’s learning to shave, going to the pool, or even peeing with new anatomy, a lot of trans people do things for the first time as adults that other people got out of the way in their teenage years, or even during early childhood.
My hope is that as transition eventually becomes more accessible to people of all ages, despite anti-LGBTQ+ efforts to restrict access to gender-affirming care, there will one day be entire generations of trans people who aren’t hitting many of these life firsts in their twenties, thirties, and beyond. But for now, at least we can share our experiences, from the hilarious to the poignant to the beautifully liberatory. I asked trans people of various identities to share their own bodily firsts with me. From Chuck’s experience learning to shave to Nikia going to the club with a new ID, we hope you’ll laugh, wince, and maybe even shed a tear or two while reading our recollections — and that you’ll share your own firsts in return. — Samantha Allen
Chuck Petrizzi
30, he/him, writer, comedian, and husband
When I was six years old, I was fascinated with watching my dad shave. I wanted that experience so badly that I went for it. So, with a tissue taped to my face and not a single thought in my head, I took my dad’s razor and shaved. And by “shaved,” I mean “cut my chin open” because, as it turns out, razors are sharp! Fast forward to less than a year ago. My facial hair had finally reached the incredible milestone known as “patchy.” OK. Go time. Shaving, take two. This time, no tissue substitute was necessary. As I ran my razor across a scraggly neck beard that seriously needed to go, I felt the all-encompassing joy of gender euphoria. I looked through the bathroom mirror, back into the past, and met the eyes of my teary-eyed, bloody-chinned six-year-old self. “We finally did it, lil buddy! We shaved for real!” Ouch! OK, razors are still sharp.
Quispe López
26, they/he, lifestyle editor at Them
I started testosterone in 2021 with similar goals in mind as many of my transmasc friends: a deeper voice and to masculinize my features a bit. While bottom growth — or my clit literally growing because of HRT — wasn’t an initial goal for me, it ended up being an affirming and fun part of transition. As a former passed-around twink — I’m in my monogamous dyke era now — sex was and will always be a huge aspect of my life and identity. So the first time I ever got hard felt significant, like I was finally getting to experience my full self in every aspect of my life. Not to make getting a boner that serious, but as a generally horny person who places a great deal of value in the connection I build through sex, it really was that deep for me.
Shey Ruud
42, he/him, member of the Seattle Men’s Chorus
My beard didn’t really fill in until five years on hormones. For the longest time, I had a mustache and a beard, but no hair that connected the two! Once everything seemed to fill in, I tried as many facial hair styles as I could think of: goatee, sideburns only with no mustache or beard, a daisy chain (think Lemmy from the band Motörhead), the Abe Lincoln (a.k.a. chinstrap), and of course, a mustache with curled up ends like a dandy! After a bit of fun, I decided the full beard fit me best. The true moment of trans joy came when cis men started complimenting my beard, saying how jealous they were of its thick fullness and color, as they were unable to grow something of that stature. All my life, I’d been envious of cis men and wasn’t prepared for the tables to turn. Now I can’t imagine not having facial hair!
Samantha Allen
37, she/her, senior culture editor at Them
I have a lot of beautiful, sentimental feelings about getting bottom surgery. And then I have the memory of sitting on the toilet in my doctor’s after getting my catheter removed and thinking, “Wait, how do I, um, go?” I honestly hadn’t even thought about it beforehand; I had other, more pressing things on my mind like reducing my dysphoria or having a more fulfilling sex life. Urinating in a new way wasn’t anywhere near the top of my list of reasons for going under the knife. As it turns out, peeing is like riding a bike: I relaxed the ole pelvic floor and whoosh, we were off to the races. I pretty quickly discovered why I’d never be able to write my name in the snow, and why toilet seats in public ladies’ rooms are often covered in pee. Please, for the love of God, stop hovering.
Connor
35, they/he, tech policy and writing
For the first few weeks after top surgery, I wore button-down shirts. This wasn’t unusual for me, even though I had T-shirts in the back of my drawer — from concerts, tech conferences, and political campaigns — that had been untouched for years. But I’d been asked to be on a Pride panel at work, so a T-shirt from the Human Rights Campaign was the perfect attire. I pulled it on gingerly, my scars still sore, and above all, felt relieved. There I was: two months post-surgery, on zoom, WONT BE ERASED in Trans Pride flag colors on my new chest. I was talking about inclusion in the workplace, getting pings from co-worker-friends on the call who knew I’d been away for surgery, and who were celebrating me being fully out, fully present, and seen. Truly, it was a moment of being the adult my teenage self could never have imagined.
Nikia Michaelá
26, she/her, International PRO Makeup Artist and content creator
Showing my former ID at any bar, club, or event always used to bring me anxiety. The bouncer would usually stare at it with a confused look or awkward moment of hesitation before quickly handing it back and letting me in. But this time, the bouncer looked me up and down and immediately said, “This isn’t you, NEXT!” Before I could even react, I was both shocked and oddly flattered that he didn’t believe it was me. My friends had to vouch for me, explaining it was the “old me.” Although I don’t usually like sharing my backstory with strangers, I had to prove my trans identity this time instead of defending it. The bouncer then apologized profusely, gave me another look, and said, “Well, girl, you look good.” What started as an awkward moment ended up giving me the validation and confidence I needed, setting the stage for a great night out in New York.
Sam Gattone
34, he/they, writer
After top surgery, it took me a while to adjust to the physical feeling of not being covered by a binder. Because I was so anxious about being shirtless, I planned it out months ahead and made it extra. While on vacation with my two best friends, I made my public chest debut at the pool at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. I rolled in with a fruity drink, wearing a cute, lil shirt-swim trunks outfit with SPF 70 slathered on my nips. Once I took my shirt all the way off, and realized no one was staring at me, I started beaming. But the biggest wave of euphoria came when I first got in the pool and felt the initial shock of cold water on my bare chest. I’d never had that specific experience before, and it felt so novel to me.
Del
27, they/them, bookish content creator
After fully coming to terms with my gender identity, one of the first things I wanted to do was order a binder. After researching several different brands to choose from, I selected one from For Them. (Highly recommend, by the way). An immediate concern came to mind, which is that I wasn’t sure if the dark gray binder would show through the lighter-colored tops in my wardrobe that I had been envisioning wearing over it. I quickly decided I’d rather just wear a button-up top (unbuttoned, naturally) over it so that it could be on full display. It smoothed out my chest in a way I didn’t even know was possible, which was incredibly emotional for me. It was the closest I’ve ever come to being topless in public in a way that was so affirming, safe, and accessible.
Nicole Lynn Ó Catháin
35, she/her, IT specialist for a local Black Trans nonprofit
The first time it happened, I still couldn’t believe it. I was still on active duty and needless to say, I was still pretty bald. That and of all places, it was at Walmart. (I still have the top that I wore that day, too.) I was so nervous to the point that I had my cover story primed and ready if anyone from my unit saw me: I had lost a bet on the recent Chargers/Padres game. Now, if you see me at a sporting event, it’s women’s soccer and I’m waving a giant trans pride Seattle Reign flag that’s over twice my height. (Just know I won’t have any arm strength the next day. I gotta recuperate.) No need to make any bets anymore — and oh yeah, I also have a helluva lot more hair on my head now.
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