Pretty in Pink–And a Boy

 My gender identity isn’t easy to explain. I feel more like a boy, but I was assigned female at birth, and I’ve never minded looking like a girl. Even as a child, I loved being pretty and wearing dresses, especially pink ones. 

When I was 8, a new pair of Mary Janes arrived in the mail and made my day. They were black, shiny, and as cute as they had looked online. They made a satisfying clack as I walked in them. The sun shone through my bedroom window while I tried on skirts, jackets, and leggings with my new shoes. I tapped the heels together like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.  

But I had also begun to wish I was a boy. I played tag, freeze tag, hide-and-seek, and pirates with a group of boys in elementary school. My mom bought me dolls and dollhouses, and I said, “No, get me paintball and remote control cars.” 

“Girl” just didn’t align with how I felt. 

I picked up early clues about sex and gender from the animated show Steven Universe, which my sister Tiffany, my cousin Skyler, and I watched eagerly every week at my grandma’s house. In the last episode of season one, Steven met two new characters: Ruby and Sapphire. They hugged and held each other’s face, and Sapphire kissed Ruby’s nose. 

“Is Ruby a boy or a girl?” I asked Skyler. 

“Ruby’s a girl,” Skyler said.  

Two girls were dating? I was intrigued. In another episode, Steven merged with Connie to become Stevonni, and I felt a pull of identification to the character who was both genders. 

In 6th grade, my best friend told me she was lesbian. I found that interesting and realized that if I had to choose, I liked guys.   

During Covid lockdown, in 7th grade. I scrolled through TikTok and websites and found out that people changed their pronouns. Digging in more, I learned about the LGBTQ+ community, different sexualities, and different genders. 

I felt connected most to the TikToks about being gay and trans, specifically transmasc. But not to the point of saying, “That’s me!” 

That summer after 7th grade, as I began socializing again with my relatives, I heard my 13-year-old cousin Adira’s mom call Adira “Ace.”  

“Adira, are you a boy?” I asked.  

“Yea, and it’s Ace now,” Ace said. 

My older sister piped in, “I guess you’re the only straight one left.” She turned to Ace and said, “I hope we don’t indoctrinate the youth.”  

I thought for a moment. “Tiffany, are you gay?”  

“Yeah, I swear I told you.” 

“You didn’t, but I sorta figured.”  

Tiffany would talk about how hot girls are and read sapphic fanfics. I asked if her “best friend” was actually her girlfriend, and she said that she was. 

Once Tiffany came out, we talked more about our feelings and identities over the next few years. I tried to explain that I identified with and was more interested in boys than girls. 

Figuring It Out 

One day after school in my freshman year, I spun around in my sister’s chair while she sat on her bed googling “Women who prefer reading/watching male main characters”; “women who don’t identify with women”; “women who would rather read books about two male lovers than about two women or a straight couple.” She found articles about women that identified more with men, though she had already come to her own conclusion: I was “objectifying the gay community.” 

I told her I wasn’t doing that. “I just don’t see myself in stories where the main character’s a girl. It’s hard to put myself in a main character’s shoes if she’s a girl and goes by she/her and has all the parts a girl has. And I like guys. Why can’t I just read about guys that like guys?” 

My sister rolled her eyes. “Because you’re a girl.” 

I nodded.  

“There’s no reason for you to be reading that many gay stories. You’re objectifying the gays,” she repeated. I knew that wasn’t right, but I wasn’t sure why I was so drawn to gay men.  

When he said he accepted me and was going to use whatever my new pronouns would be, I was elated.

The next time my cousin Ace came to visit, my sister mentioned her theory that I objectified the gays. And Ace said, “What if you’re a boy?”  

I thought about how much that would explain. I constantly imagined myself as a boy, in a boy’s body. At school, I wore sports bras to hide my chest, but when I showered I had to confront my gender dysphoria. I wanted to change my pronouns, and I identified with men in media like Makoto from Danganronpa, Hunter from The Owl House, and Steven Universe. These things were strange for a girl, but they were normal for a transmasculine person, or transmasc.  

I thought for weeks about what Ace had suggested. And I slowly realized it might be true. I might not be a girl at all, even though I love bows and princesses and fashion. I didn’t know anyone like me, so it was hard to imagine being assigned female at birth and liking girly things but still being a boy. 

I held off on mentioning my thoughts about my gender to my family and friends because I was afraid I was wrong. And if I were wrong, wouldn’t that just prove right the people who say being trans is just a trend and the people who think I’m too young to know?  

And what if it changes? If I told everyone I wasn’t a girl and then changed my mind and went back to my old name and pronouns, would people look down on me? 

I Can Identify How I Want To 

But then I realized, it doesn’t matter if I change my mind. I can wait until I’m confident about this choice, more sure about my gender, to make more permanent decisions like taking testosterone. But in the meantime, if identifying as a girl doesn’t make me happy, I shouldn’t have to. 

I opened discord and messaged Ace: You got me thinking about the whole gender thing. I think I’m a demigirl (both nonbinary and a girl), not sure, figured I’d tell you cause you probably know most about the topic/understand it best, and i just wanted someone to know but I was afraid tiffany wouldnt understand. 

Ace wrote back immediately: That’s great that you’re exploring this. It took me 7+ months to figure out who I was. It might not be the same for you but it’s always good to know exactly how you feel. 

When he said he accepted me and was going to use whatever my new pronouns would be, I was elated. It was like a weight lifted off my chest. I was worried Ace wouldn’t accept me because I wasn’t trans the same way he was. He grew up a tomboy, dressed masculine, acted masculine. When he came out, it felt expected.  

Around that time, I “dated” a boy named Juan—meaning we texted a lot and hung out. But I didn’t want to kiss him, and I had no romantic interest in him, so I cut it off. I haven’t dated anyone since—or wanted to. The closest thing I have to a crush is on fictional characters, like Joe from You or Sebastian from Black Butler. Fictional characters are the only ones who I have sexual fantasies about. I identify as aroace, short for “aromantic/asexual.”  

Gender identity and sexual orientation are two distinct things. But for me, being gay is connected to being trans/nonbinary. If I was a girl who liked boys, I would be straight. I’m a non-girl who likes non-girls—but not romantically or sexually. Being aroace means that gender identity is actually a bigger deal for me than sexual orientation. 

In 10th grade, I made an important friend, Luck, who’s genderfluid and chose their name. As with Ace, I felt comfortable telling Luck how I felt. (I no longer identified as a demigirl but I was nonbinary.) With both of them, I knew they understood me, and I didn’t feel pressured to prove my identity. It was nice to be reminded that the people I love most would accept me for who I am no matter what.  

I scrolled on a website for gender-neutral names and found Rylen. I wrote it down in my sketchbook and adjusted it to Ryllen, then Rylein, then Rylynn. I loved the way “Rylynn” sounded and looked on the page.  

Junior year began, and I was nervous to come out at school, but Luck encouraged me to use the new name. In gym class, Luck introduced me to their friend William.  

“What’s your name?” William asked. 

“Tashai. I mean… Rylynn.” 

“Well, is it Tashai or Rylynn?” he asked. 

“It’s Rylynn.” 

“Alright, we’ll see ya later, Rylynn!” William went back to playing basketball. Hearing my name said out loud for the first time made me feel electric. 

But I was still nervous. I’ve known everyone at the school for two years, and telling them my new name and pronouns would be like telling people that what they think they know about me is wrong. And what if no one believed me? I wear my hair long, I come to school in pink clothes, and the name I picked isn’t masculine like Max or Jake. 

But Luck believed me, loved my chosen name, and didn’t care what gender stereotypes I followed. That gave me courage to tell a teacher, but not enough to tell her myself. “Luck, can you tell Ms. Rapp for me?” 

The next day Ms. Rapp came over to my table and asked me about my new name and pronouns. “Rylynn, he/they,” I answered. By the end of the following week, more teachers pulled me aside to confirm the change and used my name and pronouns in class. Gradually, students started calling me by my new name. It was freeing. I didn’t have to hide that part of myself anymore, and I didn’t have to have it all figured out.