When the world went into lockdown five months after I started taking testosterone, I thought it would be easier not to see people for a while.
Maybe they wouldn’t hear my voice go scratchy or see up close the hormonal acne splattered across my face. Alone in my apartment, I imagined that all my difficulties in being seen and recognized as transgender-nonbinary would evaporate.
No one would gender me except myself; my pronouns would be right there in the text box on my Zoom screen. So I was surprised by how much my gender instead seemed to almost evaporate.
No longer on the alert for how to signal a restaurant’s waitstaff that neither “he” nor “she” applied to me, or for whether colleagues and neighbors would use the right language — devoid.