I'll be out on the streets of Portland (Maine) today...watch for me. I won't be dressed outrageously. Jeans, my favorite purple top, flip-flops with sparkle in the cork.
The reason I mention it is not because I think we'll meet...it's a big world out there...but to nudge your transdar switch to "on".
You start noticing things. That strikingly tall woman with the broad shoulders and the big hair stalking down the street...could she be? This skater-boy with the cherubic face in the bus kiosk...could he be? If you practice good trans-etiquette it doesn't matter, because the first rule is, treat folks as they present, but it's still fun to wonder.
A new thought occurs...perhaps the kernel of the embarrassment around meeting people of ambiguous gender is not about reading them. Hey, I expect to get read. No big deal. Bound to happen. No, the squirmiest scenario is getting it wrong. What could be worse than venturing, "Excuse me, are you trans?" and the answer being an affronted NO?
Something to ponder: How do you politely ask one if one is trans? If you ask at all...but why not? 'Tisn't shameful. It has to be an appropriate question from time to time.
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