The Hind End of Space

gynecomastodon:

People wanna know what being a trans woman is like. It’s like this: you’re a knife thrower’s assistant. Except that you’re not part of an act, you’re just walking around minding your own business. You’re not at the circus; you’re at the grocery store or the movies or waiting for the bus. And it’s not a trained, professional knife thrower with whom you’ve practiced for years and developed an intimate bond of trust. It’s just random strangers hucking knives at you, seeing how close they can get. It’s funny to them if you’re caught off guard, if you show fear. You’re not supposed to wince or cry out, you’re just supposed to stand there and smile. People around you get mad at YOU if you’re not a good sport about it. If you turn to them and shout “FOR GOD’S SAKE HELP ME! THIS ISN’T AN ACT! I DON’T KNOW THIS MAN!!” they’ll scoff and shrug, “you’re never going to build an audience with that kind of attitude.”

Some days, nothing happens. Other days, it’s one knife right after the other, WHACK! WHAM! One might graze your cheek or cut the strap of your dress. And everyone laughs and cheers, because it’s all in good fun and you’re asking for it anyway, dressed like that. And sometimes the knife thrower’s been drinking, sometimes he’s feeling mean and spiteful and he really, really wants to put on a show, so he aims as close to your throat as he can, WHAM! And all you can do, all anyone will let you do, is wonder if you’ve finally met the one who’s going to hit you in the heart or the neck or the eye and say, “whoops.”

That’s what it’s like.