There is a discussion on passing on the SCCLounge, which I moderate. One of the questions was about people who don’t care if they do or do not pass, and I wrote:

I do not know if I represent “the other side” but do know I’m not overly concerned with being “passable” or “blending” when I go out. But I do think I make a pretty good Zelda.

I am over six feet tall and am not in the WNBA. I can’t shop at Bebe or Forever 21-I’m a Lane Bryant and Torrid girl. I’ve got a few miles on the clock, which I am reminded of daily. And my personal style varies from Goth girl to casual funk to damned near soccer mom.

Okay, this one time, at SCC I went to the mall with a really nice, very cute and feminine tgirl. It was a Saturday afternoon, with lots of people shopping. We spent about an hour and a half in the mall, shopping and talking and in general enjoying ourselves. As we were leaving, this girl asked me “How do you stand it?”

“Stand what?” I said, wondering what had happened.

“The stares,” she replied with a slightly concerned look on her face.

“What stares?” I replied. Which took her by surprise. After all, I *had* to be worried about having been “clocked” as a tgirls! Right?

Well, no. I had not paid attention to other people’s reactions to me. I had not been looking around to see who had or had not been looking at me. Because it did not matter. I wasn’t looking for other people’s valitation, or for their acceptance or lack of it. I just was there, another person shopping in the mall.

I do know that the vast majority of people tend not to really say or do anything when they see me. Either I register as another woman in their mind, or they know something is different about me but they don’t care enough to stop and take another look, or they know exactly what I am but it is not an issue for them. A handfull will take a second or longer look at me. They may say something to the person they are with, or not. They may smile at me, smirk knowingly, giggle, frown, or something else. And once in a blue moon, someone will actually make a remark to me or at me.

And I accept that those are all possibilities. But I do not let them discourage me. What I *do* is to go out and be myself. Because I have the choice of staying at home, woried that I am not going to blend or pass and trap myself in my own closet. Or, I accept who I am and just, well, do it.

I do feel comfortable with who I am-and that make a lot of difference. It’s far more likely that you’ll blend into the crowd if you feel like you belong there rather than feel like you’re an outsider. Passing? That’s good genes and/or medicine, and the ablilty to totally get rid of everything stereotypically male you can.

But for me, I’ll just be the best Zelda I can be.