‘Slay’, I mumbled to myself as I walked to the tube.
It made me think back to the beginning of my career as a model.
Coming from a small town, I only had straight friends. No one in my physical life was out to the world, and as I began to understand what my own sexuality was, my straight counterparts handed me their 49 page thesis on what I had to do to be a version of queerness that was acceptable to them. It involved being told I had to be sassy and fun, enjoy the colour pink and paint my nails. Be dramatic, lust over boys and talk about how much I loved Gossip Girl.
Despite the fact that I’d never seen it and definitely preferred Glee, I realised that I had become visible to my peers as an LGBTQ+ person without ever standing up and saying it myself. The words had never left my lips, yet the world around me had already seen me as the queer person they wanted me to be.
Cut to 2016, and I find myself in London working within the modelling industry. I’d just come out as non-binary, and was enjoying the freedom and accessibility to myself that my gender identity fostered. As the fashion industry began to nurture and acknowledge the ‘gender neutral’ trend, my image and identity became something that was adored. For pockets of fashion week or moments within the beauty game, there was an openness that appeared. A gap in the hostility.
To be visible within a space that has never before allowed your community the space to be seen on the surface seems like an experience that would be teething with a plethora of positives. To be able to be seen is a beautiful thing. For your friends or your partner to see you for who you are is one thing, but the opportunity for the world to be able to see you for who you truly are is another. An opportunity that never before felt possible, and one that many of us would grab with both hands. The younger version of me who was scared to be out at school and was bullied mercilessly for my queerness was now being given the opportunity to not only be validated, but celebrated for it. There wasn’t a second thought to it – I had to do it.
As someone who has been the only trans or queer face within global campaigns within the fashion industry or the beauty world (clang), I realise now the impact that that can have on one person, and the impact it can have on how they see their own identity. Despite the chance to connect with those across the world who identify outside of the binary, fuelling our solidarity and tightening our bond, it also put me in the eye of the storm. To have thousands of people who dislike every fibre of your being suddenly with direct access to my body meant I was continually harassed in all areas of my life. From on the streets to in the palm of my hand – the people who didn’t like what you looked like, or what you stand for, could now tell you directly what they thought of you.
But it’s much bigger than just a direct stream of hate being able to make its way back to me. It’s a sign that as a marginalised group, trans people are disproportionately impacted by digital and physical abuse.
According to the 2021 Census from the Office for National Statistics, 0.5% of people in England and Wales do not identify with the gender that they were assigned at birth. That’s approximately 262,000 people out of a total UK population of 67.3 million. A beautifully diverse yet noticeably small collective of people.
It should be no surprise to you that anti-trans rhetoric is rife within the UK, across the US and throughout Europe. Independent news site Novara Media cited that in January alone, 115 articles on trans issues were published – that’s nearly four a day. We’ve moved from the days of merely hostile discussions about bathrooms to historic political changes to Government protocol being introduced as we saw in Scotland this year as for the first time since Scotland’s devolution in 1997, the UK Government blocked their Gender Recognition Reform Bill from receiving royal ascent.
But what does this have to do with trans visibility? Surely being positively celebrated through visibility in branded campaigns counteracts the hate?
In an ideal world, yes. The visibility of trans people across our TV screens and cinema, bookshops and video games should be something that we celebrate and champion wholeheartedly. But as a society, that’s just not the reality. It’s a tough reality to stomach, but one that when ignored, leads to disastrous and damaging experiences for the trans people involved. As a brand or organisation, it’s naive to think that visibility alone will stop transphobia in its tracks, with it sometimes even adding momentum to their already frightfully loud campaign of hate.
Take TikTok star Dylan Mulvaney as an example. A fun loving trans woman who decided to document her transition across the social media platform is suddenly catapulted to global stardom after countless individuals resonated with her larger than life message. A joyous and clinically American personality who showed hope to so many – torn down after she partnered with BudLight earlier this year. Her face and name fell into the hands of conservative America, with news anchors and Conservative figures publicly boycotting BudLight drinks, and Anheuser-Busch InBev, the beer-making client behind the drink, publishing a 30% drop in operating profits as a result of the boycott.
Long gone are the days of brands utilising trans people purely for commercial gain or posturing during Pride. The impact on the trans community as a result of fallouts like the above with Dylan highlight how impactful and dangerous it can be for the community at large to be used in the quest for visibility. If these campaigns get in the hands of the wrong people, no matter what your intentions are, things can get dangerous very quickly for the individual and the trans community. Culture wars are reignited, and the real issues of trans healthcare, protection in schools and mental health support are forgotten about as ‘BudLight Boycott’ sits across the headlines for weeks on end.