Demystifying the Crossdressing Experience
Transcriber: Jai Simon
Reviewer: Amanda Zhu
Do you remember being a child
alone in your room at night,
the lightning crashing,
the thunder rumbling,
skeletal hands slowly reaching
across the walls,
a sliver of an open closet door
just hiding and inviting
all the terrors inside?
And you are under your covers
with such an intense and paralyzing fear
that the idea of putting
your feet to the floor
is an impossible task.
Now, take that fear
and put it into the body
of a full-grown, college educated adult
who is simply asked
to go to the grocery store.
Now, luckily, the kid
has family and people
who can come into the room
and rip open the closet door,
show that everything’s okay,
explain away the shadows and the rumbles.
So now that child can go forward
with the knowledge and the allies
to be more brave for the next time.
Now, how does an adult, someone like me,
take that fear,
and without all that support
and all those resources,
overcome that fear?
My name is Savannah,
and under all this is Chuck.
I am an advocate,
an author,
a podcaster,
and a cross-dresser.
When I tell people I’m a cross-dresser,
I usually get at least one
of the following questions:
“Oh, so you’re like a drag queen!”
No, I am not that fabulous,
and I am not that good an entertainer.
“Oh, so you want to be a lady
with lady parts?”
No, I’m very happy to be in my male body.
I just have a need to express myself
in a feminine way once in a while.
“Oh, but you’re gay, right?”
No, I’ve always loved women,
and there is actually no proof
that a non-transitioning
cross-dressing person
has any more likelihood of being gay
than any other demographic.
So how did I get here?
Well, I’m the middle child of three
in a family of five,
grew up in a conservative Midwest
in the 70s and 80s.
We ate dinner around the same table
at the same time most nights.
The problem is that same table
is where my mom and dad spoke openly
and gossiped about the likelihood
of the neighbor boy being gay.
Why?
Because he was open enough
about wearing high-heeled shoes
when we played pretend
on his front porch.
That being said,
hearing my mom and dad condemn this boy
with what they were saying about him,
it made me realize
that maybe I should keep my love
for my mom’s high heels to myself.
Growing up in my preadolescence,
I had no role models that were like me.
Actually, I take that back.
I had one role model
who used to come into the house
every Saturday morning.
In my adolescence and in my teen years,
I finally understood the word “tranny”
and what it meant.
The problem was at the time,
it had already taken on
such a hateful slur
that I was hesitant
to ever take that on as who I was.
But after college, with a marriage
and a move to New York City,
a whole world of diversity
opened up to me.
I saw my first drag queen in real life.
In fact, I saw a bevy of drag queens
in real life all at the same time,
all working and performing
at a restaurant in lower Manhattan
called Lucky Cheng’s.
They were happy,
the patrons adored them,
there seemed to be a sense of community,
and they unknowingly led me to the point
where I could accept
the word “transvestite” for myself.
And with that, my world opened up.
And with that, of course, you know,
if you take that next step,
you need to have a name.
And I was told at the time
that you should have
the name of your first pet
and the street you grew up on.
Well, I was not answering to Shaggy,
so that was out.
But instead, my name
just happened to find me,
and a fully-fledged Savannah was born.
Now, these are the Savannah, early years,
but really is more like Savannah,
the hot mess years.
But I was happy.
I was dressing femininely.
I was enjoying life,
going out to the clubs,
and being with friends.
The problem is that
with every moment of self-acceptance
are just more profound
and personal questions to ask yourself.
And as a result, gender identity,
gender expression
were words I had never heard of.
They weren’t popularized in the 90s yet.
I was questioning my sexuality at a moment
where I had never questioned my sexuality
up to that exact moment.
You have to remember in the 90s,
the Internet was still a baby
and I was just a novice.
Unfortunately, soon thereafter,
my wife and I divorced,
but it’s because we were
on different journeys.
She was on a discovery path
for her own sexuality,
and I wanted to understand more
of what and who I was as Savannah.
Each relationship I had,
Savannah was included, for good or bad.
In my longest relationship,
Savannah started off as a novelty
and as something fun to do
behind closed doors.
But because of the fact
that she was concerned
about what people
might think of her, about me
and what people might think of me,
and trying to protect me.
And because I hate conflict,
I focused on her own happiness
and her own comfort over my own,
and I put Savannah deep into the closet.
It took 10 years for Savannah
to raise her voice loud enough
to finally hear her say
that she was worthwhile,
she was entitled to breathe
and that she should have happiness.
So I finally stuck up for myself
and stood up for myself
and looked for a community in the area
that would accept me.
And with that, I found
a community of people like myself.
I heard their stories,
and together and by myself,
I was able to thrive.
Unfortunately, at home,
because of the secrecy
and because of the resentment
that had built up
and because we didn’t have the resources
to integrate Savannah in a healthy way,
that 15-year relationship ended.
Moving forward to 2018,
my current girlfriend, Judy, and I
had to leave New York.
And I was terrified
of leaving that community behind
because I was terrified even more
that I wouldn’t be able to find
that community where we were moving to.
Because folks, I moved to South Carolina.
That is a God-fearing, gun-toting,
red leaning state.
Where would I possibly find
a cross-dressing community
that I could find myself in again?
Well,
prior to the move and after the move,
it took a despondent and desperate
and demoralizing six months for me,
with my girlfriend’s help
and thinking outside
the cross-dressing box,
to find anything that Savannah
could be a part of.
It was a Meetup app group
for the LGBTQ community.
They welcomed me in,
even though I was one
of the only cross-dressers.
From there, I got an invitation
to join the monthly meetings
for the local P-flag group.
And from there,
I took in my first pride event
in Spartanburg.
That allowed me, with the help
of these communities and these leaders,
to finally say to myself
and have enough confidence
to realize and make a promise to myself
that I needed to be visible
in a way that was beyond just social media
and be in the public eye.
So, with that visibility,
I discovered gracious and welcoming
and curious South Carolinians
who took me into their hearts
and called me “friend”.
And with that visibility,
I started to frequent, every weekend,
a certain chain of coffee shops
just to prove that I am just as amazing
and normal as everyone else.
So how was it
that with all that,
that paralyzing fear returned
when I was sitting in my car
because I was asked to go run an errand
to the grocery store?
Because I know how
so many people think of it -
deviant, mentally ill, fetishistic.
predatory, an abomination to God -
all because I choose to dress
in a manner beyond my biology.
On a personal level,
I’ve heard friends and colleagues
talk down in derogatory
to queers, about queers,
not realizing that I am one.
They just know me in male mode.
I’ve been told about a mother’s lament
about the protection of her child
because I shook
that child’s hand in church.
Even my social media, I expect hate mail.
On a grander scale,
I’ve seen the viral videos
where people in my community are beaten.
I’ve listened to the news reports
that claimed that I am a pervert
just trying to get into the ladies’ room
for nefarious things.
Transgender women are targeted
and murdered every year
in an ongoing epidemic.
And most sadly and most unfortunately,
our LGBTQ youth
has a suicide attempt rate
three times that of their cisgender
and straight counterparts.
So as I’m sitting in the car with my hands
white-knuckled on the steering wheel,
those thoughts and many more
are racing through my head.
You have to remember
that for me, my confidence
was built and bred in a vacuum,
without support systems,
without resources,
when I was in my most formative years.
So like a flame under a glass dome,
it’s very easily extinguished.
Because indoctrinated fear over years
is not easily rooted out.
It didn’t matter
that I’d found my community,
it didn’t matter that I’ve been
continuing my research
and becoming more confident in public.
I had gone from the safety and inclusivity
of the coffee shop I loved
three hundred yards across the street
to a parking lot of a grocery store
where I felt vulnerable,
alone, and exposed.
Now, did I survive?
Of course, I did.
After several minutes, I went in,
came back to the car unscathed
with no more than just a few stares
and a very strange quick conversation
in the checkout line.
But that was barely two years ago,
barely.
It’s 2021.
What are we doing to effect change?
What are we doing to mitigate the risks
and get rid of the fear?
Advocacy,
education,
and empowerment.
The cross-dressing community
is woefully underrepresented.
Why?
Because non-transitioning
cross-dressing folks
do not need to present themselves
in their duality 24/7.
And as a result,
we have the ability
to hide ourselves away.
But if we continue to hide,
nothing ever changes.
So for those who can
come forward and be visible,
they need to come forward.
And for those who want
to help us and be allies,
we only ask that you share with us
that you are a safe haven
and a protected platform
from which we can be seen
just living our lives.
And once we capture people’s attention,
we need to be courageous enough
to tell our stories
and answer any questions.
Because for too many years,
we have been put into a stigmatized
and mislabeled box
because people just don’t know
or have not been taught any different.
So the longer we stay silent,
the longer people
will cling to these ideals
that are antiquated and outdated.
For me, to be visible on this stage
and to be vocal with you is a risk.
Anybody who hears or sees this
can connect Savannah to Chuck.
And at that point,
the genie is out of the bottle
and my secret’s out.
So if somebody is brave enough
to take the risk to tell you their story,
hear them.
Listen to the words
with an open heart and an open mind.
Because when you hear a story
that resonates within you,
that’s empowerment.
When you see somebody walking
down the street in public
that reminds you of somebody
you want to be,
that’s empowerment.
Advocation breeds education,
which fuels empowerment.
And it is a circular journey,
it is symbiotic and it can be
ever, ever expanding.
Because every cycle of that
breeds more role models,
which, then, creates more resources,
which, then, creates more self-confidence.
And I urge all of you
to be a part of that change
and support that change.
Now, while I stand in front of you,
being vocal, invisible,
and with confidence,
it pains me and gives me shame to tell you
that I will never tell my parents
about Savannah.
I will never tell them
about her achievements.
I will never tell them
about being on this stage.
And I will never tell them
about anything that I’ve done
positively for the community.
Because for me, that rejection
that I could get from my folks
is my worst fear.
Now, if they come across this talk,
I will take the consequence, good or bad.
But who knows?
Maybe it would just be
simply another opportunity
for me to be a better advocate,
to educate them with my story,
and just empower myself.
And that is a risk worth taking.
Thank you.