Warning: Explicit Language

Introduction & Polite Words

It began with an all-too-familiar cartoon, the Powerpuff Girls. From the moment that my developing mind could create a memory, I was smitten with the courage and bravery of Buttercup. Was it because I loved the color green and she was green? Was it because she didn’t take any shit from anyone? Or was it because she was the first introduction to what I had felt inside- masculinity in a female form? Four-year-old me didn’t care- I just knew I liked Buttercup and she was my favorite.

It grew after that. Forget Barbies, I want to play with Hot Wheels on the city map rug. I don’t want to wear a dress, I’d prefer pants, please. Why can’t I take my shirt off like those boys are doing so? I just want to play PlayStation at home. Stop braiding my hair, just cut it all off Mom.

People ask transgender people all the time; when did you know?

Fuck. It’s so cliché. I don’t know, Helen. I just felt this way, from as long as I can remember. It’s not so much a know, like I know I don’t like peanuts. It’s more of a...holy shit, I just finally found the piece of the missing puzzle that explains the whole puzzle. I finally understand the whole fucking puzzle, Karen.

I hate talking about my childhood; it just brings up sadness for me, personally. Plus, my memory is not the greatest because of repressive traits, so we’ll talk about my teenage years and what that was like.

I didn’t really understand how to express myself fully; the one thing that I felt like I could express myself fully with was my hair. As it turns out, my mom forbid me to cut my hair, for any given reason, until I was 17. Shopping for the clothing that was made for my assigned gender was comparable to pulling teeth- why aren’t there any pockets in these jeans, let alone why are they so tight? This shirt is cute but it hugs my stupid curves. I don’t care about coffee or yoga, I care about video games and comfort. I felt true bliss when I tried on the first pair of mens’ clothing- pockets, plenty of room, baggy shirts hiding my true physical form...oh my god. I love all of this.

And then, I went to gay camp...

My name is Max. I chose the name Maximiliano as my middle name because it was the runner up for my first name and because, my initials make up for the acronym that describes the act of fellatio- a sly nod to my shitposting meme attitude. The other reason I chose Maximiliano is because it means “the greatest” and was chosen by royal blood. I chose that name four years ago, when I officially came out as a transgender man. Follow along as I tell the grand tale as what being a transgender man in the year 2018, in Madison, Wisconsin, looks like.