I often get messages online asking, ‘Where can I meet a trans guy? Are there any specific dating apps?’ This is an immediate red flag. I appreciate that people enjoy my porn, and enjoy my body, but to extrapolate that and decide you’d like to date a trans guy is problematic. My reply is usually some version of the following questions: Why do you want to date a trans guy specifically? What is it about trans men that you find appealing? If it’s that we’re short, we’re not all short. If it’s that we’re hairy or muscular, we’re not all hairy or muscular. If it’s that we have a pussy, we don’t all have a pussy, and even if we do, we don’t all feel comfortable using it. If it’s that we’re more sensitive or in touch with our emotions, that doesn’t apply either. Equally, a lot of these traits can apply to cis guys – so what is it about us that you like?
Often the essence of the desire is the combination of a masculine body with a vagina. As I’ve already said, none of these characteristics can be applied to every trans guy, but what stands out even more is how reductive it is to look for a romantic partner based solely on these physical traits. When it comes to hookups – anything where the sole reason is sex and physicality – it’s more nuanced than this, but if someone is seeking out trans men to date them, I’d question what ideas they have about trans men and how these are probably rooted in stereotypes and misconceptions.
Patrick Kuklinski quotes Emry Ramstack, vice president of the San Antonio Gender Association, as saying “some people, especially early on in transition, enjoy receiving these comments because it makes them feel desirable. However, they are ultimately harmful over time, because it can allow the receiver to only view themself through the eyes of their fetishizer.” There’s something here that resonated with me; although it may be an uncomfortable truth, I admit that there’s something I find validating about being pursued for the same traits and body parts that I used to be bullied for, and which I used to hate. I grew up disliking my body and feeling acutely aware of how trans people are treated in society, so I understand how it can be tempting to excuse dehumanising reduction to body parts if it also makes the receiver feel sexually desired. However, if you’re looking to date someone, it should be based on more than just them being trans. If this is the basis for your interest in someone, you might just be looking for sex.
In which case – I have different feelings. Here I’ll stress again that my opinions aren’t universal, and that none of what I’m about to say negates the need for mutual respect. If you want to hook up with a trans guy, it’s still necessary to read up online beforehand to ensure you know what not to ask (for example, ‘What was your name before?’), and to treat each person as an individual with specific preferences and desires which you will only find out by politely asking that individual.
If you’re looking to date someone, it should be based on more than just them being trans. If this is the basis for your interest in someone, you might just be looking for sex.
But the thing is, if you’re not looking to start a relationship with someone, I don’t see the issue with seeking out partners based on superficial physical traits. In the same way that I might look for someone skinny, fat, short, tall, hairy, smooth, based on my personal preferences, if someone prefers men and prefers vaginas, then why not look for someone who ticks all those boxes?
These are my feelings; the unfortunate reality is that there are only a handful of trans people within sex work who are afforded a voice, and since I’m privileged enough to be one of them, you could be excused for thinking I represent all trans sex workers. I do not; I would love for more of us to be platformed, so that my single narrative could be countered with that of a black trans man whose doubly fetishised identities cause problems I can’t imagine; I would love to hear from non-binary workers who are fetishised for body parts that are at odds with their gender expression – and so on.
Personally, I think my approach to being fetishised has been warped by the fact that I’ve been able to successfully capitalise on it. Although it can feel problematic to focus on stereotypes, or reduce myself to body parts (well – one specific body part, let’s be real), in my work, I’m in control of it. Especially on self-managed porn sites, I’m the performer, producer, and social media marketer, so I have autonomy over how I portray myself. To go back to what Emry Ramstack said, although this desire could be seen as dehumanising in my personal life, within work I’m making a living from sexual desire that I never imagined I would receive. Where I play into stereotypes and invite fetishisation for myself – although I am inevitably influenced to create content that will pay my bills – I’m doing so on my terms. My subscribers get their pussy boy and I pay my rent, so everyone’s happy.
Trans male writer Adrian Beyer argues that when trans men are fetishised, this ‘isn’t uplifting; it’s a means of oppression.’ Hard to disagree with in theory, and in my personal life, I would agree, but when it comes to my work, I’ve reclaimed agency over it and am using it to my advantage. I’m uplifting myself; I’m not oppressed. I suspect that the counter argument would be that my acceptance of the cis male gaze is doing little to help trans men outside of sex work, but aside from the fact that I think these should be tackled separately, I think it’s important to have vocal and sexually confident trans men in porn, and this success means allowing some ambivalence.
I hope that through my work I also go some way to countering what he describes as infantilisation; trans men are described as ‘sweet baby boys’ and ‘smol beans’ and assumed to be sexually submissive bottoms. In my porn I have autonomy over what’s filmed, my pleasure is centred, and I take control. This again only reinforces the need for a larger range of trans people in porn and in public life: there’s nothing wrong with being submissive, but it’s a problem when those are the only representations of trans men seen in porn. Therefore, if trans men are fetishised under the assumption of submissiveness – as Adrian points out, often due to presumed femininity, and thus rooted in misogyny – porn showing trans men as dominant, or tops, or exercising agency over their own bodies and sexualities, plays a direct role in combating some of this fetishisation.
I think my approach to being fetishised has been warped by the fact that I’ve been able to successfully capitalise on it.
There’s something about the work element of sex work that changes the conversation about fetishisation for me. Maybe it’s the ingrained knowledge that we all have to scrape by under capitalism, and I’m willing to concede that some of my opinions may not exist in a vacuum unswayed by our money-driven society, but my work persona – although similar in terms of sexuality and desires – is not identical to how I behave in my personal life. In the same way that I didn’t describe myself in terms so reductive as FTM before starting porn, I accept labels and boxes in order to market myself more effectively, and with this comes an invitation to emphasise and therefore fetishise aspects of myself which I would normally consider just another part of myself.
For me, this is work. Therefore, criticism of fetishisation is inherently a criticism of capitalism, and of the need for workers to follow market trends and demands in order to earn any money. This is definitely worthy of criticism, but arguably no more worthy than any other attempt by workers to follow demand. What complicates it here is that as a sex worker my product is my body, and my body continues to exist when I’m not working. These ways of being perceived feel separate to me, but it’s impossible to ignore the overlap, and the risk that objectification I allow – encourage, even – in my work will pave the way for similar treatment in daily life. Porn, especially porn produced by trans people ourselves, is categorically not to blame for the way trans people are dehumanised in society. However, since we encounter so much stigma and persecution, it’s worth examining the small and insidious ways that damaging stereotypes can be perpetuated, while understanding that as a trans sex worker it’s not as simple as avoiding those stereotypes entirely.
I remain sitting firmly in my ambiguity around this topic. For me, there’s a divide between fetishisation of potential romantic partners and fetishisation within a solely sexual and physical setting, further muddled when it comes to sex work. While I have no clear answers, I emphasise that respect for trans people and for sex workers, in all our individual desires and requests, should be prioritised at all times. We are not a monolith, and a deep understanding of the breadth of opinions can be reached only by platforming a wider range of marginalised voices.
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