As a visibly trans person, it can feel threatening or overwhelming to move through the world sometimes because of how much people stare. There are different kinds of stares: knowing smiles from older women, slack jawed ogling from men, and the occasional I-am-shooting-daggers-with-my-eyes death stare from transphobes. The cumulative result regardless of the intention of the stares is a feeling of aggressive perception from the outside world, and so you have to decide how to proceed. You can try and go stealth, or be closeted. You can pretend like you don’t see people staring and keep going about your business. You can aggressively return eye contact; sometimes this is a good choice for shutting down gawkers or transphobes, but other times safety takes precedence.
Or, you can own it. Give them something to look at.
I have to give credit where it is due to my girlfriend Lilith for coming up with the concept of visibility tanking. The name draws from the video game concept of tanking, where a “tank” is a character whose stats allow them to soak up a lot of damage without being taken down. This is useful in games where a party of characters fights an enemy, because by drawing fire to the tank the rest of the party is protected and can deal damage against their opponent from a place of safety. By extension, “visibility tanking” means soaking up stares for being trans in a very intentional way. This can take many forms, and again being mindful of safety is a big factor when choosing your approach.
I think that visibility tanking is a form of praxis. It reminds everyone - but especially cis people - that we are here, we’re queer, and we’re not going anywhere. To other queers it can be a show of solidarity and provide safety in numbers (and hey, you never know when being visible will turn into making a friend!). To eggs and people in the closet, it can be a demonstration of what it means to take up space as your best self. And visibility tanking isn’t something we just do for others, we do it for ourselves to affirm our own worth and beauty. We choose to be seen because we are worthy of admiration and desire. We are beautiful in ways that society can scarcely conceive. We deserve to occupy public space just as much as anyone else.
The easiest way to visibility tank is just to lean in on looking trans and beautiful. There are definitely trans ways of dressing and doing makeup etc. that don’t pretend to be cis at all and can be great sources of joy. For me personally this means wearing a lot of obnoxiously loud colors, but for other people it can be dressing gothy or punk or tradwife, whatever. The point is you’re not trying to blend in at all, you’re there to dazzle. If you’re going to tank alone, you should do it somewhere that you feel very safe. Like the old adage tells us, sometimes that means being the most fuckable person in the grocery store.
Visibility tanking with a trans friend or lover expands on this exponentially. You’re significantly safer because there are two of you, and speaking from experience it really blows minds when people see not one, but TWO trannies gliding down the street together. The mundane becomes magical: sharing lunch or a shopping trip can be a reminder to those around that they have NO idea how many trans people are in their midst, much less are actively enjoying themselves. Introducing PDA into the mix takes the tanking to a whole new level. It is a radical, powerful act of reclamation to share affection as two trans people in a visible way, because it demonstrates our capacity for love as full people, refutes the pornographic reduction of trans identity, and reminds all that joy can come from forms beyond that which our culture prescribes.
Lastly visibility tanking as a group is the boldest reclamation of public space one can make. To roll up to a venue as a crew of transsexuals is a thing of power. Previous generations were often cautioned against this, because once one person in a group of stealth trans people gets clocked, everyone they associate with suddenly falls under scrutiny. The wonderful thing about choosing queer integration and visibility over the assimilationist strategies of stealth and passing means that this point is moot: we want you to know we’re here, and we’re not alone. And hell, you can always bring a couple of cis friends too to really drive the point home that a better world is possible where people can share space regardless of gender identity.
For anyone still on the fence about visibility tanking, I want to close on two reminders. First, use discretion when tanking, obviously some venues (or cities or states) are just not going to be a safe place for this. Tanking is best suited for places where you’re pushing the envelope, not ripping it open. Second, most people don’t fucking care about seeing you in public. Most people are engrossed in their own little worlds, and those who stare are generally outliers. That’s not to say that the feeling of being perceived doesn’t build up, and sometimes it’s just not the right day to push back. But if you have the wherewithal to do so and you’re feeling good about yourself, I challenge you to give visibility tanking a try. As trans people we often grow up in fear of being seen for who we are, and once we come out it can feel like straining against all of our instincts to willfully step into the light. When we hide from each other, though, it can seem like we are more alone than we actually are. Making the choice to be perceived as a trans person in the world is both a powerful political statement about your right to public space and an affirmation of your own self worth. It feels good to choose to be perceived.
I’ll see you around.