Early on, my masculine and feminine presentation were vastly different. Male mode was the same outfit I wore in middle school in the time of grunge, goths and gangsta rap: baggy, black, and baggy. My facial hair was scraggly on the cheeks and an unkempt goatee... I never shaved even a little, until it was slowly killing me. Female mode was bright colors, flowy skirts... in retrospect, trying really hard to appear feminine by merely picking the most feminine stuff I felt comfortable wearing.
I walked two blocks, from my support group to my car, dressed femme. Saw the cutest scene: this huge, tall guy, holding a little girl's hand, them both skipping and smiling. I'm grinning at the sight, and he looks at me. I realize that we know each other. He does a double-take as we passed. I turned my eyes, hoping that my pink shades obscured them, but I didn't nudge my head an inch. I finally placed where I knew him from: a martial arts studio I went to for a while. I felt like I was part of the family at one time... but they had this awful negative vibe and talked smack about everything, which got racist and transphobic on occasion. Rats. Guess I'm really not going back there again.