A Genderqueer Journey Through Fashion, Style and Identity

Looking back, I can see how my relationship with fashion has always been intertwined with my journey of self-discovery. Even as a kid, I knew I wanted to feel and look femme. I loved the idea of wearing thongs, but as an eleven-year-old with no access to them, I did what any determined child might do…

I made my own.

By high school, I was wearing them almost full-time. That’s when my parents caught on. They were freaked out, warning me to hide them and to avoid being seen.

Then, as a sophomore, I was cast in a production of Cinderella. The boys’ costumes included tights. For me, it was euphoric. I still remember the rush of slipping them on and the snug, silky fit that felt like pure affirmation. But while I was on cloud nine, the other boys were grossed out.

I can vividly remember changing in the bathroom, so no one would see me in a thong, and hearing the raging protests of the other boys.

“This is so gay,” they yelled.
“Who could possibly like these things”
“I can’t wait to take these tights off.”

That moment was a sharp reminder of how disconnected my desires were from what society expected of me.

In college, I finally began to open up about this part of myself with romantic partners. The reactions were almost universally negative. Confusion at best, anger at worst. That rejection reinforced the idea that my desires were something to be hidden. But then I met Sam. She didn’t meet my thongs with judgment. For the first time, I felt seen and accepted, and eventually, we got married.

When we had kids, everything I’d pushed down for so long started bubbling back to the surface. I was thinking about how to love and support my children fully, and I realized I couldn’t do that without facing my own unresolved feelings about my gender. Parenting cracked me wide open.

Around the same time, COVID hit, and I became increasingly obsessed with running tights. At first, I told myself it was about comfort and practicality. But the truth was, I felt alive in them. Similar to how I felt in those Cinderella tights all those years ago. Layer by layer, everything started coming together. I began to connect the dots between my childhood desires, my struggles with self-expression, and the deep need to be seen for who I truly am.

In this post, I want to share my journey of coming out as genderqueer and the way fashion has played a pivotal role in that process. It’s a story about thongs, tights, and parenting, but also about breaking free from societal expectations and finding joy in self-expression.

The Anxiety of Coming Out as Genderqueer

For me, realizing I was genderqueer wasn’t a single “aha” moment. It came in waves, one of the strongest being what I now understand as gender jealousy. I’d always wanted to be seen in a certain way, to take up space that society told me I wasn’t allowed to occupy. That desire felt especially intense when I wore running tights. They made me feel alive, yet every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I felt a pang of sadness. I wanted to be seen differently. Not as a man in tights, but as someone femme, someone free to express themselves without judgment.

I remember posting a photo of myself in running tights on a trail running subreddit. It was a classic pose I’d seen hundreds of times: standing on some rocks, looking out at Pikes Peak. To me, it was a fun playful image. But the comments rolled in almost immediately:

“Dude, why are you standing like that?”
“What are you doing?”
“Are you gay?”

The negativity and confusion crushed me. What I thought was a simple expression of joy and confidence celebrating my trail running became a moment of shame.

My inner critic went wild: What were you thinking? Of course they don’t understand. If you were a woman, they’d get it.

That inner voice echoed the pressure I’d felt growing up. It reminded me of my parents’ warnings when I was a kid, when they found out about my thongs and told me to hide them, to make sure no one saw. It reminded me of the church and Boy Scouts, where it was clear that what I wanted wasn’t “for boys.”

It just wasn’t allowed. I wasn’t allowed.

And yet, even under that crushing weight of judgment and self-doubt, I couldn’t stop dreaming about it. The desire to feel femme and to embrace leggings and thongs unapologetically vibrated through me. It was like a drumbeat I couldn’t ignore.

Eventually, I started to listen. At first, it wasn’t about coming out as genderqueer. I didn’t even have the language for that yet. It was about taking small steps to honor what I wanted. I wore leggings more often, not just for running but as part of my everyday wardrobe. It felt terrifying, but also exhilarating. I was finally starting to align my outward appearance with how I felt inside.

Coming out as genderqueer would take a few more years, but those early choices about wearing what I wanted, ignoring the critical voices were the first steps on my path. Each pair of leggings, each moment of daring to be myself, brought me closer to the truth I’d been suppressing for so long.

The Deep Desire to Be Seen

Visibility has become a cornerstone of my genderqueer identity. When I first started this journey, I didn’t fully understand the connection between how I dressed and how I felt. Now, many years in, it’s so clear: visibility isn’t just about how others see me.

It’s about how I see myself.

Clothing has become an essential part of defining and validating my identity. Yes, I’m genderqueer no matter what I’m wearing, but the right fit, the right outfit, helps bring my inner self to life.

In the beginning, I was just slapping leggings onto any old outfit, hoping it would magically make me feel seen. It was a start, but it didn’t quite fit. Not literally nor metaphorically. Over time, as I grew more comfortable in my identity, my style evolved into something far more cohesive. Leggings became part of a larger aesthetic, one that included feminine tops, skirts, and dresses. Each new piece of clothing felt like a piece of the puzzle sliding into place.

It’s like that old phrase, “You are what you eat.” In many ways, you are what you wear.

The clothes we choose tell the world who we are, but maybe even more importantly, they remind us who we are. And once I stopped being weighed down by self-consciousness and anxiety, everything started to click. I began to see myself the way I wanted to be seen.

Of course, it wasn’t an overnight transformation. It took a lot of baby steps, as I wrote about recently in Reaching Equilibrium. Those baby steps really add up. What started as wearing leggings in the safety of my home turned into running errands in them. That, in turn, led to bolder steps like rocking an outfit I loved on a date night or even at the office. Every small victory built on the last, until suddenly I found myself fully immersed in my style, no longer afraid to express myself in public.

What began as a tepid trickle is now a raging river. My style has become an essential part of who I am and a way to bridge the gap between my inner identity and the outer world. Visibility, for me, isn’t just about being seen; it’s about being recognized and celebrated as the person I truly am.

The Challenge of Rewriting Your Style After Binary-Driven Fashion

When I first began to explore my new aesthetic, I was stuck in a strange limbo. I desperately wanted to express myself through clothing, but years of dressing within the binary had left me with ingrained habits and a closet full of clothes that didn’t feel quite right anymore. As much as I wanted to dive into a new style, I wasn’t ready to drop a ton of money on something I was still figuring out. So, I started small, experimenting with what I already had while trying to unlearn the old patterns that no longer served me.

The truth is, those early months and years were disjointed and frustrating. I struggled to create outfits that worked with leggings, my go-to piece, and often felt like I was just throwing things together. Eventually, I realized I needed help. That’s when my wife, Sam, offered some advice: start by creating a giant Pinterest board of styles, outfits, and fashion ideas that inspired me.

That exercise was a game-changer. I began saving every look that caught my eye, from formalwear to athleisure, men’s styles to women’s styles. My board was a chaotic mashup of everything I loved, but Sam couldn’t help noticing a pattern: the women’s styles were what I kept coming back to. “What’s up with this?” she asked, not in anger but in confusion. Her question felt like a mirror, reflecting something I hadn’t fully admitted to myself yet.

We were already in couples therapy at the time, which helped us navigate this new dynamic in our marriage. Learning to hold space for each other, even when things felt uncomfortable, was crucial. Through those conversations, I began to understand myself better I and started to embrace the realization that I was genderqueer.

With that clarity, I began using the styles I saw on my Pinterest board as inspiration, working with the clothing already in my closet. In the beginning, I leaned into “safe” outfits. I focused on modest, draped looks with oversized layers that didn’t draw too much attention. As I grew more confident, I started to shop the whole store, exploring women’s sections as much as men’s. At first, I did all my shopping online because I couldn’t bear the thought of being seen in person. But as I gained confidence, I worked up to shopping in stores.

One of my favorite moments recently was shopping with Sam in person, wearing one of my most gender-affirming outfits. We shared a dressing room, swapping clothes and opinions, and the whole experience was nothing short of joyful. It was a reminder of how far I’ve come. Not just in my style journey but in my ability to own who I am and share that with my spouse.

A huge breakthrough for me in this process has been transitioning to gender-affirming underwear. For years, I relied on thongs for a sense of connection to my femme side, but discovering brands like Urbody Co. has taken things to a whole new level. Their pieces have been a game-changer, helping me feel more comfortable and aligned in my outfits. (If you’re curious, I wrote a full review here: A Review of Urbody Co. Apparel.) I haven’t tried other brands yet, but this has been such a positive step forward.

Rewriting my style has been a process of trial and error, but each step has brought me closer to a place of confidence and joy. What started as cautious experimentation has blossomed into something far more bold and beautiful than I ever imagined.

Embracing Femme Through Leggings and Beyond

For me, leggings represent so much more than just a piece of clothing. They are an entry point into a side of fashion, and a part of myself, that I’ve always wanted to embrace. Unlike traditional men’s clothing, leggings allow for self-expression through form and movement. They celebrate the body, highlighting curves and creating a silhouette that feels unapologetically femme. Moving through the world in leggings, I feel a sense of alignment with my identity that’s hard to put into words.

Maybe this connection has always been part of me. My mom, who has begrudgingly come around to accepting my gender expression and fashion sense, loves to tell a story about me as a child. I was five or six years old when I asked for tight pants “so I could run faster.” I vividly remember attending a ballet class around the same time and being absolutely floored by the tights. Even back then, there was something about the look and feel of tight, form-fitting clothing that screamed femme to me.

Leggings and tights have been a constant thread in my life, and they’ve become a signature piece in my wardrobe. But more than that, they’ve been a “gateway drug” or, better put, an invitation to explore and expand my femme fashion. What started with leggings has grown into wide-leg pants, skirts, women’s tops, and accessories. Each new piece feels like another step toward an aesthetic that is uniquely mine.

Still, I always return to leggings and tights. I can’t help myself!

Over the years, I’ve learned how to style them in ways that flatter my body and align with the look I want to achieve. For my body type, a male physique, I focus on creating a femme silhouette. Drop-shoulder tops that are slightly oversized work particularly well, as they help elongate my figure and generate the triangle shape I’m looking for. I’ve found that wearing tops that fall below my waistline helps avoid accentuating my middle and instead draws the eye down to create balance.

When I wear cropped tops with leggings, the challenge is to embellish my hips and create the illusion of an hourglass shape. For me, this often means selecting tops that pull my shoulders into the waistline and sit well above my hips. While fitness and diet have also played a role in achieving the look I want, thoughtful styling is key to presenting a femme aesthetic on my male frame.

If you’d like more styling tips and ideas on how to build outfits with leggings checkout this post.

Ultimately, my style is leaning more toward androgyny. I’m not trying to “become” a woman; instead, I’m adopting femme fashion and integrating it with my body and identity. For me, femme is less about replicating traditional femininity and more about embracing a state of mind. It’s about feeling cute, desirable, and confident. It’s about showing up in the world with grace, beauty, and charm, while also holding onto fierceness and self-assurance.

In a perfect world, my style embodies both Yin and Yang. It’s a blend of softness and strength, of cuteness and boldness. Leggings may have been the start, but they’ve led me to a richer, fuller expression of who I am and who I want to be.

Navigating Confidence and Self-Acceptance

This entire process has been one giant exercise in overcoming shame and anxiety. And if I’m honest, it’s still ongoing. The fear of judgment, misinterpretation, and rejection doesn’t just vanish when you decide to embrace your true self. It’s something I’ve had to work through daily. If you follow me on Instagram, you might have seen my mantra: “I give myself permission to be me.” It’s simple, but it’s been a lifeline for me, especially on the hard days.

Early in this journey, I made the mistake of blaming everything on external forces.

I focused on my parents, the church, Boy Scouts, school, and society as a whole. And while it’s true that all of those things shaped me, I came to realize that they only had as much power over me as I allowed. The real anguish, I discovered, was a prison I had built myself.

I was the prisoner, yes, but I was also the warden.

It was a slow realization, and maybe the most important one: this shame and self-loathing had been built up over thousands of small moments. It wasn’t going to disappear in a weekend or even a month. I had to accept the idea of work. I mean the consistent, daily effort to unlearn years of conditioning. Some days would be better than others, and some days I’d fail entirely. That’s just part of the process.

One thing that’s helped me immensely has been this blog. Writing has been a cathartic way to analyze, unpack, and process my journey. The same goes for my Instagram posts. They’re a space where I can connect with others and also hold myself accountable to the work I’m doing.

I also think a lot about something I call ant power. I stole the concept from a book, but it boils down to this: small, daily work over time can move mountains. It’s those little actions like putting together a new outfit, stepping out in something that feels bold, or writing out my thoughts that have moved me forward.

Another lesson has been learning to give myself grace.

Early on, if I had an anxious or scared day, I’d get so annoyed with myself, like I was failing. But I’ve come to understand that those days are not only okay.

They’re necessary.

Growth isn’t linear, and sometimes those dips are where I learn the most. It always comes back to my mantra: “I give myself permission to be me.”

As I look to the next phase of this journey, I realize there’s another layer of anxiety I need to address: the ability to be queer among other queer people. Most of my exploration has taken place in spaces where nearly everyone is straight and cisgendered. That’s shaped a new fear: am I queer enough? Will I be accepted as genderqueer, especially since my life outwardly resembles a heteronormative relationship. I have a wife and three kids, after all. Sometimes, I worry that people might see me as a fetishist instead of someone genuinely exploring and living their truth.

The best way forward, I think, is to seek out queer communities and allow myself to be witnessed within them. But that’s easier said than done, especially with the responsibilities of a day job and three young kids. It’s another reason why this blog and my social media presence have been so important they’ve acted as a bridge, a way to connect and explore, even when my time and resources are limited.

Through this process, I’ve overhauled not just my aesthetic but also my relationship with myself. I’m constantly refining my style, building better outfits, and growing more comfortable with my gender identity and expression. I’ve gotten better at coming out to people and better at giving myself permission to live authentically.

Fashion and style have been instrumental in this journey. I see them as tools that have helped me see myself, accept myself, and show myself to the world.

I’m happier for it.

I’m healthier for it.

And I’m committed to continuing this work, one small step at a time.

Embracing the Freedom of Self-Expression

This journey has taught me that fashion is so much more than the clothes we wear. It’s a deeply personal tool for self-empowerment, self-acceptance, and celebration. Through every step, whether it was slipping into leggings for the first time, navigating anxiety about being seen, or discovering how to create a femme silhouette on my own terms fashion has been a way for me to reconnect with myself and redefine who I am.

The beauty of self-expression through style is that it’s a journey, not a destination. It evolves as you evolve, growing and changing as you discover more about who you are and how you want to show up in the world. It doesn’t happen all at once, and that’s okay. Every small step forward is a step worth taking.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you have permission to rewrite the rules especially the ones you thought were set in stone. Fashion doesn’t have to fit into a binary, and neither do you. The world will always have opinions, but your journey is yours alone.

So I encourage you to explore your own style without fear of judgment.

Experiment.

Take risks.

Find what makes you feel alive, affirmed, and seen.

Allow yourself to embrace the joy of expressing your identity, whatever that looks like for you. The freedom to be yourself is one of the most beautiful gifts you can give yourself.

And remember, it’s not about perfection. It’s about authenticity. Fashion is your canvas, and you get to decide what picture you want to paint.