TW: mention of transphobia, sexual harassment and groping

I tried dating apps for the first time, 2 years ago, at the age of 31. I had been in a decade-long marriage where sexual intimacy had been unfulfilling, so I was very excited about dating new people! I went on a lot of dates with cis-men and had some amazing experiences. I was genuinely amazed by how many people I was matching with as a cis-woman!

Around the same time, I finally had the freedom to explore my sexuality and gender identity. I quickly realised that I was not straight! I remember a school “friend” with whom I had gotten very close – I still think she was the first girl I ever had a crush on. I knew then that I wanted to date AFAB people as well. I tried matching with them on dating apps as well.

Once I had the chance to explore my gender identity, I began identifying as transmasculine at the time. I used he/him pronouns and presented in an androgynous or masculine way.

I happily declared myself as transmasc on dating apps, but things suddenly became very different:

• I got fewer and fewer matches.
• There are filters for women and non-binary people on apps, but cis-het men keep showing up like the unwanted raisins in a samosa.
• The men who I did end up chatting with immediately jumped to inappropriate questions about my body. Was I pre-op or post-op? Was my body still biologically female? The rudest question was someone very openly asking “what’s between your legs?”

Is that the only criteria required to match with someone on a dating app? Their genitalia? Did I have to give everyone a disclaimer about my body? I started feeling out of place and unsafe on dating apps, especially when it came to cis-men. This was exacerbated by the fact that I didn’t quite look like a woman. I was taking hormones and I had body hair that I liked and some facial hair as well. It made me feel very self-conscious. What if I found a date but got rejected based on how I looked?

I needn’t have worried about rejection. I did end up meeting new people. But dates with cis-men were mostly disasters. I would end up liking a person, for them to turn around and say they are straight and didn’t want to date a trans person.

So, enjoying my biological body was fine, but dating me was not? I was often subjected to grabbing and groping by cis-men people, who somehow felt like they had the right to violate my consent because, and I quote, “I wasn’t like others”. I felt unaccepted.

Queer women and non-binary people with vulvas made me feel a lot more comfortable. They would readily use my pronouns and accept me as transmasculine. I once asked a dating app match why she had not wondered about my genitalia. And her answer was “It had to be a penis or a vulva and vagina – I’ve had experience with both!”

I have been the masculine partner in many relationships with queer women and vulva-owners I have met online. Being genderfluid, I automatically notice the switch to he/him pronouns, feeling like I am the one who has to woo the other person, open doors for them, make them feel comfortable – just be the typical amazing “boyfriend” we have all seen in the media while growing up. Cheesy as it is, it has been a validating and euphoric feeling. It is amazing how the dating experience differs when it comes to dating apps and people of different genders!

As someone who now identifies as genderfluid, I still face weird questions, mostly from cis-men – what is genderfluid? How can you feel feminine and masculine at the same time? Why do you also use “he/him” pronouns? I redirect all these matches to Google and then do myself the favour of unmatching them.

In the two years that I have used dating apps, I have learned to develop a thick skin. I am no longer as eager when I match with someone on a dating app. I take my time, gauge my comfort level with the person, see how respectful they are of me, and only then proceed any further. There are lots of people I refuse to meet because the chat becomes inappropriate. I refuse to tolerate transphobic behaviour.

People who date me know now that I come under the trans-umbrella. And if someone doesn’t accept me with my gender identity, they are not worth my time or attention. I miss the excitement of an inbox full of messages, but I feel a lot more safe now. I feel less like a showpiece, waiting to be noticed by prospective dates on an app, and more like someone who is confident in their gender identity. If someone doesn’t accept me for who I am, it is their loss. I will no longer be commodified, molested or used – no one deserves that, especially a trans-person genuinely trying to find love and connection!