I’m sitting on the floor of my Brooklyn apartment when I look down and see them: the red bumps. Since coming out as trans over the past month or so, I’ve been in a state of discovery. A lovely, topsy-turvy, embarrassing second puberty that will likely continue for the next few years (at least). Part of this discovery was the first shave. Picture me in the shower, slouched over, hacking away at my body hair in an attempt to step into girlhood one hairless leg at a time. If you’re related to me or have been my teacher or boss in any way, please feel free to not picture me in the shower. 

I turned on a playlist that I entitled “Living!” in order to make the ordeal seem less mortifying than it was. Most of “Living!” consists of bubblegum pop: songs by ladies who are living their lives in the most luxe ways imaginable (“XS” by Rina Sawayama will give you an idea). I could basically smell the perfume and nail polish through the speaker as I took my weapon in hand (a flimsy disposable Bic razor) and began my quest for smooth legs. 

I can hear some of you screaming at me, saying, “NOT ALL GIRLS HAVE TO SHAVE THEIR LEGS!” And, I hear you! But after 22 years of feigned boyhood and two very hairy legs, I was ready to try something else and walk on the smooth side. And to those screaming at me through the screen, keep reading. 

After nearly 90 minutes of sweating, panting, and lightly mumbling Kim Petras lyrics, I had done it. Well, partially. I made it through both of my calves and one half of my left thigh before I decided to postpone my work until the following day. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I knew that Day Two would be a huge one for me. 

After two days of work and many cycles of “Living!” my work was complete. And it felt weird. The skin on my legs, which had previously been covered in a thick layer of hair, was not interested in registering any sensation. But, I had completed my journey. 

Which brings me to the red bumps.

A few days after my first shave, I look down at my legs, and there they are: a bunch of tiny, irritated reminders that I am learning how to be a girl. After talking to a few AFAB friends, I learn that the first steps in the direction of smooth legs are always uncomfortable and unsightly. Still, I can’t help but feel a twinge of failure in my heart. The process of trying to match my insides with my outsides is treacherous. And sometimes, I can spend hours trying to do that only to realize that maybe shaved legs aren’t my thing. 

The cool news is, I am a girl. Legs shaven or hairy. Razor burn or no razor burn. I also heard on a TV show once that ingrown hairs happen when the hair is having a difficult time growing and doesn’t know quite where to go yet. I could draw the metaphor, but I think you see it.