A Swimsuit Changed My Life

I remember reading that everybody’s life is split into before and after moments. How we all have those cataclysmic instants where suddenly there’s a shift and something constant and static within our lives changes forever.

Realising I was trans was one. Choosing to start a new life at the other side of the country was another.

Another one took place when I took part in The Real Catwalk.

My feelings about my appearance have always been complicated. I’m in a constant tug of war with myself. One side of me states that contemporary standards of beauty are complete nonsense and just like everybody else on this planet, I am beautiful. I have to be, because how farcical is it to utterly believe that everybody is beautiful but I’m somehow exempt? That wouldn’t make any sense.

However, the other side of me believes that the special combination of my jaw, my forehead, and my nose are an overwhelmingly bizarre and ugly trio. Together they “ruin” my face and unless I change or hide them, then I can never be truly happy.

These two opposing thoughts were always present in my mind. Sometimes one side gained ground on the other and I’d have a string of good days, or a week of bad days. But no side ever won. I could always hear the other thoughts there in the background.

Until last summer.

On 14th July 2018 I took part in The Real Catwalk in London where over 100 people walked down a makeshift catwalk in Trafalgar Square, in the middle of the day, while wearing swimwear.

In the week leading up to the event my nerves went from ‘this is going to be scary’ to the melodramatic ‘I’m going to screw this up’. I couldn’t stop thinking about how this was going to be such a public event, one I’d have no control over. I’d be surrounded by strangers in a place I’d never been.

To add to that, I’d be in a swimsuit for the first time in my entire life. I usually took forever to pick an outfit for the day, now I was going to waltz outside in a type of clothing I’d never even worn before? As a trans woman, swimwear was loaded with connotations for me. The first time I had visited the beach I had intended to wear a swimsuit, but I’d been hit with so much anxiety about my body that I ended up showing up in jeans and stayed well away from the water. Swimsuits were so intently coded as feminine, I felt like me and my trans body would be ugly and awkwardly out of place in one. But now I was determined to wear one, to show that trans people deserved to wear anything we wanted.

I wanted to walk out on the catwalk and be visible, proud, and completely unapologetically trans. That was important to me. I knew it would help others to see that, and I wasn’t going to let those people down. I’d do it for them… I would also do it for me. Because I needed this. I needed to prove to myself that I could practice what I preach, that everybody is beautiful, and nobody is exempt from that.

On the morning of the catwalk event, all of the models met in London and began rehearsals. The atmosphere was warm and friendly but many of us were feeling on edge. Some people were professional models, while others like me hadn’t posed for anything other than a selfie. Regardless, everyone had each other’s back and knew we were in this together as one united group.

After an hour of practice we all marched to Trafalgar Square and the real event began. As the show opened and the models got into position, I left my bag with the rest and took a moment to breathe. Here we go. I reached down and grabbed the hem of my dress and flung it off. Now I was stood wearing just my black swimsuit, the first and only swimsuit I’d ever worn in my life.

I found my place in the queue and slipped in while we all strained to see the catwalk over the crowd that had gathered. In no time at all I was at the front of the queue. Khrystyana gave me some quick words of encouragement, hugged me, and seconds later it was already my turn to walk. I stepped through the curtain, raised my hands out and let the trans flag fly behind me as I took my first steps down the corridor of watching faces.

I felt calm.

All my fear was gone.

Walking to the drum beat I proudly strut to the end of the catwalk, posed in front of the army of cameras and phones, then spun on my heels and walked back.

That was it. Done. The whole thing must have taken 20 seconds but it left me feeling ecstatic. I waited with the other giddy models for the final walk together and minutes later I found I couldn’t suppress a smile as we walked single file back down the catwalk together.

Once the show had closed, the next hour was a blur of photos, hugs, and excited conversation. I was on a high. Feeling fantastic about myself and who I was. I talked with other models, random members of the public, and photographers. Everyone was having a great time.

When everybody started to disperse and the event started to come to an end, I realised that I didn’t want to get changed. I felt too good. I didn’t want this to end.

There was no tug of war in my head anymore, every part of me felt beautiful and powerful. I looked at my reflection and saw the features that have brought me so much misery and conflict… but it didn’t hurt. I had no desire to downplay or hide them. Those features were different from what was stereotypically considered pretty, but that didn’t mean they weren’t gorgeous anyway.

Reluctantly, I threw my dress back on as the last of us began to leave, as I worried that those self-loathing thoughts might soon creep back.

On the train home that evening, I started to cry. I couldn’t help but think about where I’d come from, and how horribly low my body image had been compared to what I had just done and how I now felt. It was staggering. I was still bracing myself for that familiar baggage to reemerge, to have to start fighting myself again and asserting my own worth. But for the moment I just wanted to enjoy what I now had.

The next day I looked at my reflection and felt nothing but love.

The day after that I still felt great.

Soon a week had gone by. No self-loathing. No conflict. Just pride and love.

I’ve always heard that big gestures can have big effects on your mental health, especially with getting over anxieties and insecurities, but experiencing it myself was something else entirely. Now it’s been nearly a year since the catwalk took place and my body image has been dramatically better. Little things like tying my hair back, or letting myself be photographed, are examples of things I just could not do before the catwalk. But now I can. Years of exclusionary messages and hurtful comments had built up a wall of self-loathing and self-hate, but taking part in the The Real Catwalk shattered all of that and reminded me that we really are all beautiful, including me.