When I heard that these clients were a lesbian couple, I was like, Great, I’m a shoo-in. They wanted to meet informally before they hired me, so I donned my best muscle tee, which had gaping arm holes down to the waist, a backwards baseball cap, and my usual sandals that put me a comfortable two inches above the city sidewalk. This was in my baby trans era, when I had just shaved my head and was still taking fashion cues from white lesbians (never again, folks).
I made my way to the Upper East Side, a place I only went to for the museums or when I needed to get to Central Park. The building’s exterior looked nondescript from Google Maps, so I didn’t think much about where I was going until I arrived and realized I was severely underdressed. I was greeted by a uniformed doorman who also operated the old-timey elevators. Everyone I passed in the hall was white, elderly, and wore business casual in the summer, as if it was their casual casual wear.
