A non-binary person goes to Paris

Back in 2022 my wife and I travelled around Europe for 3 weeks. Trains, no planes and the occasional automobile. It was my first big trip as a non-binary person and I was not prepared for it. Arriving in Croatia’s capital City of Zagreb in a skirt almost caused a taxi driver to crash his taxi while filming me with his phone. Every street corner had a gold chain-wearing large burly man smoking and staring at me. As soon as I could I bought new clothes and left my gender-pushing outfits in the suitcase. For our 2024 I decided to prioritise safety over boundary-pushing.

In preparation for the trip I removed my queer stickers from my water bottle and my pins from my bag. My nail polish was wiped clean, my beard colour faded and my rainbow Pride Apple Watch strap swapped for blue. I put my visibly queer identity into a drawer at home for safekeeping. Who I am isn’t a layer of clothes and cosmetics, but that does make me a target so off it came.

My idea was to become a relatively boring human so I could avoid feeling anxious the entire trip. I wanted to have a fun holiday. How much fun can you have when you have to conform, blend in, be someone you aren’t, hide and generally feel like the world would reject you if they saw the real you? Turns out, I found a healthy balance even if I missed colourful nails.

Before the trip, I bought a few new clothes that were on sale. I made sure not to buy anything from the men's aisle, but also to buy items that didn’t look too feminine. I wanted to know that I was subverting gender norms without drawing attention to myself. Now I’m not sure a hot pink shirt was the best choice, but I had 0 issues while away so let’s call it a win. My travel clothes were shorts, trousers, shirts and T-shirts in bold colours because I needed something to feel like myself. Everything worked out fine. There was the occasional glance while wearing pastel pink trousers, but other than that I was fine. I was safe.

Mostly.

On our first and only night in Paris, my wife and I had an evening reservation at our favourite restaurant, Le refuge des Fondus. We walked through the streets of Montmartre and I wore a skirt. This was the only time I planned to wear a skirt on the trip because the last time we were there I did and felt completely safe. So why not? The walk was nice. A crisp September evening in Paris. People chatting at tables outside restaurants and the ever-present beam of light from the Eiffel Tower overhead. Lovely. Our 3-week adventure was just getting going.

We arrived at the restaurant and joined the queue waiting outside. A man caught my eye because he was waving an Insta360 camera around on a selfie stick. Did I notice him because I’m autistic and notice everything, or did I notice him because he was looking at me? I thought nothing of it... for a few seconds until I saw him actively film me... with a 360 camera of all things. I moved, so did he. I moved again and so did he. I tried to hide my skirt behind my wife so he couldn’t get good footage and he kept at it. Crossing the street to stand behind a parked car was my only refuge while waiting to enter our actual refuge... des fondus. Thankfully he did not follow me across the road and instead left.

I was autistically wiped out by the experience. My brain was overloaded and it took everything I had to try and enjoy the night. All I wanted to do was go somewhere quiet and put my headphones on. Unfortunately, our favourite restaurant is quite an experience. Two long tables result in you sitting next to strangers. People have to climb over the table to sit on the opposite side. Staff are constantly delivering food and drink. It’s chaotic, busy and absolutely what an overloaded autistic person does not need. Last time I was here, in makeup and a skirt, we made friends with a couple of American women and had a fun night chatting. Instead, I was on fire and wanted alcohol.

Traditionally I would be enjoying a Kir Royale starter drink followed by wine from a baby's bottle. While on ADHD medication I cannot drink, but the doctor said to come off the meds while I’m on holiday. So I could have drank. I could have really drank. Who would I have been if I had? The sort of person who needed alcohol to deal with life, and that was not who I wanted to be.

Those 10 minutes when we walked to the restaurant happily wearing a skirt were lovely. It had been weeks since I openly wore one and I felt free. The past few months have been tough and I have been hiding more and more. Feeling free was refreshing but fleeting. This isn’t how I want to live. Since I came out as non-binary I’ve been trying to be OK with people staring at me in the hope I would someday never give wearing a skirt a second thought. How I do that is by constantly going out in one to become used to it. Yet when there are men like this, it is easier to hide away.

Hiding was not how I wanted to start our adventure. Silly, absurd, whacky, fun was the plan. Good food, a nice walk up to Sacre-Coer and then I was going to pluck up the courage to pose like Marilyn Monroe on an air vent outside the Moulin Rouge. That’s how I saw the evening go. Anxiety therapy has taught me the importance of letting go rather than staying in the past. I can’t change it, so why continue worrying about it? Did this man ruin my night or did I allow him to by continuing to focus on the memory?

By the end of the meal, I was completely out of energy and verging on autistic shutdown. I tried to enjoy the view over Paris, the view of the Eiffel Tower and the company of my wife but I was on edge waiting for the next person to take issue with my skirt. It is no way to live, and exactly why I wasn’t wearing it for the rest of the trip.

As we walked home through the neon-filled streets of Montmartre, with its adult store windows covered in blue movies because the yellow colour had faded due to years of window display, a man approached us. I was pleasantly surprised when instead of having an issue with my skirt he complimented my wife and me on our looks. It was a lovely gesture that made me think that life isn’t all bad and men can be nice. Maybe wearing a skirt is OK? Maybe I can have fun and be silly in a skirt that goes spinny? He then invited us back to his for “cuddles”, to which we politely declined and opted for the safety of Five Guys one milkshake. My skirt had already brought the boys to the yard, at this point, a milkshake was probably OK.