Oh yay, yet another piece on how self-obsessed it’s possible to be.

I’m non-binary. I came to terms with this recently, after living socially as a woman for many years — but I think I knew from a very young age. I just didn’t have the right words for it.

Are you really???? How fascinating and exciting! Please tell us everything about it in the utmost detail.

Then puberty hit and assigned me with the very special task of looking after two giant sacks of flesh, fat and membrane.

In every play I performed in after that point, I was only ever cast as matronly old women or busty temptresses. It sucked.

Well now that’s a different story. The article is accompanied by a photo, and she does indeed have very big breasts. I would have hated that too, but it wouldn’t have been because I was “non-binary.”

Nowadays, I use they/them pronouns, and I try to let people know that upfront — but a funny thing tends to happen when people look at me. You see, their eyes always trend downwards, scoping out what you might call the ‘traditionally feminine’ body I live in. You might also call it my ‘massive boobs’. When this elevator-eye assessment is complete, I like to think that a little switch flips over in the cis person’s brain to a ‘SHE/HER’ setting. When this switch is flipped, it takes a gargantuan effort to reset it to neutral.

No, see, it’s the other way around. Your breasts don’t determine your personality, your interests, your character. You can’t be “neutral” because that’s not a thing, but you can be a woman with massive boobs who flouts the silly rules about how women are supposed to look and act. You can do that without expecting other people to pretend you’re neither woman nor man. It’s actually a lot less trouble in the end.