Content warning: This piece mentions suicidal ideation. People have always wondered what it was like to be Black and trans at an Ivy League university, especially at Columbia University in this intense political climate. It’s all quite hard to put into words, but one thing, for me, is clear: Community was essential for me to make it through.
Being one of the few trans people on campus was intimidating. Then, you add Black and 5’10”, and whew. I really had to play make-believe in my anxious mind that I was Regina George, a Heather Chandler of sorts, just to show up to class.
During my first semester at Columbia, I never saw myself more checked out and expecting the worst. I was very self-destructive, and my chosen family visited often, in fear. I flew home to Chicago, in desperation, whenever I could — I couldn’t stand New York, the people, or myself. I thought Columbia offered nothing of authenticity, or even myself to interact with others. I didn’t even need one hand to count how many social interactions I had that fall. I was barely surviving and on the brink of leaving.
When my Chicago nightlife family found out I was attending an Ivy League, and getting a BA in Film and Media Studies, they were gagged: It was major, it was unheard of, and it was inspiring girls to go to school. And when I didn’t know if I was ready to return for my sophomore year, my drag mother said, “If all else fails, you’ll have that degree,” so I walked back to the gates of 116th & Broadway and stepped onto that Athenian campus.
Striving to find community in New York, I remembered where I first met my Chicago community: the dance floor. And suddenly, the city did not seem so bad. In Chicago, I simultaneously discovered my transness on the late-night gay club dance floors and performing on stages in drag. I was dying to be on a dance floor with my sisters. Nightlife has always been a refuge for gay, queer, and trans people. It’s where you can find real friends.
Finding my community carried me through my gender-affirming surgery, the shifting political climate, and finally, graduation.
Essence
One random Wednesday while at Columbia, I showed up at this bar in Chelsea alone. Paul’s Dolls, a weekly trans-centered party run by the downtown it-girl Linux, was in full swing. I had been stalking New York dolls on Instagram, sending DMs to figure out where to dance and find community. Bermuda, one of those dolls, invited me to her table that night. A year later, I was hosting that same party, and those dolls became some of my closest sisters.
I met people on the interweb, too. During those early dark months back at Columbia, I started making jokes as a coping mechanism on TikTok. “Black and trans at an Ivy League university,” I would say, to overlook the idea of jumping out of a window. I spent many days idling on a decision I would never be able to look back on. But the phrase caught on and turned into a bit of a phenomenon: It felt as though no one had seen representation like that. The phrase even sparked a series where I documented my transition and education at Columbia on TikTok — something I wish, in hindsight, I handled with more caution, but nonetheless, I found community.
Messages poured in. Girls from top grad programs, Ivies, schools across the country, and the world reached out. Girls who would send a Victorian child spiraling. Many have become dear friends.
Finding my community carried me through my gender-affirming surgery, the shifting political climate, and finally, graduation. The moments of intimidation disappeared when I saw girls like me taking over the world in a pump on the dance floor, or in a hall reading Homer.
So find a community or build your own. Whether it’s in student orgs, on the dance floor, or online, they will carry you.
If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or text HOME to the Crisis Text Line at 741741. You can also reach out to the Trans Lifeline at 877-565-8860 or the Trevor Lifeline at 1-866-488-7386, or to your local suicide crisis center.
If you or someone you know is seeking help for LGBTQ+ mental health or safety concerns, call The Trevor Project‘s 24/7 Lifeline at 866-4-U-TREVOR (866-488-7386). You can also reach out for instant message or text message support via TrevorChat and TrevorText, respectively. For additional resources for trans people, call the Trans Lifeline at 877-565-8860. In an emergency, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or call 911.