Editor’s note: As we were wrapping up work on this piece, trans people in Missouri prisons learned they could be losing access to hormone replacement therapy in July. The change stemmed from a one-line provision in the state’s department of correction appropriations bill that was signed by Gov. Mike Kehoe. To learn more about the potential impact of these changes, Da’Shae Breeze interviewed her peers at South East Correctional Center. You can read that story here.
“They’re going to lock you up for wearing those clothes.” People tell me this every day about my custom outfits, which range from skintight fleece pants to a gray canteen shirt with a Celtic cross design made from blanket material.
The truth, though, is more nuanced. There are rules that prohibit me from altering my prison uniform, but staff usually let me dress how I want — to a point. I can always tell when I’m pushing the lines of appropriateness (wearing skintight clothes with no underwear, for example). In these instances, they have pulled me over and said, “Hey now, go take that off.”
Hott Girl, another transgender woman at my facility, recalled similar treatment. While she’s been threatened with solitary confinement for wearing skintight clothes, no staff member has ever acted on the threat: “I keep it moving and show respect and therefore they leave me alone.”
In addition to the two of us, there are at least a dozen more visibly trans women in the general population at Southeast Correctional Center in Missouri and dozens of people who identify as trans but don’t seek cross-gender hormones. Many of us spend considerable time or capital making and buying custom clothing to affirm our gender — I get my clothes tailored by an incarcerated man for the price of an 8-ounce carton of milk every day.
In the face of such a widespread phenomenon, staff aren’t just turning a blind eye. Some are outright supportive. “It’s awesome they don’t stop you from dressing how you feel,” a trainee staff member once said. “I bet it helps you develop and grow.”
In most correctional facilities, this conversation would never happen. Apple, a petite, red-headed trans woman from Memphis, Tennessee, told me it was a rules violation to wear femme clothing in every other facility she’s lived in.
“If you dressed, looked or acted like a woman, you were harassed by staff,” Apple said.
At other facilities, expressing yourself through clothes will get you insulted, assaulted and locked up. Often, staff will find different rule violations to add to your write-up and keep you away from certain housing units and jobs.
At SECC, though, staff tolerance toward our self-expression has taken root, radically changing our lives. Many staff have LGBT+ family members, which makes them invested in our treatment. Another trans woman, Indy, described how a staff member stopped the bullying she experienced after she came out.
“Other inmates made fun of me until they heard a staff member give me support, telling me to be myself,” Indy said. “She told me her son was gay and had left Missouri because of the intolerance and so she always helps others to be authentic.”
Such direct support for us expressing our authentic selves means that we get the opportunity to understand and care for ourselves. Before my transition, I didn’t feel worthy, valuable or normal. I acted in reckless ways. “So what if I land in prison? So what if I die?”
Now, I am able to more clearly see and care for myself and the people around me. I find affirmation in helping others with hair and nail care. I share my cooking skills and talk to them about their relationships with their loved ones. I feel better about myself, so I feel better about others around me.
Trinka, a trans woman working toward her college degree, echoed this sentiment. Gender-affirming clothes help her focus on her education and personal development, she said. She feels like she’s in control of her future when sits outside in the yard in a custom outfit to work on college assignments.
This sense of safety and self-confidence extends beyond our facility, helping us maintain connections and trust with our communities. Marissa said sending home pictures of her outfits helped her mother see her growth.
“She was so happy that I am able to express myself,” Marissa said. “She is confident that when I come home I will be able to live in an excellent way.”
I never thought I would ever be able to transform into a woman nor have the ability to dress and act like one in public. But in the unlikeliest of places, prison staff have accepted my gender identity. For a moment, I can feel liberated.
