I had my first T4T crush (trans for trans, a term that originated on Craigslist in the early 2000s) when I was 11 years old, at a sleep-away camp for trans and nonbinary kids. At the same camp the following summer, I had my first T4T boyfriend. It was wholesome, the way first boyfriends usually are when you’re in seventh grade. Both of these connections were life-changing in their own ways, but it wasn’t until nearly a decade later, at 20, that I experienced another T4T connection—and this time, it was love.
Cole* and I met in New York as freshmen in our college dorm. A mutual friend introduced us in the elevator, and at first, I didn’t think much of our interaction. I didn’t know he was trans at the time—he hadn’t come out yet or transitioned. It wasn’t until the next semester, when he returned to school as Cole, that my crush really started to form. I’d seen him at parties and outside of class, so I already knew he was charismatic and charming, but now we were members of the same elite club. We connected over something much deeper than anyone else could really understand. I also just thought he was so cute with his new, freshly shaved haircut. I admired him from afar until one summer day, 10 months later, he slid into my DMs.
We made each other so nervous at first. All of our early hangouts that summer involved other people—I think as an anxiety buffer—so we were never alone together in the beginning. He and a friend would bring me coffee at work, or we’d hang out at get-togethers with mutuals. But slowly, he started picking me up for one-on-one dinners after my shift. That’s when I really started to fall fast.
Only a few weeks into flirting, we realized we were both going to be in California at the same time, and he invited me to stay with him and his family in his childhood home. I was genuinely terrified, especially because things between us were still so new, but I felt welcomed in his world. We basically played house for a week before we even defined our relationship. I was in awe seeing how he grew up and meeting the people who raised and loved him. I spent that summer wrapping myself tightly around his finger and getting swept up in the fantasy.
We made our relationship official as soon as we were back in New York, and right off the bat, it was so trans. On our first day as a couple, we went to a screening of the iconic trans artist Tourmaline’s Happy Birthday, Marsha! at the Brooklyn Museum. He introduced me to many trans New Yorkers and gave me a community outside of the dolls I knew from my walk of life. I was nearing 10 years into my transition at this point and noticing how distanced I felt from my transness—almost like I had no sense of ownership over that aspect of my identity anymore. He was only in his second, and his enthusiasm and excitement over our community and shared identity was contagious. I honestly never thought too much of the time gap in our transitions, (much less that it would ever prove difficult) because I was so impressed by the size of the network he was bringing me into. By the full life he’d already built. I was just happy to be a part of it.
Being loved by him truly taught me to love being trans for the first time. He touched me with such affection and spoke to me with so much respect—he made me feel like I was perfect and was genuinely kinder to me than any guy had ever been before. It was so affirming, that by our fourth month of dating, I developed the courage to come out as trans on my YouTube channel, where I’d already amassed nearly 100K followers from posting “day in my life” vlogs.
That video changed my life forever. “I’m Transgender” garnered over half a million views, reaching far beyond my original audience. My trans identity and T4T relationship were now in the public eye, but this wasn’t T4T like I had with my seventh grade boyfriend at trans camp. It felt adult—real and sacred. There was freedom in not needing to explain ourselves to each other. We validated one another’s identity by simply existing.
But as our relationship progressed, we both started to realize that our transness was the only truly important thing we had in common. He came from money; I didn’t. He didn’t understand why I needed to work a regular job. His parents had impressive careers and his friend group reeked of nepotism. We weren’t just in different phases of our transitions—we were entirely different people. And although it had once felt like being trans made us the same, ultimately it became clear that it wasn’t enough.
Cole’s top surgery was booked for mid-January with a premier surgeon in Florida. He was anxious. I said I’d be there to support him, but a few weeks before the surgery, I booked my first modeling campaign, shooting the day of his operation. This was huge for me. Not only because it paid well and I needed the money, but it also felt like a lifelong dream of mine was finally coming true. Even so, I made plans to skip school (at this point we were both juniors in college) and meet him and his mom—who would be acting as his primary caretaker post-surgery—in Fort Lauderdale one day later.
The day of the surgery, I missed three of his calls while I was on set. My heart sank into my stomach. I thought something had gone wrong. I called him back immediately with my throat in knots and felt instant relief when he picked up. He was healthy and safe, just loopy from the anesthesia. “I wish you were here when I woke up,” he said. I already felt so guilty that I had chosen to put my big moment before his.
The next morning, I practically jumped on the plane, tired from the shoot but eager to get to him. I spent the next six days in Florida at his beck and call. His mom taught me how to change his dressings and prepared me for what I’d need to do when we eventually went home together. I slept next to him and helped him go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I emptied his drains. He was so fragile and happy. When we returned to New York, I continued to care for him for another two weeks. Being so in love, none of this felt tiring. No gore was gross. It was exciting, and I took pride in playing nurse.
But my grades were slipping. I was splitting all of my energy between my relationship and trying to become somebody. Most days I dashed to castings between classes, only to face constant rejection. It was exhausting. I spent all my nights with Cole in his studio apartment and felt like I could lean on him for emotional support, but along the way, I stopped taking care of myself. And school—the whole reason I was even in New York to begin with—was becoming less and less of a priority.
By the time Cole was mostly healed, spring break was right around the corner and he no longer needed my help. He was on a post-op high from gender-affirming care, and as I watched him find himself, I felt increasingly lost. I was so deeply entrenched in the relationship that I almost didn’t recognize myself when he stopped needing me in the same way. It was March 2020, and as COVID grew from gossip to news, instead of quarantining with my family in Boston, I doubled down and decided to go back to his family’s house in Los Angeles.
The next two weeks were tense. The world was shutting down, and our dynamic had changed. In the midst of so much uncertainty and transformation for the both of us, but especially him, I needed reassurance that he’d remain consistent. He said he wanted more freedom to discover the man he was becoming—that he was losing himself in the relationship and needed space. If I had any self-awareness at the time, I would've noticed the same of myself. After a year together, we decided to officially break up.
There was no single fight that ended our relationship—no blow-out or foul play from either of us. We just changed, grew in different directions. But the time I shared with Cole shaped me in countless ways. I learned how much of a relationship is simply showing up and being there for your partner, and that relationships in general, T4T or not, require compromise. I learned to not lose myself in someone else or in a fantasy I’ve projected onto them. And I learned what it’s like to really, truly be loved in the way I deserve. I’ll never forget that feeling.
But more than anything, our romance affirmed for me that when society wants to deny our existence, when our government doesn’t care if we live or die, trans people need each other. We can recognize the humanity in one another and hold a mirror to shared experiences, traumas, and feelings of otherness with arms wide open and gentle hands. Trans love has always had the ability to transcend, and it always will. It did for me.
*Name has been changed.
