In April 2023, trans girl Alex Franklin started HRT. We invited her to write about how the transition has changed her life and her comedy.
The first obvious difference post starting my transition was how people reacted to my more risqué material. The more feminine I looked, the more people took what I said at face value (not everyone, but definitely more than before). Lines that were previously considered harmless suddenly seemed more scandalous. Calling an audience member ‘cringe’ was no longer seen as having ‘playful rascal energy’, but ‘mean girl energy’. I had lost the benefit of the doubt when it came to my intentions; ‘it wasn’t meant that seriously’ seemed to no longer apply.
Also I get hit on quite a lot now, and while it’s nice to be found attractive, some people (mostly men) can be very creepy. I think this issue is much worse for the decentralised industry that is comedy. No one sees a production of Romeo and Juliet and thinks they’ll successfully woo Juliet at the bar later, but so many (again, mostly men) think it’ll work for the comedian who just did a 15 min set about racoons (I love racoons). Plus I now have to be more cautious going to and from gigs; gone are the days of running carelessly through the night (‘There goes the night boi!’ people used to say, as I sprinted my way across London at 2am) – now I stick to main roads and street lights like a moth who prefers main roads.
Then there’s all the TRANS stuff, about how I’ve had to change stuff due to being TRANS because I am TRANS. For certain nights, before I get to do anything more silly, I have to do 3-4 mins of prelude explaining myself; why are you trans? Is it recent? Is one selected for it like jury duty? (this is on top of all the other things – as a half Chinese, pansexual, neurodiverse gal, I thread perfect intersectionality like Luke Skywalker threading the shot to blow up the Death Star). Sometimes I’ll do a surreal bit and people will be like, ‘Okay but how does this relate to your gender?’ and it’s like, "It doesn’t; it’s a song about a mouse with a gun. Chill out!"
Plus, I’m more cautious about what gigs I do now. I’ve occasionally dropped out of lineups because of the other people on it, and I avoid certain gigs where the clientele give ‘hate crime vibes’. I avoid any lineups with comedians who are openly transphobic - both because I don’t want to engage with them personally, and also because I don’t want my presence to be used as a smokescreen for their bigotry. And there’s nothing more dejecting than meeting a comedian and thinking,"oh you seem cool", then seeing their Twitter likes (a feature now lost to time) and feeling thoroughly depressed. I was rooting for you! You were the chosen one!
I don’t want to make it seem like it’s all negative though. In a personal sense, everything is much better. The biggest difference (and the only one I really care about) is that I’m a lot happier now. Both on stage, and in life; I feel the warmth of the sunshine more, the colours seem brighter, and I can look in the mirror and see myself for the first time in 26 years. Sometimes I just wake up and smile that the day exists. I think people and audiences gravitate to that joy and we all have a much better time while I'm on stage because of it. I can also now be a friendly face to tell cis people about the trans experience, and to help trans/ genderqueer people feel that they are, at least in some way, being represented.
And to top it all off, honestly, I’m funnier now. And I can talk about myself truthfully. I think audiences sense that. Although I have to avoid some gigs now, I’ve been welcomed into others. And I’m more comfortable on stage and at having fun with audiences as I’m no longer carrying the constant worry that they’ll discover who I really am - because they’ve met the real me, and (most of the time) they seem to think I’m pretty cool. And hilarious. Perhaps even the funniest person alive. With amazing hair. And a great ass. If I want you to take anything away from this, it’s that I have an incredible ass.
