Straight Cis-Male Radical Acceptance on Tinder

When it comes to radical acceptance, straight men on Tinder take the cake, y’all — for realz!

The question of my gender identity is in no way the defining feature of my life, but it’s how I’m met, it is a fact and it’s something I have to deal with. The challenge of affirmation is real, too. My closest friends, my family, colleagues all stumble with my name and pronouns. My dad still calls me son, for flocks sake (come on, Dad! Yeah, you). I even get it wrong for myself occasionally (getting less) and so do other gender queer folks. We’ve been rewired to see things in black and white when the world is, not gray, it is a spectrum.

Interestingly, there is one group who apparently have no trouble figuring out that the gender and pronoun I give them is the one according to which they approach me. That is male identified people on Tinder. Tinder, you ask? This goddess dates and occasionally has a romantic encounter with a person who is not my spouse. My preference these days is other trans women. I find it grounding and normalizing to be with people who get what I am going through physically, socially and emotionally. Although COVID had slowed down the ability to have physical contact, and even though I’m blessed with a Goddex with whom I have been lovingly linked, I still spend timing browsing the dating apps to see who the capital G Goddess sends my way.

There was a shift in the quality and frequency of people stepping to me digitally once I came out as trans. Some for the better, some for the worse (in terms of appropriateness). I figured there would be a smaller pool of people down with dating a trans girl. Then Goddex suggested I change my gender on my profile to simply say woman. I was like, “That sounds like a recipe for disaster!” There’s a part of my brain that doesn’t believe I’ll be accepted as a woman.

I gave it a shot, pretty sure I’d have little interest. Within minutes my inbox was flooded with inquiries from men of all ilk—doctors, CEOs, cops, construction workers, and even a lumberjack—wanting to talk up your girl. All of these men (98%) identify as straight. Who knew that was all it took to be a woman on the virtual dating scene: changing my profile.

I don’t wanna judge these men either, or see them as deluded. They are, technically, straight as I am a woman and do not share a gender marker with them. I’m more confused about what it makes me as a trans woman who has a strong preference for other trans women (for dating at least). Am I lesbian? Am I pansexual? As my current partner identifies as trans-femme—using they pronouns—that rules out lesbian I guess. The goddex is taking a less radical approach to their reassignment treatment, and for now has a rather traditionally masculine build and, yes, I find that attractive. So confusing.

When it comes to sex and romance on the Tinder scene, you are who you say you are. I’m sure I’ll encounter my share of chasers, fetishists, and people to be avoided at all cost. I also know that I am beautiful and sexy and following my higher power. I’m learning that if I build it they will come. I always thought I’d suffer in direct relation to the amount I revealed my true self. The opposite is true. Each time I let go of a fear of stepping into my full self, the Goddess sends boons to remind me why I am who I am.

—Notorious Pink

Pink Flowers

Pink Flowers is a Black trans artist, peacemaker, educator, and pleasure activist whose work lives at the intersection of embodiment, governance, and cultural transformation. Trained in Theater of the Oppressed, Art of Hosting, and Navajo-informed Peacemaking practices, Pink designs spaces where conflict can be addressed, power can be examined, and joy can be reclaimed.

Her artistic and pedagogical practice draws from African trickster cosmology, Brazilian Joker traditions, shamanic ritual, and cooperative economics. She is the founder of the award-winning Falconworks Theater Company (2005–2021), which used popular theater to build civic capacity and participatory leadership in historically marginalized communities.

Pink served for over five years as a trained Peacemaker in the Red Hook Community Justice Center in Brooklyn, facilitating restorative processes within the New York City court system. From 2015–2018, she worked in cooperative business development with the Center for Family Life, supporting worker-owned enterprises in immigrant communities.

She currently serves as Director of Education and Training for the Inter-Cooperative Council in Ann Arbor, where she leads leadership development and conflict engagement initiatives. Her work has been presented nationally and internationally, including at the Stretch Festival in Berlin and the Pedagogy and Theatre of the Oppressed Conference.

Across ritual, performance, mediation, and institutional design, Pink’s work asks a central question:

What becomes possible when we refuse shame and choose conscious power instead?

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