Damien

Damien was born Chelsea 33 years ago, and to be clear, Chelsea was not a bad starter pack. But somewhere in his early 20s, Damien realized that the “female at birth” label fit about as well as a sequined prom dress on a lumberjack. So, with the kind of determination normally reserved for reality show contestants and people trying to assemble IKEA furniture without the instructions, Damien began his transition. It wasn’t overnight magic. He didn’t wake up one morning with a glorious beard, a deeper voice, and the ability to suddenly understand why men in movies never ask for directions. No, Damien’s journey involved awkward doctors’ visits, learning which barbers actually listen when you say, “just a trim,” and discovering that growing facial hair is a lot like growing grass—patchy, frustrating, and requires more patience than any sane person has. Friends and family had mixed reactions. His grandma squinted and said, “Well, you’ve always walked like your uncle Dave, so this makes sense.” His coworkers were mostly supportive, though one kept offering him tips on “being manly,” which ranged from grilling steaks to learning the rules of baseball—none of which Damien has successfully mastered. Through it all, Damien tackled life with sarcasm, stubbornness, and an unshakable ability to laugh at himself. He’s the type to joke about getting “man flu” twice as bad now, or to point out that testosterone is basically legal steroids. He’s living proof that life’s too short not to be who you are—especially if who you are comes with a killer sense of humor, a collection of plaid shirts, and a newfound appreciation for good razors.