Somewhere on the internet, there’s a trend about being “demure” making the rounds. Now, while the word conjures up images of modesty and reservation, I can’t help but chuckle as I reflect on my journey. If there’s one thing I’ve realised about myself, it’s that demure. Well, that’s just not me. But mindful? Now, that has become my mantra.
I wasn’t always this comfortable in my skin. There was a time when I tried so hard to curate the “right” image of myself—whether it was in my appearance or how I thought my story should be told. And the kicker? I felt I had to control it all. Let me explain.
The Name Game
When I first transitioned, I was adamant that everyone would refer to me by my full name. It wasn’t “C” or “Cyn,” and certainly not “Cindy.” It was Cynthia—only Cynthia. I clung to that as my identity depended on it. And in many ways, it did. I felt like I had just one chance to define myself and the language surrounding me, so I drew those lines thick. There was no room for interpretation.
Fast forward a few years, and here’s the truth: you can call me Cynthia, Cyn, or even Cindy if it suits you. The only thing I ask is that you don’t call me late for dinner! I mean, who could pass up the chance for a good meal? It’s funny how something I was so rigid about has now softened over time, much like my understanding of identity itself. The name’s still mine, but I’m much less concerned with how everyone uses it.
Makeup: From a Full-Time Job to a Quick Routine
Another area where I’ve seen a significant change is in how I approach makeup. In the early days, I spent hours—and I mean hours—on the whole process. We’re talking layers of foundation, sculpting, shading, and blending. You name it, I did it. My first attempt at doing it all myself took three whole hours. Looking back, I’m unsure if I was prepping for a board meeting or a film premiere, but it felt like an art form.
These days? My daily look consists of lip colour, mascara, and maybe a spritz of perfume if I feel fancy. Yes, my facial feminisation surgery in 2018 helped, but the fundamental transformation wasn’t just about the surgery—it was about becoming comfortable with me. I learnt that I didn’t need all those layers to feel ready to face the world. Now, I’m out the door in 30 minutes, looking and feeling more like myself than ever.
Of course, I still have my skincare staples—serum, moisturiser, and SPF 50 mixed in to protect my skin. But my makeup? It reflects my comfort, not a shield to hide behind. I’ll always treasure that rigorous process for what it meant at the time, but today, I know less is truly more.
Images left to right: 2016 Initial look, 2018 Out socialising. 2023 event in London
Wardrobe Wars
Oh, and let’s talk about clothing. In the early years of my transition, dressing for work was a battlefield. My company’s simple directive—“dress professionally”—had a different weight when applied to women. As a man, it was easy. A suit and tie were standard, and there wasn’t much to think about. But suddenly, as a woman, the options felt endless and somehow all wrong. I found myself buying into a wardrobe full of professional “feminine” attire because, after all, that’s what a professional woman was supposed to look like, right?
Wrong. Fast forward a few years, and none of those clothes are in my wardrobe anymore. I realised that I was dressing to meet someone else’s expectations of my appearance instead of defining my style. Now, I dress for me. If I’m working from home, my outfit is simple and comfortable. When I need to attend an in-person corporate event, I might throw on something that feels professional but still true to who I am—whether it’s slacks with a blouse or something flowy and fun. The beauty is in the choice, not in conforming to what others think that choice should be.
Professional headshots left to right year taken: 2016, 2017, 2018, 2020
My Story, Your Story, Our Story
Perhaps the most significant shift has been how I view my story. Early on, I believed that this was my narrative, and I was the only one who could tell it. I clung to that control fiercely. But as time passed, I realised that other people have their versions of interactions with me, and those stories are just as valid. It took me a while to accept that.
Now, I don’t just tell my story. I listen to how others experience it, too. That’s a level of maturity I couldn’t have seen in those earlier days when I thought I had to micromanage every aspect of my identity. Now, I let others have their perspectives, and I trust that my story is strong enough to stand on its own without me constantly guiding the narrative.