“Yes.” I breathed out. “Yes. But...some of my enby students are these like, androgynous supermodels.” I kicked at the floor with the toe of my sneaker. “Which, you know, is fine. But even when they’re not, they’re so fucking confident in who they are. And I feel sometimes like I’m just this imposter, still trying on different outfits to see what works. And maybe, maybe this was all part of what I was feeling when I was a kid lying on my bed listening to ‘This Charming Man.’ And there are just better words for it now. But sometimes I…” I faltered. “I wonder if it would be easier to just take that pin off my jacket. I’m still not good at correcting people who use he/him, because...like, I get it. I’ll probably always look like a boring old dude.”

Lily shook her head. “Not boring. And not old.”

I snorted.

“Lily, I’m in my forties, and all I know is that when I was a kid, it felt like my parents were perpetually in their forties, and that means I’m old. How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

I gave a dreamy sigh. “Ah. Sweet youth.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Anyway. I…” I frowned again. I’d joked, but I actually was a little caught off guard by Lily being over a decade younger than me. Even though I should have guessed this to be true. “I have no idea where I was going with this. I am...drunk.”

“You were being honest,” she said steadily, “Which I feel honored you trusted me enough with. And you were talking about the clothes you wear to work, how they don’t feel good. And how you’d look ridiculous if you tried to wear something different. Which is,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Patently untrue. Obviously.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Obviously,” I repeated.

“Yes.” She squared her shoulders, taking a small step closer to me, as if in challenge. “That’s the thing about clothes. It’s like...like picking a song to sing at karaoke. You can choose whatever you want. And all that matters is that you feel happy when you’re singing it. It’s nice when the audience sings along with you, but they really don’t have to for it to still be powerful, as long as you feel it. You know?”

“Okay,” I countered. This was what I wanted, working through this with her, but now I was feeling weirdly defensive. I should have expected it. This was how it went when I had asked Claire to help me with makeup, too, a year ago. This sense of possibility, followed by this frustration that I didn’t automatically know what to do. That it didn’t immediately click. Because when it came to my body, nothing had ever seemed to click. “So what am I going to wear instead? A nice blouse and a pencil skirt?”