Songs for Alexis is a 2014 documentary following two teen lovebirds – Ryan and his girlfriend Alexis – trying to make their relationship work in challenging circumstances. They hit many of the same bumps in the road any young, naive couple might.
But part of their challenge lies in the fact that Ryan is transgender. Alexis’ family are not accepting, and the film reveals that one of Ryan’s coping strategies is to record candid video diaries or vlogs, which he uploads to YouTube.
In the documentary, YouTube is just one element of Ryan’s life. But for those of us who have watched his video diaries over the past six years, his vlogs are a huge deal. We, his subscribers, know him as an ally and a role model, wise beyond his years and never short of honest advice. Whether it’s saving for surgery, choosing a name, dealing with being misgendered or tips on masculine clothing, Ryan’s covered it.
Out of context, some of this sounds trivial, but it’s not the content that matters. It’s the chance to bask in the existence of the people making them. For a short time before I came out, I lived to hear people like me talk about what shape of T-shirt could give me the confidence to stand tall. It made the present seem real and the future sound totally amazing.
So, for me, watching Songs for Alexis felt pretty weird. It shows Ryan’s strikingly complicated life beyond the dimensions of the YouTube player. The documentary is less intimate yet much richer, like discovering that a friend has some whole other life you never knew about.
Ryan’s uploads are one part of a global online network. For trans women, non-binary trans people and others, YouTube is often our primary source of information, friendship and community. They are things we struggle to find offline or in mainstream media.
YouTube was where I saw the documentary about transgender kids that plunged me into euphoric self-discovery. It involved learning the word “transgender” and identifying myself as such – and as male – for the first time. In the sidebar of suggested videos, I found my first trans vlogger. From there I found dozens more, mostly in the US, all methodically documenting via webcam their female-to-male transitions. They were real and they were honest.
I watched these vlogs compulsively, feeling an overwhelming empathy with people I would never meet or even talk to. I envied their self-confidence, especially Ryan, who was calm, certain and strong. He looked so young, yet he spoke with absolute conviction about being male and wanting chest surgery for a male-contoured chest.
I realised early on that every vlogger’s transition was different, with points of commonality. This variety reassured me that, when I came out as trans, I could transition on my terms and at my pace.
Ryan’s perspective was especially significant, as here was a trans man who didn’t want testosterone therapy, the supposed chemical key to “manhood” for which most trans men are chomping at the bit. His conviction for wanting a T-free transition wasn’t something I could relate to, but his conviction that this made him no less of a man was an incredibly powerful message.
Similarly, the documentary’s focus on Ryan and Alexis’ relationship is a welcome departure from the trans narratives we’re usually served up. There’s no morbid obsession with self-hate and surgery, and no ambiguity about the “authenticity” of the key players or their relationship.
The latter may confuse non-trans viewers, as it seems to blur the interplay between gender identity and sexuality. But in Ryan and Alexis’ case, things couldn’t be simpler; a boy and a girl, on the cusp of adulthood, in a heterosexual relationship.
Some people identify as lesbians before coming out as trans. If you’re attracted to women and you were raised as female, it seems like a no-brainer. For the majority, it is just that. But if you’re trans, making sense of yourself usually takes longer than figuring out who you want to have sex with, especially in a world that doesn’t welcome trans people with open arms. Trans men find community and love in lesbian spaces before, during and usually after they come out.
To be clear though, none of this has anything to do with semantically flawed logic about lesbians being frustrated men, or trans men being confused lesbians. Trans men and lesbians are two distinct groups, with the same historical and cultural overlap that gives rise to the LGBTQI acronym.
But what about trans men who aren’t attracted to women? Sure, we exist too. In fact, trans people can be gay, bi, pansexual or asexual in exactly the same way as non-trans people, because newsflash: we’re all human beings, and gender and sexuality are spectrums not binaries. So if a trans man is attracted to men, well, then he is a gay man.
It’s not that Ryan represents all trans men, any more than another teenage boy represents all teenage boys. But I think Songs for Alexis achieves something close to perfect simplicity by focusing on the utterly relatable phenomena of crushes, heartbreak and all their related, horribly necessary life-lessons.
Guardian Members can attend an exclusive screening of Songs for Alexis followed by a panel discussion on Sunday 12 April. A second event How to be happy and transgender takes place on 4 June.
