I want to see more hairy, brown, gender non-conforming bodies like mine

I walked out onstage wearing black shorts, a harness, and sunglasses, with a book in my hand.

Then, as trans musician , Planningtorock, started playing a slow electro beat, my fellow members of Spice Boys – a group of transmasculine go-go dancers for hire – and I started to read.

I settled on a bar stool, basking in the lights while turning each page dramatically .

The beat became faster, synthesisers and vocals joined the track and as the music rose, so did I.

As the beat dropped, my boots stomped, my fists in the air, shoulders popping, body twisting; I let go.

I allowed myself to connect with my body through movement, motions and gestures – raising my hands and arms, jumping into two-step and bhangra dancing – that were free from gender.

I felt so completely trans, visible and beautiful.

The epitome of gender euphoria.

I didn’t always feel so comfortable in my body.

What is Trans Day of Visibility
International Transgender Day of Visibility (TDoV) is celebrated annually on March 31 to celebrate the joy, resilience, and existence of transgender and non-binary people worldwide.

The day was founded by Michigan-based transgender activist Rachel Crandall in 2009 as a reaction to the lack of LGBTQ+ days celebrating trans people, noting that most focus was on tragedy rather than life and joy.

(Picture: Rachel Crandall/Metro)
In 2021, U.S.

President Joe Biden became the first American president to issue a formal proclamation recognising the day.

Now, more than ever, transgender people need this visibility.

I was in my early 20s when I started to understand my gender as something that was more fluid.

As a result, I let go of ‘she’/‘her’ pronouns and a ‘dyke’ identity for one that sat under a trans-masculine umbrella and ‘they’/’he’ pronouns.

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It was a hard time, and overcoming discomfort with my body was a private daily practice.

However, I was able to receive gender-affirming medical care in my mid-twenties.

That’s when my relationship with my body changed.

Ever since, I have navigated a new masculinity in a world that favours bodies like mine.

But I have struggled to accept sexist double standards where being topless was acceptable now that I had a male-contoured chest.

I’ve been able to choose where, when and how I show off my chest and my body, and doing so in trans-centred spaces has felt right.

A year of change: Why Trans Day of Visibility matters
The UK Supreme Court rules that the legal definition of a woman is based on biological sex, claiming that the ‘concept of sex is binary’.

The FA brings in a ban on trans women in women’s football.

Trans girls banned from joining Girlguiding – trans girls have since been told they must leave the organisation by September 2026.

The Women’s Institute will no longer accept trans women as members from April, due to the Supreme Court ruling.

NHS England pauses new referrals for masculinising or feminising hormone treatment in under-18s.

The Olympics announce a transgender ban in all women’s sport.

I’ve been allowed to take up space in a place designed for me to do just that.

Then my best friends Krishna Istha and Kasra Jalilipour came up with the idea for Spice Boys in 2019.

Like most good queer ideas, it started as a rant about how much cisgender male go-go dancers dominate the queer club scene .

They platform skinny, white, hairless bodies and perpetuate beauty standards that simply don’t fit trans people.

Krishna and Kasra didn’t see hairy, brown, gender non-conforming bodies like ours represented – so they wanted to do something about that and got me involved too.

As die hard fans of the Spice Girls , it made sense that we subvert that too.

There’s Salty Spice, All Spice, Chocolate Spice, and of course, Soft Spice – our diversity hire (he’s white).

As for me, I’m Haram Spice.

He loves using more garlic than the recipe calls for, boxing with a limp wrist and being a bad Muslim.

After a silly and saucy photoshoot, we came up with a flyer for people to hire the Spice Boys.

‘Ever wanted some topless trans boys to spice up your life, party, funeral, wedding, insert other scenario?’, it read.

‘We’ve got over 20 trans boys on the books with varied skills including stripping, dancing, performance art, hula hooping, circus, poetry, lap dances, modelling, acting, gyming, eating and more.’
Within a few months, we booked our first gig: ‘And What?

Queer Festival’ in London for March 2020.

For that first gig, I stepped onto the stage for the first time as Haram Spice with Soft Spice, in matching zebra print boxer shorts and nothing else.

Of course, I was nervous.

My legs quivered and I suddenly became aware of all the ways my body did not fit the norm – like my soft thighs, wide hips, body hair and scars across my chest.

My gender dysphoria set in fast.

But behind sunglasses, I spoke to myself: ‘You are more than your gender and your gender is more than your body.’
That’s when I started to feel myself move.

Our first performance was lifting weights – or rather, a couple of tins of baked beans.

We exaggerated our movements, pretending to break a sweat, panting and performing.

You can find out more about Sabah Choudrey’s book, Supporting Trans People of Colour, here .

Follow Spice Boys and Sabah on Instagram.

Then we cycled through the macarena routine, taking breaks to flex, pose and even stretch in front of the crowd.

The audience lapped it up.

After an hour of performing, I felt elated and a little bit in shock.

‘I can’t believe I’ve just been on a stage, dancing to such a welcoming queer audience, feeling totally myself,’ I said at the time.

‘In nothing but underwear!’
Since then, we’ve been regulars at ‘Butch Please!’ and ‘The Chateau’.

One of my favourite moments was being on stage at ‘Meltdown Festival’ at Southbank dancing with musician Tom Rasmussen – each Spice Boy slowly moving from pose to pose, like majestic statues holding typical bodybuilder stances.

I’m growing a unique confidence in my body away from the pressures of fitness or diet culture and cishet body norms.

I’m enjoying finding new moments where I feel good and look good.

There’s nothing like meeting my friends and fellow Spice Boys in the green room, unpacking my outfit from my backpack and changing without thinking twice.

It’s always a small but safe space with other trans people, affirming compliments, excitement and loose glitter in the air.

'Lightning bum' is the shock symptom striking Brits several times a month
Then when we’re onstage, we feel unstoppable.

At the end of the day, we just want to show gender non-conforming bodies having fun, not trying to be a certain kind of sexy, and to push the boundaries of who are platformed.

It makes me feel even more excited to call myself a Spice Boy.

This article was originally published on June 16, 2024.

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