November 13, 2025 |
When I received a message from my dear friend Sophia asking if I could write a piece for 10’s Transformation issue, I was immediately overwhelmed by a myriad of topics I wanted to explore. As I delved into my own life experiences, I recognised just how profoundly transformative my journey has been.
I began my life on the Lancaster West Estate in Ladbroke Grove, West London, an area marked by its struggles and resilience. When I was growing up, my family faced significant financial hardships and my birth mother battled with alcohol and drug addictions.
In the midst of this turmoil, I always sensed that I was different, not in a way that suggested superiority, but rather in the essence of who I was. While other boys my age conformed to traditional masculine roles, I found myself drawn to more feminine expressions. I longed to engage in activities typically reserved for girls, yearning to wear jelly shoes and butterfly clips. Yet, I was met with a barrage of hurtful comments: “That’s for girls!”,
“You’re a boy! Act like one!” and “Are you a poof?” As a child, I often found solace in solitude. My best friends were my Barbie dolls: I confided in them. Sharing my dreams and fears. I vividly recall donning my mother’s Shellys heels and silver fox-fur coat, dancing around the house while daydreaming of one day becoming someone I could truly be proud of. Those moments of imaginative play were my escape, a way to envision a brighter future amid the chaos of my reality.
Unfortunately, my relationship with my birth mother deteriorated and by the time I was 11 my circumstances had led me into the care system. The next two years were a whirlwind of instability, as I moved from one foster home to another, each transition serving as a stark reminder of my loneliness and desire for acceptance. It was a tumultuous time, filled with uncertainty and a need to belong.
Stylist and designer Kyle De’ Volle incorporates both masculine and feminine flourishes into his everyday look
By the time I was 14, I had begun to embrace my identity unapologetically and found myself gravitating toward older friends, many of whom believed I was 17. I ventured into clubs and engaged in activities that were deemed inappropriate for someone my age, yet for the first time, I felt a sense of freedom and acceptance.
I vividly remember my outfits from that time. My brown hair was styled with a swooping side fringe, embellished with blue clip-in extensions. My nails, three inches long, bore the marks of countless trips to Camberwell, where I would pay £12 to have them done. I adorned myself with heavy black eyeliner, wore Dunk trainers and sported baggy jeans that had never seen the inside of a washing machine – jeans that could quite literally stand on their own. A cropped T-shirt and an array of shag bands on my wrists completed the look. In those moments, I felt invincible.
At 15, I purchased my first pair of heels, a brown platform boot from Topshop. The moment I slipped my then-size-eight foot into that boot, I felt an awakening: I knew this was the person I wanted to become. Even at that tender age, I perceived fashion as an art form devoid of gender constraints, a belief I still hold today. Clothing and accessories are human-made creations, reflections of the times in which we live. I firmly believe that personal image is a vital form of self-expression, an art that everyone should be free to explore. Yet society imposes rigid expectations from childhood, dictating that blue is for boys and pink is for girls. This binary thinking is utterly bewildering to me, yet the majority adhere to this outdated narrative, one crafted by individuals whose bones have long turned to dust.
At 18, I found myself engulfed in confusion about my identity. Society led me to believe that because of my interests and the way I dressed, I must be a trans woman; it suggested that if I were to gain acceptance, that was the path I needed to follow. But this notion felt misleading. I embody both feminine and masculine energies, each equally powerful and valid. I have never fitted into a box and never will, and I take immense pride in that fact. The future remains uncertain, but I embrace the journey with an open heart.
Now, at 35, I can confidently say that I am the happiest and most content I have ever been. I dress for myself, fluidly transitioning between masculine and feminine expressions. I am surrounded by an abundance of love and support, which allows me to live authentically – an act that isn’t always easy for many people. Ultimately, what it all comes down to is a simple yet profound question: “Who am I dressing for?” This act may seem straightforward, yet it is anything but. Societal pressures often compel people to conform without their conscious awareness.
When you put your clothes on, who are you truly dressing for? Do you don a suit simply because you work in an office? Do you hesitate to wear that crop top today because you’re visiting your nan and don’t want to offend her? Are you holding back from slipping on that miniskirt because your boyfriend disapproves? So many of us live for others, catering to their wants and needs while neglecting our own desires.
I believe personal style is an art form, a powerful means of expressing who we are and what we wish to convey to the world. The next time you’re getting dressed, take a moment to reflect: am I dressing for myself or for society?
Photography by Tibo Tiebackx. Taken from 10 Men Issue 62 – BIRTHDAY, EVOLVE, TRANSFORMATION – out on newsstands now. Order your copy here.
