Non Binary

Hi, I’m TJC Cosplays, and this is Harley Quinn #120.

This is version two of my non-binary Pride Harley. Since the original design, I’ve reworked the top, added badges, changed the wig and makeup, and replaced the long skirt with a kilt.

Recently, someone asked me what being non-binary means and what my own experience is like. So I’m going to take some time today to talk about it, what it feels like for me, what my experiences are, talking about the dangers and ending on a positive.

Many non-binary people, myself included, consider ourselves to fall under the transgender umbrella because our gender identity is different from the sex we were assigned at birth. Modern research across fields such as psychology, sociology and anthropology recognises that gender is more complex than a simple male-or-female binary. My experience sits somewhere between those points.

For me, my gender feels like a pendulum. Sometimes I feel closer to one side, sometimes the other. I identify as genderfluid, a part of the non-binary community, because my experience fluctuates between different genders. That can bring gender dysphoria, imposter syndrome and anxiety. Most of the time I manage those feelings well, and cosplay, especially being Harley, is one of the ways I navigate them. It’s a coping mechanism rather than a cure. Unfortunately, because the world isn’t always a safe place for people like me, there are still times when I suppress parts of myself simply to feel safe.

I’m speaking only from my own experience as a non-binary person. I don’t want to speak over binary trans people, whose journeys and challenges may be very different from mine. This is simply my story.

Experience 1: Friends and acquaintances

Ironically, some of the hardest experiences have come from people I knew.

I’ve been treated as and even called a “parody woman”. I’ve been asked invasive questions about my body, been told things like, “You’re just a guy,” or, “Why don’t you just cut you <censored> off to be taken seriously?” Comments like these reduce my identity to my anatomy and completely dismiss who I am.

The part that affected me most wasn’t even the comments—it was the touching.

When I was still discovering my gender identity, friends, mostly male friends, would touch my chest without my consent or joke by pretending to grab my breasts in photos. It always made me deeply uncomfortable. It felt invalidating and humiliating, especially because these were people I trusted. Today I’m much better at asserting my boundaries, but it took a long time to get there.

Experience 2: My career

I’m a teacher, and I’m proud of the work I do. Anyone who knows me knows I rarely compliment myself, but I genuinely believe I’m good at what I do.

During my teacher training, on my placement the headteacher at that school was very positive towards me until someone showed her photos of my cosplay. From that point, things changed. Written feedback no longer matched the verbal feedback I was receiving, and later, when I worked at a school within a trust she led, she tried to have me dismissed because of how I presented outside of work.

I was advised to ignore it because she was considered “old-fashioned” and close to retirement. Thankfully, almost everyone else I worked with was incredibly accepting.

I’ve also had parents discover my cosplay online and complain about me, and I’ve been the subject of hateful conversations in WhatsApp groups.

The difficult part is that none of this involves my work as a teacher. At work I present as male and remain completely professional. The judgement comes from who I am outside the classroom.

Experience 3: Strangers

One of the more unsettling experiences happened at CapCon.

I was behind my table wearing my red dress when a photographer kept watching me. I tried to hide behind my banners while adjusting my petticoat, but as soon as the ruffles lifted slightly he rushed over, took an upskirt photograph and immediately left. Thankfully I was wearing shorts, tights and several layers underneath, but that isn’t really the point. My privacy had been violated.

Sadly, that hasn’t been an isolated experience.

When people assume I was assigned female at birth, I’ve been sexually harassed, touched without consent, had my bottom slapped more times than I can count, been objectified, forcibly kissed and followed when I was alone.

I’ve also been followed into toilets. Sometimes, when people realised I wasn’t assigned female at birth, the situation escalated into verbal abuse. Public toilets have often felt unsafe for me when I’m femme presenting. Whenever possible I use gender-neutral or accessible toilets, especially now that I have a RADAR key because of a chronic health condition. Or I simply don’t bother and end my day/evening early.

On other occasions, people who immediately recognised that I wasn’t assigned female at birth have attempted to physically attack me. Thankfully, years of martial arts training have helped me protect myself, but the biggest protection I’ve found is simply being surrounded by trusted friends.

Even something as small as wearing nail polish while presenting as male—a way for me to stay connected to my feminine side—can attract bullying, ridicule or abuse.

Experience 4: People trying to change me

Perhaps the most emotionally exhausting experience is people trying to convince me that I’m not really non-binary.

Some insist it’s “just a label”. Others tell me they simply prefer me as male. I’ve heard that from friends, people I’ve dated and even a family member. To their credit, most of those people have since become very supportive, and I’m grateful for that.

But being repeatedly told that I’d be more acceptable if I were different takes its toll. It leaves me constantly feeling like I have to defend my identity simply to exist.

Closing thoughts

Living as a non-binary person often feels like balancing authenticity against safety.

I love being unique. I love the people who accept me exactly as I am, and I treasure the spaces where I feel safe enough to be myself.

Yet I still won’t attend Pride in my own hometown because I don’t feel safe doing so, because that’s where I work and live; I worry for my safety. Instead, in August I will travel to another town an hour away where I feel more comfortable celebrating who I am.

Before I finish I would like to end on a positive note.

Positive experiences

Although I’ve shared a lot of the challenges I’ve faced, I also want to acknowledge the many positive experiences I’ve had. They remind me that kindness, acceptance and community exist too.

During the COVID pandemic, I supported families with trans and non-binary children by helping them navigate difficult conversations with intolerant relatives and by recording video messages of encouragement and solidarity. Being able to support young people and their families during such an uncertain time meant a great deal to me.

At charity events and comic conventions, I’ve had some wonderful interactions with children and their families. Despite not having voice training and speaking with what I consider to be a feminine voice, children have accepted me exactly as I am. I’ve been told I’m “the real Harley Quinn”, been given drawings as gifts, and shared moments I’ll never forget.

At my first Pride event last year, one of my favourite memories was when the fire brigade stopped during the parade to compliment my cosplay and sounded their sirens for me. It was a small gesture, but it made me feel seen and celebrated.

I’ve also been invited to speak at comic conventions about my experiences as a femme-presenting person assigned male at birth. I’ve won cosplay competitions while presenting as female, and at alternative events I’ve been encouraged and celebrated simply for being myself.

Most importantly, I have an incredible support network. I have close friends who encourage me, an immediate family who love and support me, and a home where I feel safe to be myself. I know that not every trans or non-binary person has that privilege, and I never take it for granted.

So while the world can sometimes feel intolerant or unsafe, it isn’t the whole story. I have found people, places and communities that remind me I belong. Those moments of acceptance don’t erase the difficult experiences, but they give me the strength and confidence to keep being authentically myself.