If you are active in trans spaces, you’ve probably heard the term cotton ceiling. And if you’ve heard cotton ceiling, you’ve probably heard about its distortion and misrepresentation by transphobic cis women to mean “trans women are forcing me to have sex with them!” I recently learned that these transphobic people, specifically transphobic cis men this time, have a similar term for trans men: “boxer ceiling”. Unlike the cotton ceiling, the idea of a boxer ceiling wasn’t coined by a trans person. It is quite literally an idea created by transphobes for them to get mad at. Think of it like the magic dirt theory of transphobia. Unlike the magic dirt theory, however, I think the idea of a boxer ceiling could be a useful term for a real experience. In Natalie Reed’s synopsis of the cotton ceiling, which is often a go-to explanation of the term, she states that, in contrast with trans women, trans men are commonly regarded as sexy and hot within queer spaces. I have to respectfully disagree. While perhaps things were different for us in 2012 (I will admit I still believed myself to be female then), I think it is time for us to take a more critical look at how trans men and our sexuality is treated within supposedly queer-friendly spaces. Firstly, the name, “boxer ceiling” or “cotton ceiling”, is often either misunderstand or purposefully misinterpreted. It is crucial to clarify that the boxers or cotton underwear in the terms refer to the underwear being worn by the transgender individual. As one Reddit user put it, the idea is that, even in trans-inclusive spaces, transgender individuals are only viewed as our gender to a point — that point being where our underwear begins. Trans men are often desexualized and infantilized, often solely due to the presence of a vagina. Because we aren’t cis men, we aren’t allowed to be maturely desired; to be seen as sexy, handsome, or hot. Words like “cute”, “smol bean”, “baby boy”, etc. are often the phrases that “trans allies” use to describe adult trans men. I myself can attest to having had people my age refer to me as a “femboy” despite my masculine presentation. These words, of which would never be used to describe cis men in our position, intentionally or not, frame us as delicate, non-threatening, and fundamentally nonsexual. On the occasion when we are permitted to have a sexuality, it is almost always the role of the “submissive”. Again, I can personally attest to having been called a “bottom” by “trans-friendly” peers who knew nothing of my love life besides stereotypes. This goes especially for gay and bisexual trans men. When we are included in gay porn or erotica, it is almost always to bottom and be submissive to the cis man. Trans men aren’t allowed to penetrate, only be penetrated; aren’t allowed to be dominant, only be dominated. As Dr. Adrian Breyer notes in his article for The Michigan Gayly, cis women can, to an extent, reclaim their sexual agency. And yet despite this, trans men are expected to be sexually submissive to cis men because of our genitals. In cis-dominated gay spaces, finding a partner as a gay or bisexual trans man can feel impossible. Let me be clear: this isn’t about forcing cis gay men to have sex with trans men (I promise if you believe that, we don’t want you anyway). This is about the hypocrisy of those who will chant that “trans men are men!” ‘til they’re red in the face, but refuse to be with us because “I’m gay.” Even if said sex acts don’t involve PiV or anything to do with the vagina, we are rejected because we are first and foremost seen as trans before we are seen as men. We are men who happen to have vaginas, until we are vaginas who happen to be men. We are men, as previously stated, until our boxers begin. Ultimately, the point of discussing the boxer ceiling isn’t to demand attraction, but to challenge the often-cissexist barriers that limit it. And this doesn’t just benefit trans men, but their cis partners too, who have reported being with trans men as changing the way they think about genitalia, easing their feelings of inadequacy, and “[changing] the scene in ways they were looking forward to.” When these stereotypes and internal biases are questioned, the potential for genuine, authentic, and pleasurable connections grows. The goal is a world where our boxers are just underwear, not a barrier. Where a trans man’s sexuality is understood as complex and multifaceted as anyone else’s. Where we are seen as men, truly, in more than just words. True trans liberation isn’t achieved when we are merely included under old rules, but when we are free to desire and be desired without the confines of expected submission or dehumanizing fetishization.
