Last night I dreamed I was a boy for a day.  It was amazing, and kind of smelly.  The highlights included deck shoes with hairy ankles, hanging out in BlackMarket and not feeling completely ridiculous (just slightly ridiculous), then eating two plates of sticky ribs without breaking into meat sweats.  In my subconcious I morphed into a cross between Jared Leto circa My So Called Life, and Erkyl from Family Matters.  Which was kind of the best thing in the whole entire universe.  So now I’m sitting at my desk staring at eight packs of Nytol, wondering if I can knock myself out with fuzzy chemicals and bring my dream boy back into my arms.  My dream boy being me.  While I ponder that, here is what the rest of the team would do if they could transgender for 24.


I don’t want to be just any girl. It’s not a generic female experience I’m searching for here. On first considering this question, my initial instinct was “can I be both Olsen twins?” But that’s just smutty. I’ve got to bleach my filthy mind. Thinking harder (and only a little cleaner), I want to be one particular woman (and God, was she a woman).

I don’t know her name. We shared an empty carriage on a sweltering Victoria line two weeks ago. We didn’t speak, just exchanged awkward enquiring glances, both of us only barely ignoring the sexual tension turning the carriage into a streamlined furnace. Then suddenly she was gone from my life forever. Fucking Sliding Doors. I’m glad I’ve an opportunity to right this tragedy.

I’m not completely clear on the specifics of the change over, but I’m thinking the process would be something akin to Freaky Friday. With my mind trapped inside her body and after checking myself out thoroughly in the mirror and dumping her boyfriend, I’d journey to my house, where she would waiting, freaking out over where her new penis and rippling abs (yeah right) had suddenly appeared from. After explaining myself, we’d slowly become drawn together by the absurdity of the experience and begin to kiss at the precise moment our minds switched back. It would be hotter than the sun; hotter than the London underground in the summer.

Predictable I know, but I’m using cosmic biological experimentation to satisfy my own libido rather than reveal anything new to me about femininity. I think that tells you all you need to know about masculinity. Or at least all you need to know about me.


I can’t decide which I’d want more, to be Natalie Portman or to be in Natalie Portman. What am I saying, it’s definately the last one, but either would be pretty hot.

If I was Natalie for a day I’d act just like this…


I would most likely not shower first, not that I don’t abide by skipping a day already, but when you’re a boy, you get away with it easier. Then I would probably steal a suit from my brother’s, because I’ve always wanted to know what wearing a full suit, with the shiny shoes, and cuff links and all that accoutrement must feel like, probably a boss, of some hotshot company. But I would ride my bike with the suit, go to the park and check out ladies or something, because if you’re in a suit, it’s okay, ladies love suits right? I would continue the rest of my day, by ordering hot dogs, checking out more ladies, and maybe play some football (by then, I would have changed, of course). Come night, I would opt for fixing my bike, with a side order of beer because you have to be seen fixing something when you’re a guy, otherwise you just look lazy, even if in fixing it you actually break it - fear not, it only means more of you looking like you’re fixing it. Then dismiss any adamant grunts by girlfriend with a shoulder raise and indifference, no big deal really. That would be an awesome day.


I’d probably just hit on chix. And I’d go to to a working men’s club and stand uncomfortably close to people near the urinals, winking, for shits and giggles.  I’d like to be transported into the body of Jason Schwartzman. Or Chris Brown.


Fuck myself.