“It’s the end of the world as we know it.” This R.E.M. lyric has been circulating itself through my mind on repeat since seeing the election results. Not to get too political, but considering what I view to be the Democratic Party’s disillusionment and mismanagement of their approach to the election, I can’t say I was shocked that Trump won. Still, I’m numb and furious. It does feel shocking that there are soooo many people in our country who are full of such ignorance, contempt, and self-absorption that they would choose to vote for him. This, more than anything, is what makes me feel the most uneasy. Trump alone is dangerous, but encountering his diehard cult-like base in everyday life is unsettling. We are certainly on the brink of major upheaval as they try to bring Project 2025 into fruition, and I don’t put anything past them. 

About a month ago, I came across a social media post of a trans man who was predicting a Trump win and therefore urging trans people to be proactive in self-protection. Mainly, he was talking about the importance of possessing government documents on which your name, physical presentation, and gender markers match. This person went through his social and medical transition many years ago, and already had all of his identification changed to his new name and a “male” gender marker. He also had his birth certificate amended to reflect these changes. Essentially, this paper trail helps to ensure that he is treated as if he were cisgender male throughout our various social and governmental systems. No matter what comes down the line, he doesn’t need to worry about being denied access to testosterone – his documentation states that he is male, which allows him to be treated as such medically. From this standpoint, he has a medical disorder of “low-testosterone,” guaranteeing that he will be able to continue being prescribed the HRT he needs to maintain his gender identity. The thing about gender-affirming hormone replacement is the necessity of taking it continuously for the remainder of one’s life. Ceasing to do so means all of the non-permanent physical changes will begin to reverse back. Therefore, one of the many serious threats to trans people under a Trump presidency is the potential for gender-affirming medical care to become prohibited. It’s for this reason (and many others) that on the morning after the election, I immediately felt the urgency to start getting all of my documentation in order.

Luckily, weeks before the election, I had already been taking the initial steps towards changing my name and pronouns. I am now going by they/them. This was a very easy determination since I’m neither female nor male, but instead, a combination of both. Choosing a new name for myself, however, proved to be somewhat challenging. My given name, Alida, is one I’ve always loved and been proud of. In Italian it means, “little winged one.” I appreciated its uniqueness and that my grandfather was the one who suggested it to my parents. Very similarly to my previously long hair, my name was something very distinct about me that always seemed to intrigue others. With this type of energy surrounding my original name, I was having a hard time picking a new one. I looked through many websites for baby names and wrote down a list of some that I liked the sound of. From there I would look up the meaning, which automatically disqualified many of them if they had a strong association with religion or undesirable personality traits. One of the first that I had added to my list was the name Vinnie. It means “prevailing” or “victorious,” which feels aligned to my journey. It’s a name I’ve always loved and been drawn towards, but initially I shied away from it, thinking I couldn’t pull it off. Every time I looked at my list, though, I kept circling back to it. At one point my wife asked to see my list, and after a brief moment she looked up from it and said, “I like Vinnie! I can see it.” Hearing that approval put a big smile on my face and I could feel the recently familiar spark of a glow-up happening on the inside. This is how I knew it was likely “the one.” For the next few days afterwards, I kept the name in my consciousness. When I looked in the mirror I imagined introducing myself to others as Vinnie. I spoke it out loud followed by my very Italian surname which consists mostly of vowels, and the two names flowed together easily. It was growing on me more and more. Then on the morning of November 6th, after seeing the bleak news, I found myself on my state’s judicial webpage as I searched for the name change instructions. It was time to take action.

Just yesterday I was at the probate court submitting the paperwork to legally change my name to Vinnie. (I also chose a very unique and meaningful middle name that I’m not going to disclose online for my own privacy and protection.) Similarly to other experiences of my transition so far, it felt bittersweet. As I handed over the necessary items to the clerk, who thankfully was extremely kind and didn’t bat an eyelash, I knew in my head and heart that this was the logical and smart thing to be doing. But there’s something inherently intimidating about government buildings with armed guards, so I was also feeling slightly apprehensive about changing this piece of my identity with such officiality – as if once it’s done, there’s no going back. It felt surreal to be standing there going through the motions of legally changing to a masculine name. It’s like every step I take towards my true gender identity feels like a “pinch me” type of moment. The clerk broke me out of my thought spiral by letting me know I was all set and told me to be expecting details about a court date. I walked out of the courthouse and down the sidewalk towards my car. The fickle autumnal weather of the Northeast was on full display; dark grey storm clouds loomed overhead, but were interspersed with patches of bright blue sky, allowing rays of sun to shine down like spotlights on a stage. The air held that telltale pre-winter bite, and sudden gusts of wind were launching leaves and dust upwards into mini tornadoes everywhere. I could feel the bright, warm sun and the chilly, frantic air at odds with each other, and couldn’t help but notice how I sort of felt that way too. On the one hand, I feel really good about my name choice and my decision to take the first step in changing all of my documentation. On the other hand, it really pisses me off that I even need to be taking charge of these measures so quickly just to try and protect my right to exist. And on the third hand, if I had one, is once again the grief of acknowledging and moving past the identity I’ve known for 44 years. My birth name was a point of pride that I will always hold a reverence for, and therefore I will never refer to it as my “dead name.” Alida is not dead – she’s the unbreakable feminine side of my being that will continue to persist within Vinnie, always.