In June 2019, I found myself stroking the peach fuzz growing beneath my chin, trying to decide between two girl’s bikinis. One was red, white, and blue striped with a razorback. The other featured the word “PARADISE” in white and gold lettering across the top. Deciding that I didn’t want to seem patriotic, I took the second one into the dressing room with me along with a pair of boy’s swim trunks I bought at the Dick’s on the other side of the mall.

While packing to spend the summer living with my cousins in Maine, I discovered that my bathing suit no longer fit. A year on testosterone shrunk my breasts and hips. A bad breakup shrunk the rest of me. And I wasn’t particularly large to begin with. I’m 5’1½” and have never been plus-sized. My size-two women’s swim trunks rested halfway down my butt. There was no way I was going to wander the beach with a plumber’s crack for my ex to find on my cousins’ Instagram stories.

I could have bought a women’s bathing suit, but all of the options made me uncomfortable. They either showed too much of my chest or were one-pieces meant for people who actually know how to swim. Besides, this wasn’t the first time I had wandered Target’s children section. I am non-binary and present fairly androgynously. Like many transmasculine people, I’m too short for any of the shirts in the men’s section. In his video “Clothing Hacks for Trans Guys,” Jamie Dodger—a trans YouTuber with 581,000 subscribers, says, “Don’t be embarrassed if you need to go to the kid’s section. It’s better to get something that fits you right, and try not to worry too much about where it comes from.” 

I had never felt embarrassed shopping for boy’s clothing before. My height doesn’t cause me much gender dysphoria. I’m disabled and spend most of my time in a manual wheelchair. Most strangers try so desperately to remember their disability etiquette when they see me that they don’t notice how short I am. Besides, many stores cater to liberal parents who dress their first-graders like art school students. That is not an exaggeration. Art Class is one of Target’s major children’s clothing brands whose boy’s collection features “super skinny,” ripped, black jeans and denim, sleeveless, button-downs. 

There’s a variety of reasons why an adult may wander into the kid’s section when shopping for themselves. First off, it’s far cheaper. In her Buzzfeed article, “9 Ways To Save Money By Shopping In The Kids' Section,” Sally Kaplan suggests buying girl’s socks from Target, jeans from Gap Kids, and girl’s boots from Zara. As of now, purchasing girl’s Zara boots instead of women’s saves you $24, and they have children’s sizes that will fit up to a 10 in women’s.

Plus, there are aesthetic considerations. Aarathi Nirmalan, a 29-year-old Boston resident, shops in the kid’s section not only because she’s 4’11” but also due to stylistic preferences. She prefers gender-neutral clothing styles, which she can more easily find in the men’s department. However, she usually shops in the boy’s department. She says this is not only due to sizing issues but also because “sometimes the men’s section is too restrictive in color (toxic masculinity?) so the boy’s section will have more fun colors.” 

Despite all of this, I sat in the dressing room for 10 minutes before trying the bathing suit on. It was a year after I graduated from college, and I was finally moving out of my parents’ house. Over that year I had lost the things that made me feel like an adult: my independence, my girlfriend, and enough weight to land me in the children’s section. 

But I needed a new bathing suit. I did what any young millennial would do. I posted a selfie of myself in the suit on my Instagram story and asked my followers, “Buying your suit from both kids departments? ‘YAY!’ or ‘Nah, bro.’”

Two years later, I’m a graduate student who still shops in the kid’s department. I don’t weigh much more than I did when I bought the suit, and most of that is muscle mass gained from playing sled hockey. Every time I need a new winter coat, I venture to the kid’s section of the North Face website. I still purchase most of my shirts from Target’s boys section, and have a deep love of Old Navy’s girl’s sweatpants. Yet, I am an adult. Adulthood isn’t about what size you are or if you’re single or even whether you’re financially independent. Adulthood is marked by a responsibility to serve your community, which can be done wearing any outfit. 

As I watched my Instagram story, the results were clear: 97 percent of people voted “YAY!” I glanced up at the mirror. They were right. I looked damn good.