For the past 18-months, I’ve had weekly meet-ups with a 76-year-old Scottish transgender woman named Dione (Dee) as we work together on a prospective book project that chronicles her life story.
We first met in 2019 on the sidelines of a charity photoshoot, which I was working on with the photographer Rankin, and Dee had come along to support her friend. Over the course of a windy October afternoon, she gave me an abridged version of her life story, including her gender-affirming surgery in the mid-1960s while living in a convent; her travels as a go-go dancer for American troops in base camps across Europe; her year-long fling with a Labour MP and caring for her cousin, Paul, who sadly lost his life during the AIDS crisis. “I’ve lived the life of several people!” She proudly told me. After losing contact during COVID, we reconnected in 2024 to put her story down on paper. While the experience has been so much about hearing her incredible story, I’m also learning a lot about myself as a 31-year-old gay man from Yorkshire.
The beauty of cross-generational relationships has bled into the mainstream over the last few years. From the Oscar-nominated A Friend of Dorothy, starring Miriam Margolyes, to HBO’s Hacks, which has just returned for its fifth and final season, following the burgeoning professional and personal relationship between 30-year-old Ava Daniels and 70-something Deborah Vance. The show has been a hit with fans, and part of the charm has been watching the leads educate one another on their generational differences. I’ve been experiencing a similar partnership firsthand, with less of the constant suing and talk-show takedowns!
I think what’s been so beautiful to recognise is that while I have spent the majority of my life hiding from the truest version of myself, Dee has been running towards hers with open arms.
The fact that our queer experiences are vastly different has taught me that there are many ways to live a queer life, and all of them are valid. While firmly living her truth, Dee has done so quietly. She doesn’t share her experience with many that she meets; she’s not an outward activist, but instead has enjoyed living in peace. As a result of years of keeping my queerness in the shadows, I am making up for lost time and tend to shout it from rooftops, regularly writing queer-related media and offloading to anyone who will listen. Both of our experiences are valid. We’re both proudly queer, but not every queer person has an obligation to be a spokesperson, and it’s not something that should be expected, regardless of your age.
Privacy isn’t secrecy, and living quietly isn’t hiding. That said, she is choosing to share her story now, in her winter years, which she feels has come from a place of necessity. Last year, the UK Supreme Court ruled that "sex" and "woman" in the Equality Act 2010 strictly refer to biological sex. Put simply, this means that, according to the law, Dee would be barred from using a woman's public bathroom. For comparison, never in Dee’s lifetime has there been a blanket law suggesting that trans+ individuals can’t use single-sex bathrooms. “Now feels like the right time to share my story because being trans feels more dangerous than ever.” She tells me. “I hope that by being open about my life, I can show that trans people deserve a life full of love and adventure, even amid the politicising of our bodies.”
The fact that Dee has survived and even thrived through periods of extreme stigma and political marginalisation gives me hope. In a landscape where queer people, and especially trans individuals, are being weaponised for political gain, it’s hard not to feel a sense of overwhelming dread. Dee has taught me that identity isn’t rigid; it doesn’t stand and wait for permission to exist, it adapts and deepens. While we might experience red-taping and rights that are brutally given and revoked, these are all makeshift in the grand scheme of queer existence. We will grow and evolve regardless of whether we have permission to or not.
A topic of frequent conversation between us is love, sex, and relationships. Despite being a divorcee with just a couple of long-term relationships under her belt, I’m still blown away by Dee’s capacity for love. The thing that bridges the cross-generation divide is the yearning for companionship. We all experience it, but perhaps the need for queer intimacy rings a little louder than most, because sex and relationships amongst us aren’t just about connection; it’s a political act. Despite being in a nine-year same-sex relationship, it’s taken me half that time to overcome my internalised homophobia and accept that I am worthy of love. If anything, Dee taught me to “give in” to love. She speaks about her past relationships with such passion and joy that I can see they were some of the happiest years of her life, even though they didn't work out. “What is life without love? Whether it’s a decade or a day, everyone deserves to experience it at least once.” She tells me. Her great loves are anchors in her story, the years that have had the most impact on her and have shaped her life experience.
One of the biggest lessons so far is also the one that seems the most obvious, yet is often overlooked: never lose your sense of humour. There hasn’t been one meeting with Dee where we’ve not burst into fits of laughter. She can find a way to see the light in everything. As we move through life, we experience loss in all its guises: our mobility, our hair, our youth. The loss of family, perhaps friends, even partners, but Dee proves that if you can just cling on to the ability to laugh, to maintain a positive mindset and see a little light in everything, then life really is worth living.
While it might sound cliché, I can say that meeting Dee has changed my life for the better – and I know I still have so much to learn from her. As a queer person, it’s incredible to meet someone who has lived and loved so freely and openly, who has overcome the battles of queer existence and lived to tell the tale. To me, Dee serves as much more than just a friend; she’s proof of what’s possible.
On this day in 2025, the Supreme Court ruled that the definition of a ‘woman’ is based on biological sex. Here, one writer reflects on the moment everything changed – and why the fight for her community is far from over.
