Averaii Chanel of the House of Chanel. Photo by Alastair Boone.

How do unhoused trans folks find resources and build community?

This story originally aired on KALW as a part of “Sidewalk Stories,” a collaborative series by Street Spirit and KALW (91.7 FM). You can listen to the radio version of this story here.

For some people, being trans is what leads to homelessness in the first place: Studies show that nearly one in four transgender people between the ages of 18 and 25 experience homelessness, often after being forced to leave home because of their identity.

For others, being trans and unhoused is simply a coincidence that comes with its own set of challenges, like finding access to gender-affirming resources—whether that’s the right makeup and clothing, or healthcare like Hormone Replacement Therapy.

We talked to four trans folks who have experience with homelessness to learn more about finding positive gender expression while managing the complex challenges of homelessness.

Averaii Chanel

Averaii Chanel gets ready to walk runway during a ballroom showcase at UC Berkeley. Photo by Alastair Boone.

Hi, my name is Avearii. I am 26 years old and I am a part of the House of Chanel.

The House of Chanel is a ballroom house that has been around since the beginning of ballroom. For those of you who don’t know, ballroom was a way for queers and trans folks, specifically trans women, to be able to blend into society or have moments of highlight.

I feel like when I step out on the floor, I just love that feel of just each step owning and honing in on who you are, like, just simply through a walk. I find that beautiful.

When I first started doing makeup, I felt more secure in my identity and it just, it just came comfortable to me, like, I mean, I’m a woman, like, I’m a girl, like, you know what I’m saying, like, a girl needs makeup, you know, enhancing your beauty.

I have been homeless since like the age of 12. I’m originally from Oklahoma. I didn’t really have any family out here in California…but I definitely wanted to stay out here so I had to seek out resources.

Street Spirit: Can you speak to the way that your…ballroom family has also helped provide those resources?

Ooh, honey, the House of Chanel. Specifically, I’ll talk about my [house] mother, Janelle Chanel. She has truly shown me what womanhood looks like. Particularly when it comes to caring for the younger generation. 

She takes care of us like we’re literally her children, and honestly I couldn’t be more thankful for that. 

I just feel so blessed. I thank God every day for all the folks that are in my house.

Reina De Aztlán

Reina de Aztlán is an organizer in the Bay Area and beyond. Photo by Alastair Boone.

My name is Reina De Aztlán, pronouns are she/her, and I’m based in Oakland, California.

So I’ve experienced housing instability since I was in the foster care system about 20 years ago. I was in the foster care system beginning from age 11 up until two months before my 18th birthday.

The same month that I was taken from my family, Gwen Araujo, who’s a transgender Latina, she was brutally murdered. And one of the first things that I saw when I walked into the group home was her face on TV. And I thought to myself, fuck, I’ve always wanted to transition. I don’t wanna die. I’ll transition when I’m out.

In terms of trying to access resources, sharing hormones, whether that’s my progesterone or estrogen, that’s something that, thankfully I’m in community with folks who do that, you know, who often don’t take their hormones timely, because they’ve been on it for so long that sometimes they just take months long breaks at a time.

The local LGBT center, I won’t go there. Because, you know, I’m just looked at funny. And the girls at the front are trans! But again, if you’re unhoused, you’re not seen even as a person, regardless of your gender identity. Or [if] they do see you as trans, they assume that you’re out there because you were tricking or you were using substances. And I will always do what I need to do to survive. Raised by whores, identify as a whore, period. I have no shame in that.

But yeah, usually mutual aid, solidarity networks where we provide those things to each other as unpaid people who care about each other. Not asking for anything in return.

I’ll use a little bit of hair dye just for my roots and I give it to [a neighbor], you know, here girl. And we just kind of, you know, share everything… Um, yeah. Trying to build community by sharing.

My routine is actually pretty basic. Um, my hair’s long so I don’t have to deal with that. You know, I don’t have to really do wigs anymore. I’m out here so wearing makeup is not a thing for me. I’d easily sweat, get it in my eyes. Mascara, [I] don’t even think about it.

I had to come to terms with, like, my people, indigenous people…they didn’t have hormones to transition. And one thing that I did learn from one of my elders is that my gender identity and expression is not made through medication or pills. It’s, it’s a feeling. It’s a way of moving, of knowing, of loving, of caring. And that’s how I’ve had to come to peace with the fact that sometimes I don’t have my hormones. 

Normally I’m okay with it. Right now I’m sad. But yeah, that helped me really let go of like, “I need my progesterone.”

Kyng Cobra

Kyng Cobra is an artist living in Oakland. He makes art with intuition and precision, often in celebration of his queer community. Photo by Alastair Boone.

My name is Kyng Cobra. I use he/him pronouns, and I am 23 years old.

Life was interesting growing up. I was labeled a bad kid in Berkeley schools. My mom, bless her heart, she would try to put me in the dresses…And I was always getting in trouble, always in detention…And it was just me, being upset and not being comfortable in my body.

Of course I was bullied a lot. I remember having a, like, specific time at lunch and somebody had thrown an applesauce at my face and it really hurt. It did not keep me from coming more into my identity. At most, it just made me, like, push even further to be the person that I was.

So currently I’m at a shelter, a youth shelter in Oakland. And I’ve been living here for about a year and a half to two years, due to a figure in my life that was not accepting of my identity—a figure in my life that had not been ready to socialize me as his son. And so that figure kind of pushed me out of the house a little bit.

For me, being the only trans man here has been kind of isolating. Wanting to hide has been a naturally occurring thing, because of just the politics and a lot of the social things that happen in the world to trans people.

I started going to the Oakland LGBT Center and going to queer events. I’ve just been doing a lot of just, participation in a lot of the community events. And, like, just learning more about my community. Really realizing that, man, I can relate so much. Like, oh my gosh. I’m probably like an OG at this for a lot of people. They’re like, “you’ve been on T for five years?!” And I’m like, “yes, like, yes. I’ve been on T for five years.”

As soon as you get your community, you find those resources, and especially people that are willing to give you free testosterone and willing to give you free estrogen and whatever you need for transition. I just say to completely take advantage of that. They have programs that lower the cost of the T and estrogen as well. And so just finding my community has just been nice. More than nice, it’s just been great. And I’m very grateful to be able to find and have that community.

Boudia La Fleur

Boudia La Fleur works as a  vendor at local markets doing divination readings and ancestral work sessions. They also write the monthly horoscope column in Street Spirit. Photo by Alastair Boone.

My name is Boudia La Fleur. I am 26 years old. My pronouns [are] they/them, though I don’t have an exact preference since gender is not real for me at this moment in time. My journey with transness and queerness has been very much of a roller coaster. 

Junior year, senior year, was when I explored more of my trans masculinity. It was during a time when I was living with my great aunt. So once I was like… exploring that part of myself and also starting hormones at 18, that was when things got rocky and I almost got kicked out.

It was essential for me to explore who I was as a person and to avoid potential complications around depression and anxiety.

One of the reasons why I was trying so hard not to get kicked out of my great aunt’s house, but also even after living with her [when I was] continuously couch surfing and avoiding being in city shelters, [is because] I would hear a lot of stories of unhoused trans folks being in vulnerable positions where they could be violated in many different ways and possibly even be murdered. I was still a trans youth at that time, and I was still vulnerable. With so much of my determination, I was doing my best not to be in the streets or in shelters, and I was one of the lucky ones.

I’ve had a very difficult time finding housing. It was just difficult for me to get jobs because, being autistic, it would be hard for me to be in fast paced environments just because my brain can’t handle that.

Moving in with my loved ones, especially my current loved one, Kiki, has been a very special time for me. And we live with multiple people right now. We’ve been providing each other with such space to at least, like, care for one another.

The tough thing about, you know, dealing with homelessness—knowing who to trust is very important. Knowing who your family is, whether it be blood family or chosen family. It’s important to know who to be with during difficult times in your life.

Alastair Boone is the Director of Street Spirit and a beat reporting fellow for KALW covering homelessness.