‘I wasn’t sure how my family would react’
When Felix Moore came out as transgender, he couldn’t have imagined that his greatest supporter would be his beloved grandfather
Late last year, I received a surprising invitation. My uncle, Charles Moore – former editor of The
Daily Telegraph and biographer of Margaret Thatcher – was editing a special endof-year edition of Radio 4’s Today programme and wondered if I might contribute an item about my life as a transgender man.
I didn’t hold much hope that this suggested a radical change in his opinions – we have very different outlooks on life and politics. As I found out during the Today interview, Charles has written about transgender issues, comparing trans surgery to female genital mutilation, but I took the interview as a chance to talk openly about something that matters to me.
There is so much controversy about transgender issues right now, that discussions can sometimes verge on moral panic. The voices of trans people are lost in arguments about political correctness and academic freedom. But we are real people, facing real challenges and dilemmas, and I hope that hearing our stories can help people understand.
I think perhaps Charles himself was given pause by hearing me speak at his father’s funeral last year. Richard Moore, my grandfather, was a wonderful man; a lifelong liberal who was Jeremy Thorpe’s political secretary and speech writer. He was 84 years old when I came out as trans and turned out to be one of my greatest supporters.
I was 21 then, and had been trying out my new identity and using the name Felix – the name my parents would have given me if I had been born a boy – in private. My immediate family and close friends had got used to having Felix around, but it was time to be open about the change taking place in my life. My cousin’s wedding was coming up and I intended to attend as Felix.
I was able to tell most of my extended family what was happening in an email – I thought it was better to get the word out beforehand than have 150 conversations on the day – but my grandfather had neither an email address nor a computer. I resorted to his preferred method of communication and wrote him a letter.
It would be understandable if such news was hard for someone his age to take in, but back came a sweet and characteristic reply, which began: “Darling Felix…” His kindness, his willingness to be open-minded, meant so much. He even addressed the envelope, “Felix Moore Esq”.
There were a few awkward conversations at the wedding with people who didn’t recognise me, but my family has generally been very accepting, for which I’m grateful.
It’s exhausting and dehumanising to be part of a group whose life choices are constantly debated and attacked. It feels like any time I open a newspaper or watch TV or scroll through Twitter I might be ambushed by something that questions the core of myself.
Everyone has an opinion, but it often seems that the experience of people actually living through transition, like me, don’t get heard.
I didn’t choose to be a man, I just knew I was one. There’s a cultural narrative about trans men: that as a child you must have played with monster trucks and refused to wear dresses. But I was a very feminine child who spent much of my time in a tiara and fairy wings.
My transition has nothing to do with hating girlie things; most of my interests, in fact, tend towards the feminine. I spend my free time on embroidery, baking and dance. I find most masculine pursuits profoundly boring.
In my teenage years, I simply felt a profound sense of alienation at being described as a girl. It wasn’t a bad word, just one that didn’t fit me. My transition was not a rejection of femininity or women. I lived as a woman for 19 years; championing women is among my most deeply held values, and I hope that I can be a supporter of women, while not being one, in the same way that I can support any other group that I am not a part of.
Medical transition is not easy. When I first sought help in 2015, there was a 10-week wait for a first appointment at my NHS clinic. Now that waiting time is three and a half years.
Research shows that when someone first asks their GP for help with transitioning, they’ve been thinking about doing so for at least a year, maybe two. And when you get a first appointment, it is just that. You can’t expect to go on hormones for at least another nine months. No one transitions on impulse; nobody would go through that exhausting slog if they didn’t know that they needed to.
My transition may seem more complicated because I am autistic. I realised this aged nine, when I read the book by my aunt, Charlotte Moore, about her two autistic sons, George and Sam. They are very different to me, but there was enough in common to make me think, “Oh, I see”.
Autism is under-diagnosed in girls because they learn from a young age to mask behaviours that are seen as anti-social; my own autism was not formally diagnosed until I was 16.
People have suggested that because I am autistic, I must have been somehow manipulated or coerced into transitioning. The implication is that I don’t have the mental capacity to understand my own identity or make informed decisions on my own behalf. That’s painful to hear, and frankly insulting. My autism does not impair my ability to understand myself.
As with narratives about trans people, autistic people rarely get to speak on their own behalf – and with the discourse about autism comes the additional implication that we are incapable of doing so.
Perhaps it seems odd that I have become an actor, a profession which demands a high level of emotional engagement, but in a sense I was acting in every interaction in my life from the age of nine when I began trying to mask my autism. At least on an acting job I get a script; that doesn’t happen very often in life.
I started drama school as Felix. I was hoping to be on testosterone by then, but with the NHS you get it when you get it, which was in the middle of my first year. It was difficult to juggle drama school – already an intense emotional experience – with a tumultuous, medically induced puberty, especially when my voice started breaking very quickly.
My transition is central to my career – much of my work comes as a result of people looking for trans actors. I hope that the more people see trans characters on screen, the more they hear our stories and the more trans people they know in their own lives, the sooner people will be able to form a more human understanding.
After the Today programme, I asked my uncle privately if he would confirm or deny whether his previous comments represented his politics as they still stand. I was disappointed that he declined to comment.
At my grandfather’s funeral, things were different. It wasn’t just a gathering of family, but also people I didn’t know, including many of his old political friends.
As I began to speak, I thought, “I’m about to drop this bombshell…” I was surprised at how strongly many reacted, coming up to me afterwards to congratulate me on my speech. I was just explaining who I am, but their responses gave me hope that in talking about my own experiences, I can help others to see trans people as people, not as an abstract political debate.
As told to Margarette Driscoll
‘In my teenage years, I felt a profound sense of alienation at being described as a girl’
‘I wrote him a letter – and back came a sweet reply that began Darling Felix...’