Editor’s note: This article contains graphic language.

Hot-air balloons float in the distance, trees sway in the breeze, and pennant flags in the transgender-pride colors wave overhead. I enter the HRTea and Coffee café at the Trans Academy for the weekly coffee hour. I grind some espresso, but I accidentally throw a mug because I’m not quite coordinated. Then, I somehow manage to push the correct buttons and concoct a steamy latte with whipped cream. I walk over to the couches decorated with trans-pride-flag pillows. Only two others are there: a plain robot, and a wolf wearing futuristic armor. They chat, revealing male voices. One told his parents last year that he is a “trans woman,” the other hasn’t come out yet. Both describe themselves as “lesbians,” then they caress each other and repeat “you’re a good girl.” I worry that I’m intruding by witnessing such an intimate moment, so I wander around and shoot pink fireworks into the blue sky.

The Trans Academy, launched in September 2022, exists principally in two online spheres: the instant messaging platform Discord, where it has over 17,000 members, and the virtual reality platform VRChat, where it has tens of thousands of members. The project has humble origins, having begun with just ten people sitting around a (virtual) coffee shop talking about “trans issues,” according to the founder. Now, the Trans Academy has 501(c)(3) nonprofit status and is indeed an educational institution that offers free classes, including voice lessons to “help transgender and non-binary individuals adapt their vocal qualities,” computer-science classes, and monthly “cosmetics” classes to learn make-up skills for facial feminization, masculinization, and androgenization.

But it is not simply an online classroom; the virtual world really is a world. The Trans Academy has an expansive virtual campus, complete with customizable dorm rooms, an outdoor lecture theater where classes are held, and the café. (Curiously, there’s also a pirate ship sailing nearby.) Unlike multiplayer video games with an objective, the VRChat platform provides online spaces simply for socializing, so people put on a headset and join the Trans Academy for regular casual gatherings, as well as for special events to commemorate occasions like Pride Month and Transgender Week of Visibility. The vibrant online campus might be the largest congregation of self-identified “transgender” individuals in the world — and seemingly free from vocal critics, who can be quickly booted out.

As players arrive for the coffee hour, I fiddle with the straps to adjust the VR headset I rented. Soon, roughly 100 avatars are roaming the campus — but not all look human. One user presents as a little crow, another as a blob fish, and another as a train. (I can press a button and sit on the train to ride as it scoots around.) Of the 50 or so characters that appear human, nearly all are outfitted as slender, pornified anime-style girls with small noses and big eyes. One man speaks about his avatar’s sexy new outfit, which is so short it would reveal underwear if worn in real life; he states that he was slightly concerned to wear it in the PG-13 virtual space but thinks it is fine, and he will change his avatar’s clothes if someone makes that request.

A group of girls lounge on the couches. But then they unmute, and I realize they aren’t girls at all. “What’s up, nice tits,” says a deep voice emerging from a seductive avatar to another. The casual coffee hour quickly becomes very personal as the men discuss hormonal therapy. One warns, “Don’t enlist in the U.S. military if you want HRT,” or hormone replacement therapy. (He hadn’t identified as a “trans woman” prior to joining the military.) Players with American accents are jealous of those who live abroad because it is supposedly much easier to get opposite-sex hormones elsewhere. One guy states that he has taken “all the fancy drugs for about seven months.” Another guy, speaking through his stripper-esque avatar wearing high heels and fishnet tights, confesses: “My looks aren’t even my least favorite parts about myself. . . . It’s my mental stuff.”

I crouch beside the sofas because I can’t figure out which button will make my avatar sit normally, and I overhear comments that seem better suited for a high school boys’ locker room. Swear words are dropped, and insults about “small dicks” are exchanged. Exaggerated egos are on full display as one man, who is proud of his “girl cock,” declares that “not everyone likes trans girls, even though we’re the better girls.” Another player concurs with a joke: “If you’re a trans girl, dying is illegal because the whole world loves you.” Then, after indulging in the narcissistic fantasy of being admired worldwide, the men portray themselves as victims. “Being normal is boring,” one says sarcastically. “I’d rather be harassed in the bathroom.” Political concerns emerge about Trump in particular, and one player asserts, “If he tries to eradicate us, other countries should just eradicate the U.S.,” further claiming that you have no right to territory if you dislike trans people and that therefore other countries have a right to bomb us to smithereens.

Suddenly, a slutty bunny looks at me. Its male voice asks, “Why are you crouching for so long, doesn’t that hurt?” I want to say that I don’t know which button will make the avatar stand normally, and then I panic because I don’t know how to unmute, either. Although the handheld controllers confuse me, I am more perplexed by his question: Does he think I’m actually crouching?

I direct my avatar to scurry away, still awkwardly crouching, because I worry the mangirls will deem me suspicious and kick me out of the virtual world. As I roam around, I wonder why so many avatars quietly sit in front of a window during what is advertised as a social gathering. Maybe they like the view of the simulated trees and flowers? But I realize that, with the press of a button, the windowpanes turn into mirrors. The players are staring at themselves, and I join.

Who am I in virtual reality? For this reporting endeavor, I had simply downloaded a predesigned avatar that has short blond hair, big boobs, and large blue eyes — all so strikingly different from my real appearance. I don’t know why I picked this one; I think it was just the first free avatar I saw available. I consider what I would change if I knew how. I’d prefer longer hair. I’d have thinner arms. I’d shave a millimeter or two off my nose. The outer corners of my eyes would angle upward. I recognize that I have stopped scrutinizing my electronic mask and instead moved on to my actual self. I question if there’s any physical part of me — the real me — that I’d keep when crafting the virtual version.

There is no need for a distinct personal identity in the virtual world, since you can wander around aimlessly without any interpersonal encounters. But the technology is a creative medium that establishes an identity playground with limitless morphological freedom for personal expression. There are no boundaries restricting self-representation: Be super tiny or super tall, be stick-thin or voluptuously curvy, be masculine or feminine, be human or not. Nothing is permanent, so the character can be perpetually modified to suit your mood; maybe on Tuesday you feel like presenting as a sultry tattooed pink cat in a bikini, but the next day you prefer to be a wizard made of pizza slices. Why not be an origami swan, an unsolved Rubik’s cube, or a sock puppet? Hey, why not combine all three? Nothing can stop you.

In the mysterious land of virtual reality, the disembodied avatar is seen not as a costume for role-playing but rather as a manifestation of personal desires that reveal the “true self.” The infinite customization options enable precise self-actualization in accordance with personal will. It is an extreme version of mind–body dualism where the former is deemed superior and the corporal body is disregarded: Your virtual reality appearance is a direct reflection of how you want to look, not how you were genetically determined to look, and therefore is considered an accurate reflection of your innermost self. And, on the interactive platform, other participants must see you as you want to be seen, thereby providing a degree of affirmation. If you present as a female character, players readily use feminine pronouns.

The ability to tailor appearance is not merely a fun, expressive exercise for personal enjoyment. For some, it is also a medium for self-realization through trial and error. Individuals who identify as “transgender” are strongly attracted to virtual reality because they view the human body as customizable, and the technology allows modifiable self-representation without the financial burden or health risks of medical procedures. The explanation is simple: Someone who perceives dissonance between anatomy and identity can temporarily reconcile physical form with a preferred self-image in virtual reality. With the advanced technology, the people who insist they were “born in the wrong body” have the opportunity to try out a new one.

In the early stages of using the technology, one faces the question “Why be yourself when you can be anything else?” Indeed, virtual reality provides an opportunity for identity experimentation — but eventually, a player might love the results. So, after countless hours online, one asks, “Why be yourself when you can be your avatar?” In a symbiotic relationship, the player shapes the avatar and the avatar shapes the player. “It was absolutely a case of the art affecting the artist over time, because I realized that I was just more comfortable being who I was in virtual reality,” said Tizzy, the founder of the Trans Academy, who added, “That was an identity that I connected with more than I even did my real-life self.”

The projection of your desires onto the avatar becomes a prototype. Tizzy, who is male, removed the interface and underwent facial-feminization surgery with the virtual character as a template: “I brought a screenshot of my Second Life avatar [to the surgeon] because that was who I felt comfortable being and I wanted to import her into reality and now she is me, and vice versa.” According to a YouTube video Tizzy released, the surgery took six hours and included orbital-bone contouring with a forehead lift, scalp advancement with tissue expander, rhinoplasty revision, lip lift with fat grafting, fat grafts to nasolabial folds, hair grafts, chin contouring with an implant, liposuction to the jawline, a thyroid cartilage shave, cheek augmentation, and under-eye fillers.

Nearly all virtual reality technology allows for avatar customization, so a user need not join the Trans Academy to try out different identities. But the Trans Academy, unlike other virtual worlds, has something attractive: a constantly available online community, complete with thousands of members to offer encouragement, emotional support, and affirmation. While the Trans Academy’s virtual campus is a place for exploring and prototyping identities, its chat room on the instant messaging platform Discord provides a therapeutic environment for navigating feelings.

Despite being called the “Trans Academy,” the messaging server is a hub for pretty much anyone who claims to be under the LGBTQ+ umbrella. Upon joining, you can select one of the following options: transmasc, transfem, nonbinary, genderfluid, intersex, bigender, cis, nonconforming, and gender nonconforming. (It isn’t clear how the latter two differ.) But scrolling through the thousands of messages suggests that such a list is too limiting. A person who was “transfem” is now drawn to the “kidgender” identity, stating, “I prefer to be looked at as a kid rather than an adult because of societal shit.” If that person pursued transition, the “goals” would be to “have that innocent, cute, small girl vibe.” Notably, however, identifying as a younger age is decidedly different from temporarily performing as a younger age. “Sometimes i slip into littlespace,” a self-described “little” states, and “I enjoy being tiny and small and don’t like being an adult” — but helpfully clarifies that “it has nothing to do with anything pedo.”

As I learn about my fellow Trans Academy members, I realize that the supposed online refuge is better characterized as an asylum, since most people introduce themselves on the messaging server with a first name, preferred pronouns, age, sexual orientation, and a long list of diagnoses. There’s a 24-year-old male with “Adhd, Autism, Dyslexia, Gender Dysphoria” who began hormone replacement therapy in 2019 and plans to undergo “bottom surgery.” There’s a 20-year-old who is “non-invisible disabled,” autistic, and has an “expressive language disorder,” although the person didn’t disclose further details, citing “paranoia, anxiety, and past trauma online.” There’s a 22-year-old “transfemme” who is “chronically ill & autistic” and usually presents as a “non-furry catgirl, human with cat ears” because that’s “cute.” There’s a 33-year-old “transwoman” with autism whose “fursona species” is a beaver and whose “humanoid species” is an elf. A 32-year-old disabled female with Tourette’s and a collection of over 50 Furbies has been on testosterone for four years and will undergo “top surgery” this year; she says anyone can directly message her with questions about testosterone or the breast-surgery process. The introductions are particularly confusing when someone simultaneously maintains more than one identity. For example, there’s a person who identifies as a “plural system,” the idea of having more than one person in a body; that person’s “system” has three “members,” namely “Lyra (They/Xe), Sara, (She/Her) and Sage (They/She).”

Kids are present, too. A 14-year-old user, who has self-diagnosed a dissociative disorder, prefers the pronouns “He/Star/Candy/Chaos” and has a few “xenogenders,” including “starmasc.” One user is a 15-year-old “furry” who prefers “she/they” pronouns; that child admits to having “trust issues sometimes” and states, “I watch little kid shows most of the time, please do not bully me for it.” Another is a 14-year-old “furry” whose hobbies include “making fursuits.” A 17-year-old from South America claimed to be a “transgender girl” and a “puppy girl” who enjoys “almost all types of attention” and “wont bite unless asked.” The kids assert their claim to inclusion and quickly dispel any concerns: “Im 13! Im allowed to be here. AND IM FUCKING VERY MATURE.”

Yet throughout the Trans Academy’s messaging platform, there is content that is certainly too intimate for kids. In addition to disclosing their sexual orientations, people discuss every imaginable sexual preference, including some so strange that even adults might shudder with discomfort. For example, a user expressed the desire to drink “tiddy milk.” In response, a male who claims to be a woman said he has consumed his own (presumably with the help of hormonal treatment) and declared that “it tastes kinda similar to cow milk.” As the conversation continued, someone encouraged others to “develop a blood drinking kink like me,” but warned that “side effects” include “your therapist considers you mentally unstable.” A person responded by stating, “I prefer biting not actually drinking it.”

In some cases, the fetishes and kinks develop into a gender identity. “I ended up being exposed to trans people, femboys, etc. because of porn, at a fairly young age,” wrote one man. In high school, he continues, “I had a feeling I was trans but I held myself back because I kept thinking it might just be a kink,” since “I only really thought about being a girl in a sexual setting.” Eventually, he concluded that it wasn’t simply a kink, so he underwent medicalized transition and received hormonal therapy.

Although the Trans Academy’s guidelines include the instruction “do not pose as a doctor, therapist, or lawyer,” members do behave as clinical psychologists who offer identity diagnoses and recommend treatments. A user wrote, “I can’t tell the difference between my kink and my actual desire,” explaining that it might be a kink because “I feel a slight horny response when I wear women clothes/avatars in vr [virtual reality]”. “I love having boobs in vr,” the man wrote, adding, “I would like that people know I have boobs everywhere I go.” Two users responded, one linking to an article and another linking to a Reddit thread. “So, that confirms i am a woman,” the original poster responded two hours later, and afterward stated, “I know I am autistic.” Others chime in to share similar experiences. “I think I have some kind of AGP [autogynephilia] where I fell in love with a female version of myself from my fantasies,” a user wrote. Another states: “I had the fetish question too.”

Users in earlier stages of gender-related treatments ask for guidance. In the subgroup for discussing “trans medicine,” individuals ask for tips on applying testosterone gel, seek suggestions for preventing hair loss from hormonal treatments, and pose questions about breast development when receiving feminizing hormones. One person asserted that breasts start growing after three months, whereas another stated, “I have been on it 22 days and I can feel very early budding.” An 18-year-old wondered if “it’s too late for me to think about estrogen,” but someone responded soon after to say, “I’m 33 and I’m looking to start estrogen this year,” offering the reassurance that “it’s never too late.”

Although a rule for the Trans Academy server is that “there will be no discrimination based on . . . political preference,” it seems unenforced. There are countless comments expressing hate against “TERFs,” an acronym for “trans exclusionary radical feminist,” which generally describes a feminist who criticizes the concept of gender identity. “Throw bricks at TERFs,” wrote someone whose username included a transgender-pride flag. An image with two clenched fists is accompanied by the comment “how I deal with terfs.” The derogatory statements are endless: “TERFs are fucking stupid,” “TERFs are fucked in the brained,” and “Terfs belong on the ground at playgrounds to get walked on and to soften peoples falls on the ground.” I begin to worry: What if they discover I’m in the channels? And what will happen when this article is published?

After a week passes, I have to return the headset that I rented. I won’t miss it, because I found it nauseating. I won’t miss my avatar — but if it could experience feelings, it might miss me, since it can’t exist without me. Before turning the goggles off for the last time, I look down and see the character’s hands as my own. The detail is stunning: The long nails have an ombré, changing to a deep purple toward the tips. I want that for myself, for my real self. I should stop biting my nails. I remember what Tizzy said: “I decided to import myself in the virtual world into the real world.”