Thirty Days to Become Her

Adrian Cole was twenty-seven, broke, and watching his gym slowly die.

Bills were piling up. Rent was overdue. He needed money badly enough that when his friend showed him a reality show offering $250,000, Adrian actually listened.

There was just one problem.

The show was called Thirty Days to Become Her.

Adrian would have to compete in a beauty competition while presenting femininely for thirty days.

Makeup. Dresses. Heels. Body shaping. Public appearances. Everything.

Adrian thought it sounded fucking ridiculous.

He applied anyway.

He expected other men.

There weren't any.

The moment he walked into the competition house, six experienced women looked at him like somebody had accidentally delivered their pizza instead of another contestant.

Sofia, a former pageant veteran, barely considered him competition.

Bianca thought he was there for publicity.

The others weren't much better.

And Valerie, the show's ruthless producer, didn't give a shit about Adrian's complaints.

“You wanted the prize,” she basically told him.

“Then compete.”

So Adrian did.

At first, everything was humiliating.

Wardrobe told him his shoulders were broad, his waist was straight, and his hips were too narrow for some of the dresses.

Then Renee, the stylist, showed him padded bras, silicone breast forms and hip-enhancing garments.

Adrian stared at them.

“No.”

Ten minutes later he was asking what sizes they had.

The first time he saw himself with a shaped chest underneath a fitted shirt, his brain practically stopped.

Then came the hips.

He rejected the bigger pads for looking ridiculous.

Renee suggested the smaller ones.

Adrian complained they barely did anything.

Renee slowly looked at him.

“So you want the bigger hips?”

“That is NOT what I fucking said.”

Things only got worse when heels entered the equation.

The women could walk.

Adrian could technically move forward without dying.

That was about it.

Camille, the runway instructor, repeatedly stopped rehearsal because Adrian looked at his feet, walked too stiffly, or let the dress control him instead of the other way around.

Bianca became particularly cruel.

“I didn't come here to teach a man how to wear a fucking dress.”

Adrian fired back.

“I didn't ask you to.”

“Then stop needing help.”

That hurt.

So Adrian practiced.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Then something annoying happened.

He started getting better.

He placed third in the first major judging round.

Then second in a makeup challenge.

Then he started beating contestants who had spent years doing this.

That was when the women stopped treating him like a joke.

And started treating him like a threat.

Bianca deliberately gave him terrible makeup advice once.

Sofia refused to lend him accessories.

When Adrian realized they were playing games with him, he stopped asking them for help and started actually learning.

Undertones.

Colour matching.

Hair.

Movement.

Silhouette.

Jewellery.

He hated how much he was beginning to understand.

The producers loved all of it.

Every time Adrian yelled, blushed, complained about fake boobs, cursed at a pair of heels or looked horrified by another makeover, they edited it into promotional material.

Adrian discovered millions of people were watching him lose his fucking mind.

Then came the piercing challenge.

Permanent ear piercings weren't required. Clip-ons were allowed.

Adrian immediately chose clip-ons.

He wasn't putting holes in his ears for television.

Then Renee showed him the proposed finale styling.

The earrings looked good.

Too good.

Bianca smugly assumed he would back out.

That irritated Adrian enough to ask how long real piercings took.

Minutes later he was sitting in a chair with dots drawn on both earlobes wondering what the hell he was doing.

When the first ear was pierced, he swore.

Jasmine laughed.

“That's one.”

“There are TWO fucking ears, Jasmine. I know.”

Afterward, Adrian stared at the tiny starter studs in the mirror.

Bianca looked at him.

“Damn.”

“What?”

“They suit you.”

Somehow that embarrassed him more than getting them pierced.

The dance challenge nearly destroyed what confidence he had built.

Adrian remembered every move but looked terrified doing them.

The judges were brutal.

“You're dancing like you're apologizing for every movement.”

He finished dead last.

That night Adrian found Camille after rehearsal.

“Teach me again.”

She reminded him rehearsal was over.

Adrian didn't care.

“I came last. I'm not doing that again.”

He practiced until his feet hurt.

Then practiced more.

At the next dance challenge, Adrian placed second.

Bianca stopped smiling.

Outside the competition house, things became even stranger.

People recognized him.

Women checked whether his earrings were actually pierced.

An elderly woman recognized him from television, stared at the figure wardrobe had created, and casually patted his padded chest before her granddaughter nearly died of embarrassment.

“Grandma!”

“What? I thought it was costume padding!”

Adrian wanted the earth to swallow him.

Then men started complimenting him.

One barista told Adrian his earrings suited him.

Then said the entire look suited him.

Another man called him gorgeous and asked whether contestants were allowed to give out their phone numbers.

Adrian turned bright fucking red.

Bianca noticed.

That caused another problem.

People started publicly asking whether Adrian was transitioning.

Was the show paying for it?

Was he going to become Ariana permanently?

Adrian wanted to disappear.

The other contestants laughed about it behind him.

Sofia joked the grand prize might as well include surgery.

Adrian heard her.

The hostility got worse as he climbed the rankings.

Sofia finally said what several women were thinking.

“When I look good, that's expected.”

She pointed at Adrian.

“When you look halfway decent, it's inspirational.”

Bianca agreed.

“You get rewarded for improvement. We get punished for not being perfect.”

Adrian couldn't completely argue with that.

But he hadn't designed the show.

So eventually he told them:

“Then beat me.”

By the finale, only Sofia, Bianca and Adrian remained.

Adrian no longer needed Renee to tell him which outfit worked.

He picked his own clothing.

His own jewellery.

His own makeup.

His own styling.

Bianca watched him finish getting ready.

“You actually learned.”

“Yeah.”

“That's the annoying part.”

During the final live interview, Valerie asked Adrian why he was trying so hard to win something he once claimed to hate.

Adrian admitted it had started with money.

Then pride.

Then wanting to prove the women wrong.

“And now?”

Adrian went quiet.

“I don't know.”

He knew why he wanted to win.

He just didn't know what winning meant anymore.

Because the dresses had stopped feeling entirely like costumes.

The makeup didn't always feel fake.

The earrings were real.

Ariana didn't feel completely fake either.

And Adrian hated admitting that on live television.

Then Valerie opened the final envelope.

Sofia came third.

Bianca held Adrian's hand while they waited.

“If you win, I'm going to be so fucking pissed.”

“Feeling's mutual.”

Valerie opened the envelope.

“The winner of Thirty Days to Become Her…”

Pause.

“ARIANA COLE!”

Adrian froze.

“What?”

Bianca stared at him.

“YOU WON.”

“What?!”

“YOU FUCKING WON!”

They put a huge silver crown on his head.

Then a winner's sash.

Then handed him so many roses he complained that he didn't have enough hands.

Bianca hugged him.

“You look ridiculous.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“Congratulations, bitch.”

Then Adrian had to give a speech.

He looked at the crown.

The flowers.

The audience.

“I…”

Pause.

“Fuck.”

The audience laughed.

He told them the truth.

He came onto the show thinking he could put on makeup, wear dresses, embarrass himself for thirty days and leave with money.

Instead, he learned how difficult everything actually was.

He admitted he'd underestimated the women.

He admitted he'd worked his ass off.

Then a tear ran down his cheek.

“But I worked hard for this.”

He looked directly into the camera.

“I actually fucking worked for it.”

Then he lifted the roses.

“So… thank you.”

A nervous laugh.

“I guess I'm your queen now.”

That photograph went everywhere.

Crown.

Sash.

Blue gown.

Roses.

Ariana.

And Adrian fucking hated how much that image stayed in his head.

After filming ended, he tried going back.

Black shirt.

Jeans.

Hair tied back.

No makeup.

He wanted proof that the last thirty days had just been television.

So he hired Vanessa, an American adult worker.

It was supposed to prove something.

Instead, Adrian sat there unable to respond at all.

Vanessa was attractive.

Confident.

Exactly the kind of woman Adrian believed he was supposed to want.

Nothing happened.

Vanessa eventually stopped trying.

“You look like you're about to throw up.”

Adrian insisted nothing was wrong.

Then, bizarrely, he started asking where she'd bought her necklace.

Then her earrings.

Then whether her heels hurt.

Vanessa stared at him.

“You paid me for this and now you're interviewing my fucking wardrobe?”

Eventually Adrian admitted he'd been on television.

A beauty competition.

The only man.

Vanessa searched it.

Then screamed.

“YOU'RE THE FUCKING QUEEN!”

“Lower your voice!”

“ARIANA!”

“ADRIAN!”

Vanessa became fascinated.

And unlike everybody else, she wasn't impressed by Adrian insisting the whole thing had been fake.

She looked at his long hair.

His real pierced ears.

The way he kept asking about women's clothes.

Then she asked the question Adrian didn't want to answer.

“Did you hire me because you wanted to prove you could go back to being the guy in the black shirt?”

Adrian said nothing.

That silence told her enough.

The appointment basically turned into the world's most expensive beauty consultation.

Vanessa shaved his face while talking about men with gorgeous beards.

Adrian kept reminding her that he was also a man.

Vanessa laughed at the contradiction.

“You keep telling me you're a man while asking me how to look like the girl from television.”

Then came makeup.

Hair.

Necklaces.

And eventually gold hoop earrings.

Vanessa pushed one through Adrian's healed piercing.

“Don't move.”

“I'm not moving.”

“Your head is moving.”

“BECAUSE YOU KEEP MOVING MY FUCKING EAR.”

When both hoops were in, Adrian looked into the mirror.

He went quiet.

Vanessa smiled.

“Oh. You like those.”

“They're okay.”

“They're okay?”

“Don't start.”

Before he left, Vanessa gave him her personal number instead of her work number.

“Call me when you want to go shopping.”

“I don't need more clothes.”

Vanessa looked him up and down.

“You absolutely do.”

Six months later, Adrian was living as Ariana.

Not because Vanessa forced her.

Not because Valerie did.

Not because the show required it.

Because once the cameras disappeared, Ariana didn't.

She went to doctors.

Asked questions.

Researched.

Crossed things off lists she didn't want.

Kept the things she did.

Eventually she chose medical transition and surgery for herself.

Vanessa stayed beside her through the ridiculous parts.

Hospital bags covered in rhinestones.

Recovery garments Ariana hated.

New bras.

Doctor's restrictions.

Soreness.

Bad moods.

And Vanessa constantly reminding her that healing properly mattered more than looking glamorous.

Eventually Ariana recovered.

The two women moved in together.

Then Ariana followed Vanessa into adult work too.

They never pretended the job was perfect.

Some nights they came home exhausted.

Ariana complained about red, sore knees.

Vanessa complained her hips hurt.

They complained about makeup getting ruined, aching feet, wrinkled dresses and the awful taste that sometimes seemed to stay in their mouths no matter how much they brushed their teeth.

Then they'd shower, remove their earrings, eat takeaway on the couch and laugh about their clients.

Vanessa wasn't Ariana's teacher anymore.

Sometimes Ariana did Vanessa's makeup.

Sometimes she fastened Vanessa's necklace.

Sometimes Vanessa stole her clothes.

Sometimes Ariana stole Vanessa's earrings.

One evening Vanessa accused her of wearing Vanessa's gold hoops.

“You gave them to me.”

“I lent them to you.”

“In March.”

“Temporary arrangements can last months.”

Another night, after work, they sat on the couch completely exhausted.

Ariana looked around their apartment.

The crown from the competition still sat above the vanity.

Beside it was an old photograph of Adrian in gym clothes.

Ariana laughed.

“Remember when I hired you to prove I was still a man?”

Vanessa almost choked on her food.

“You spent half the appointment asking where I bought my fucking necklace.”

“It was a nice necklace.”

Vanessa stared at her.

“You're wearing it.”

Ariana looked down.

She was.

“…Oh.”

Vanessa started laughing.

“SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE.”

Ariana looked at the old photograph again.

Then at Vanessa.

Then at herself.

Thirty days had made her famous.

Everything afterward had made her Ariana.