your trans activism can’t begin and end on instagram.
I spoke with Batavia trans woman Rhiannon Hammer about her music, her art, and where she’s finding trans joy now.
Queering the Burbs is a distillation of pop culture, politics and queerness published twice weekly by Joe Erbentraut. If you like what you see, please consider subscribing (many posts are free!), liking or sharing this piece, or buying Joe a coffee. Order Joe’s zine, Issue #01, here.
I love queer friendship. I mean, who doesn’t love their friends? But, I’m sorry to say it to you wonderful straights, queer friendship just hits different.
I first met Rhiannon Hammer a few years back at a dear mutual friend’s horror movie club screening. I think it was probably Hellraiser. I was immediately struck by just how dang cool and sweet and good-weird (the same way I like to think I’m good-weird) this other human was and immediately wanted to know everything about them. I wanted to know their favorite movie. Their favorite song. Their favorite color. I just wanted to know her.
It turns out, there’s a lot to know, and to love, and I feel so privileged to know even the tiniest piece of it. Rhiannon now lives just a few blocks away from my home in Batavia and I’d been wanting to interview them for this newsletter for some time. Then life got in the way and it never felt like quite the right time.
Right now feels like the right time. We’re experiencing in real time what it feels like to live under a political regime that is increasingly clear in their call for certain types of people to be removed from this country, removed from public life, or removed, perhaps, from life itself. That’s why it’s so important we write our queer histories and share our trans stories now, while we still can. In the words of queer artist Seth Bogart (of Hunx and His Punx fame) on one of his pieces of new merch: Do it now, there may be a law against it tomorrow.
So I invited Rhiannon over. I hoped to learn more about where she came from, how she got here, and where she wants to go next, and came away from our conversation learning so much more. We talked about religion and faith, identity and loss, and the search for knowledge both inside and out. We talked about choosing joy and slay fits. We talked about moments of pleasure and overcoming imposter syndrome.
I am so proud of Rhiannon, just as I am so proud of all the incredible trans and queer people in my life and community. We are truly built differently, not just to endure or persevere but to root out the light in the darkest of hours, to create beauty from the ugliest of sludge. Through our art and through our love, we will live forever.
This upcoming Pride Month, ask the trans people in your life and community what you can do to make their lives better. And then do it—even if it’s just making them a nice sandwich. Below is my conversation with Rhiannon Hammer, edited and condensed for clarity.
Where did you grow up?
I was born in DeKalb in 1981, so I’ve been around this area pretty much my whole life. From there, just before preschool, we moved to Glendale Heights first, and then Addison. My dad was the manager of this big health and racquetball club in Addison, so we lived in the apartment that was connected to that building, which was very interesting and unusual and fun. A lot of DuPage County primarily. Most of my life was centered around the church and youth groups. I took it all very seriously. It's in the marrow of my body, both for good and for bad, and that kind of shaped a lot of my life.
When did you first have a sense that you were different?
From a young age, I think I knew I was an oddball of some kind, that I just didn't quite get the same memo as everybody else. And it's interesting to go backwards from where I am now and see how so much of my queerness or transness or whatever is always there, but underneath so many other levels of identity. There's always been that desire in me to sift through life and see what resonated and what didn't. And I was just always drawn to the weird stuff or the more extreme stuff, whether that be music or art, film, just always connecting with the more outsider, marginal kind of content and maybe not always knowing why, but it makes a lot more sense to me now.
Looking back now, do you think your participation in the church at that time and the same time as your exploration of different music and art was part of you trying to find yourself and navigating feeling different? Maybe they weren’t as opposed as some of it might seem.
With my interest in Christianity and spirituality, I was the kid that was reading weird theological texts and trying to get into and under and around language to find the source, to get to the source. Like, here are the words that were translated into English somewhat poorly. What's the source of this and where do people go wrong and make strange decisions in their translations that have shaped cultural and moral codes?
I think I spent so much time externalizing that search for what's real and what's true, partly because it was always ingrained in me that, well, this thing [the body] is temporary and kind of icky. So the truth is outside of this, even though I'm made in God's image, but still gross, icky, it's out there, but I can experience it. I was so focused on that and I think that's partly why it took me so long to come to a place where I'm just like, hey, what's this other stuff?
You left this area for California for a little bit at one point. What brought you back? Are you surprised that you've continued to stay put?
Not really. I don't know if there was ever any plan to ever move away and stay away. I lived in Oakland, the Bay Area, for a year. That was really formative being in a place that I've always dreamed of and I experienced that different culture, a different way of life, a different pace. The kinds of things that were accessible were different, and really kind of woke me up to a lot of stuff. I turned 30 there.
We moved back to be closer to my family again, and that was a giant chapter that has shifted now too. It was an interesting time that I'm still reflecting on still in the fallout and repair of. There was a lot of optimism going into it and it led to starting a coffee business with my family, kind of using some of the skills that I picked up while in California when I worked at Blue Bottle, and then while I still kind of stayed with coffee when I moved back by roasting for some coffee companies and eventually starting to roast my own coffee.
There was a lot of good with what we did, but simultaneously with the business and then having some kids, with Elissa being the first one who had a really rare genetic disorder and a lot of curveballs, I think eventually I felt very thrown by life. Also, at the same time, I was unable to really just be myself in the context of my family. So I just did a lot of getting smaller and smaller and smaller, and finding whatever corner I could fit into just to feel safe and cozily dissociated for a little bit. That just lasted for a long time. We had another kid, and eventually my dad died and everything just kind went… All of that precipitated moving to Batavia, where nothing’s been easy but life is in such a better place.
What was the breaking point when you knew you needed to step into your full self, in terms of your queerness and transness? Was there one or was it more of a gradual thing?
That kept kind of coming out in little pieces with me because of how much sedimentation of other identities had kind of gathered up over me. It took me a while. I would read a ton of queer literature, always kind of in that same head space that I was in with religion with trying to find something in there and it always kind of being related to me, but also outside of me and not knowing how to really access it. Is that mine? Can it be for me too?
When we moved here [to Batavia], being in a new context and a new place, I felt more comfortable over time dressing more femme or being more just basically androgynous. But I remember there were just these instances when my co-parent, Jan, and I would be at another neighbor's little party with our kiddos, and I would have to leave with Elissa and I think in the process of telling other parents at the thing about who I am, Jan was trying to figure out how to describe me. She was trying to figure out that language for herself in reference to me, and I was kind of missing out on socializing with other people and getting to know people while also having myself spoken about in a way that I was like, well, where am I here?
Simultaneously, I was having a desire that just wouldn't go away to try HRT, to get some estrogen. It was one of those things that Jan came home from seeing neighbors and she was talking about how nice it was to talk with some other parents from the neighborhood and sharing a little bit about how she was talking about me and us. I just remember getting really emotional and saying I really want to start taking estrogen. I think I wanted permission because I don't like rocking boats very much, which is funny because I kind of can't help it anyway. Then it was just like, yeah, trying to find it, trying to get it. It was a long time coming and it took a long time.
It’s now been just over a year since you started taking HRT. How has the journey been for you?
Yeah it’s been, wow, it’s been 15 months. It's been really good and really hard. I mean, it led to the dissolution of my marriage, which was wild, but I would not have been healthy if I started it and was like, oh, no, I'll stop now. We don't have to. I'll stop. And it was a hard experience for Jan to go through too, but I think she saw it as, I'm not going to take you away from yourself. I was able to see that and be like, okay, thank you for doing that because I was ready to just be like, no, no, no, I'll just get small again.
So much of it has been healing from some family stuff, but also transition has been so much about making space for myself, both internally, but in the world as well, simultaneously actually being embodied and loving the body that I am and not being so dissociated and so in my head all the time. While it's been difficult and it's been very challenging, I’ve also been doing the work through it and not avoiding hard stuff and getting to know myself a lot better. I kind of love it.
We talked about some of the hardest parts of your transition experience. What’s the best part?
The best are those moments of congruency, those moments where I pass a mirror or a store window and the glimpse that you catch. There's not that picking apart of the image. It's more of a like, oh, I see me, whether that's just a glow or joy or a moment where I’ve got on a really good fit and you're also really feeling in your body. I have been having more and more of those moments where you're not critiquing every facet of the moment or yourself to be like, is this the right way? Is this how I want to be? You’re just in it.
It’s quite a nice change after 41 and a half years, going from a place of kind of hopelessness slash resolved to the possibilities of your life diminishing more and more, and you’re just trying to make what's left as okay as possible. I’m moving from that space to hoping again, to believing there are possibilities and there will be more possibilities. And that even as life continues to be challenging, both just in my case, very particularly because of the kiddos, I have choices I have to make because of that, but also in the times we're living in, to still have within me this sense that I can have a life.
You’ve been playing and creating more music over the past several months, and you had your spring equinox show at New Moon Vegan. How has it felt getting back into music while on simultaneously transitioning?
I think it's helping a lot with the imposter syndrome that I've always had with being an artist or a musician or whatever, always comparing myself to other people. I’m always having this sense of, like, is it okay if I play a little bit too? I don't want to impose on everyone's actual good shit, but can I just, no? OK, that's fine. I just don't have time or energy to entertain that old version of myself. I think with transitioning and being in that space of choosing myself every day, I just believe in myself more and I believe that I'm good at things and I can share things.
I still feel really awkward when I'm performing live, but I’m kind of leaning into it. I’m in this different kind of relationship with my body now. It’s a body that's making music, a body that's performing, a body that’s becoming more, again, congruent, cohesive, and less of this separate fumbling thing. It's still in process, but it makes me more excited to share things with people and less scared about what people will think. I’m just happy to be able to do stuff and want to do stuff again.
You also screened your new short film at Sturdy Shelter’s Homemade Horror Show last fall. I felt so privileged to be able to be there and see it, and also to see your work recognized with an award was such a treat. And the film was incredible. How did that experience feel for you?
That was such a cool thing. I'm so happy that I did it, and I think that was one of the first creative things I did on that scale since beginning my transition. I was kind of processing a lot with it, and I really gave myself permission to be picky and get the shots I wanted, whereas before I might've felt a little too seen or if I was doing a shot out in public like, oh, I don't want to be too fussy.
I really was a stickler for getting the shots I wanted, getting the sounds I wanted, making it happen and realizing, you can do this, you can do your stuff, you know what you're doing. Trust in yourself. Let yourself have an opinion about something. If something doesn't quite feel right, OK, try it again.
Speaking of Sturdy Shelter, you’re also participating in their Becoming Neighbors panel, “Building Bridges of Hope from the Queer Perspective,” this Sunday. Why did it feel important to you to participate in this event?
I’m kind of a mainstay at Sturdy Shelter, and I think for Becoming Neighbors, they wanted someone who actually goes to Sturdy frequently and knows a lot of the regulars to participate. I’ve had lots of conversations with [Sturdy Shelter co-owner] Diane [Mercadante] over the little while that I've known her that get really deep. When Jan and I first separated, I remember Diane was one of the first people I just kind of fell apart in front of. She was just there to listen and hold my hand and was really sweet to me. I really like Sturdy Shelter and the people there.
Beyond that, I really want to express, especially given where we're at in this country and in the world with where executive orders are going or where policy is going regarding trans people and queer people, is to try to give some actual material ways that people can support their queer and trans neighbors in Batavia or wherever. Material needs are important and it’s not always about the performative sort of social media reposting. What kind of mutual aid is going on? Is there a trans person having a hard time accessing HRT? Can you buy some? Can you go to DIY HRT or several other websites and just order up some vials of estrogen? order some testosterone? What can you do that's maybe a little riskier than what you imagined yourself doing that would actually be helpful to people near you? What are people actually telling you they need? Maybe, given what's going on, people don't want to be so visible right now all the time. Maybe they just want a nice, good meal.
How are you feeling given the political reality right now, with the current landscape of this administration and all the fallout we're experiencing from that? How are you feeling going out and about here in Batavia and in this world right now? Do you feel like we're in a community that is supportive or is it still something that is anxiety-inducing when you’re leaving the house and heading out in public?
It’s a mixture. I feel mostly pretty good in Batavia, in the little circuits I make around the town, the places I go, the people I know. I haven't really experienced anything overtly negative. I think there's always a little bit of anxiety and a little tension and some days more than others, but when I go out, I just want to feel good in my skin, whatever that means, and good in what I'm wearing and that's what I'm doing.
How are you tapping into your trans joy right now, to help get through the tougher aspects of life?
Self care. It just feels really nice to take care of yourself, especially when so much is hard. I mean that both generally, but also when you're in the trenches of sleep deprivation and another sickness that your kid just passed on to you, it can be really hard to be, like, I really need to take a shower or shave my legs, or just try to make sure I'm still doing things that feel nice. Beyond that, I think it’s about just trying to make sure I'm having some kind of a social life, hanging out with people that are familiar with these worlds.
I think it’s just about moments when you're just feeling yourself and it's fun. It doesn't get old to have those moments of just being in the world, being with others, seeing a picture of yourself or getting a glimpse in the mirror. All of that kind of combining into just this total felt sense of “I am her.” All the doubt, all the questioning of who I really am in the world has been plaguing me my entire life. In the best moments, it goes away completely. You're just like, I get to be me.
And how are you feeling going into this Pride Month, the first one under this new administration?
I'm looking forward to maybe being able to attend something and having a lot of fun with all the queer and trans people and dance a little bit and have some drinks, to have a moment of just letting loose. But I think it's more about having cozy moments with friends that feel safe and having more of that and more of just the kind of pleasant mundanity of just being a girl, just doing her thing, being a girl planting some plants outside, or just picking my kiddo up from school congruently without that kind of disjointed kind of embodiment. I have a hard time thinking through things on a grander scale or speaking to the broader cultural moment. I think so many people are just wanting to feel safe and held and seen. Maybe this Pride Month is going to be a little less extravagant.
I think a lot of people are a little burnt out in general right now, and I think it's important to take a step back sometimes, to let other people take over some of the work because taking care of oneself, loving oneself, finding people that are just totally safe who you can just melt with, that's what's going to sustain us so that we can get to those places in life again where it’s, like, let's fucking party, let's dance. Sometimes you have to chill out a little bit and remember to rest.
For more words from queer folks out here doing the work in the western ‘burbs and beyond, read my previous interviews with Batavia artist Annie Hex, Aurora organizer Javi, the organizers of Geneva Pride, Paramount Theatre artistic director Jim Corti, Aurora trans activist Penelope Torres, North Aurora musician Katie Bogle, Hoof & Horn co-owners Jarrod Johnson and Adrian Xavier Frost, Batavia activist Scott Naylor, Youth Outlook’s Carolyn Wahlskog, Ramshackle Farm’s Shannon and Eve Mingalone, Batavia’s Lyndsay Hartman, Aurora activist Fred Yanos, On Point Nails’ Hailey Conran, Batavia’s Martin Beirne, and Naperville’s Beverly Trafton.
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SONG OF THE RIGHT-NOW
Knowing how important music, literature, and films are to Rhiannon, I asked her about what sorts of artists, authors, and filmmakers she was most inspired by, which artists play the biggest role in inspiring her work today. She responded with a laundry list of so much great stuff that I wanted to be sure to include it below, along with one of my personal favorite songs from the artists she mentioned. It feels like an appropriate song for this present moment in history, too. We miss you, Sophie.
I hope you don't take this the wrong way
But I think your inside is your best side
I love you, Joe. I love you, Rhiannon. 🩷
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