Orange the World

Why 25 November Is Personal - Even When Others Don’t Expect It

Every year, as November darkens and the air sharpens, I feel myself preparing - emotionally, mentally, and deeply - for the arrival of 25 November, the day the world turns orange. For many, it’s an international day of activism. For me, it feels like coming back to myself - to my identity, my empathy, and the reasons I stand up for what I believe in.

Orange the World

But my presence in this movement has not always been understood.
Not by strangers.
Not by acquaintances.
Sometimes not even by people who thought they knew me well.

The Roots - and Where My Story Meets Them

The story of the Mirabal sisters - three women murdered for resisting a dictator - was one of the first threads that pulled me into this movement. Their courage resonated with me in a way that felt almost physical. Their fight wasn’t only about politics. It was about the value of femininity, dignity, and bodily autonomy - themes that echo deeply in my own life.

Over time, I realized that my commitment wasn’t just intellectual. It was intimately tied to how I understand myself:
as someone who identifies feminine, both inside and outside, every day of my life.

The Misunderstanding That Never Seems to Go Away

Across the last years of participating in Orange the World, I’ve heard - directly or indirectly - all kinds of assumptions about why I’m involved.

The most common one goes something like this:

"Oh, you dress feminine during the action days to show solidarity, right?"

As if femininity were something I put on temporarily, like a campaign button.
As if my skirts or my blouses were props.
As if my identity were a costume I take out once a year for effect.

It’s almost absurd - and yet I’ve had to explain it more times than I can count:

No. I don’t dress feminine once a year.
I live feminine - every day, 24/7.

The clothes I wear during Orange the World this Tuesday are the same ones I wear on an ordinary Tuesday, doing groceries or meeting friends. My femininity is not a political accessory or a solidarity gesture. It is my home. My truth. My self.

Yet year after year, someone will ask again:
"Is this just for the event?"
"Are you dressed like this because of the campaign?"
"Is it part of the activism?"

And I breathe, and I answer again - calmly, patiently, though sometimes the repetition stings:

I live this way. Always.

The solidarity is in my actions, my engagement, my voice.
The femininity is simply who I am.

When People Question My Place in the Movement

Some believe that because I was born male, my role in this movement is questionable, or even contradictory. They say - sometimes politely, sometimes not - that I haven’t experienced "violence against women," and therefore my activism is unnecessary.

And yes - it’s true that I have not lived the exact experiences that many women have.

But that does not mean I live untouched by gendered expectations, by risk, by vulnerability.
Femininity, whether in a female-assigned body or a male-assigned one, attracts scrutiny, judgment, and sometimes danger.

And beyond that, I refuse to accept the idea that only those directly harmed by injustice may speak against it.

If violence affects our sisters, it affects all of us - morally, socially, humanly.

My identity gives me a personal connection to the movement.
My empathy gives me a place within it.
And my femininity gives me, unfortunately, my own version of exposure.

Bayreuth: Where My Story Becomes Action

When I stand at the information booth in Bayreuth during the 16 Days of Activism, I do not stand there as "a man supporting women."

I stand there as a feminine person supporting all femininity.

Over the years behind that booth, I’ve had beautiful moments - people who felt seen, understood, encouraged. But I’ve also had moments where I had to defend my identity, gently and firmly, because someone assumed this was all temporary, symbolic, performative.

These conversations have shaped me.
They’ve taught me patience, strength, and the importance of visibility.

And they’ve made me even more determined.

It’s Not Contradiction - It’s Conviction

Some still look at me and see contradiction.
I look at myself and see clarity.

I see someone who lives feminine every hour of every day - not because of an event, but because of an identity.
I see someone who believes solidarity should not be limited by birth assignment.
I see someone who refuses to stand silently when femininity is threatened, policed, or harmed.

For me, Orange the World is not a campaign I join.
It is a community I belong to.
It is a promise I renew.
It is a reflection of who I am.

And as long as violence shadows the lives of women and all feminine people, I will keep showing up - fully, visibly, emotionally, unapologetically myself.

In orange.
In truth.
In solidarity.