Dating as a Trans Latina Means Navigating Men Who Don’t Believe I Should Exist
Hearing about your friends’ dating lives can be juicy and exciting, whether you’re a teenager in your first blush of romance or a grown woman reminding your group chat about what they deserve. It can also be heartbreaking, discouraging — and particularly if you’re a Latina who lives at several intersections of identity — terrifying.
That’s how I felt in 2002, when at the age of 16, I had just learned about the brutal murder of a 17-year-old trans Latina named Gwen Araujo. Reading the gruesome details of how young cis men with whom she’d been sexually active with killed her because she was trans shook me to my core forever. I often imagined her fate would inevitably be my future — that not only being a Boricua, not only being a woman, but also being a trans woman would prove itself to be perilous as I navigated the still-new-to-me world of dating and the cisgender men who populate it.
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Why would I put myself out there when the stakes are so high? But then again, wouldn’t you do the same in the effort to find the love you’ve always felt you deserved?
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"Dating while trans and Latina comes with unique and often systemically violent challenges."
ANGELICA CHRISTINA
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Multiple studies have found that online dating is statistically worse for women of color. And dating while trans and Latina comes with unique and often systemically violent challenges. The stereotypes abound: that we're all sex workers; that we're little more than a fetish for closeted, cisgender men; that we’re not seeking love or partnership, or, just as hurtful, that we’re not worth it. I’ve downloaded dating apps with a full heart and hope that I could find love in a truly hopeless place, but cisgender men have taken it upon themselves to degrade and demoralize me at every turn. Rather than offering me a simple, "Hello, how are you?" I'm often met with, "How much?"
Courtesy of Christina Angelica
When putting myself out there in the dating pool, I run the constant risk of exposing myself to prejudice (such as being labeled the "spicy" Latina), misogyny, and transmisia that runs rampant on dating apps. I'm also put in direct contact with cis men who have historically voted my rights away, strip me of my bodily autonomy, and align themselves with hateful ideologies while simultaneously seeking to take advantage of my body for their pleasure. It's daunting and exhaustive, to put it mildly, and I’m sure you understand why I delete the apps as quickly as I download them.
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Trans Latinas deserve better in dating, both online and in person, just as all Latinas do. And it begins with our communities dismantling the assumptions it makes and perpetuates about me and my sisters — and with holding Latino men to a higher standard, one that holds them accountable to the harm they cause and the inner work they need to do.
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"I'm also put in direct contact with cis men who have historically voted my rights away, strip me of my bodily autonomy, and align themselves with hateful ideologies while simultaneously seeking to take advantage of my body for their pleasure."
ANGELICA CHRISTINA
”
To be clear, I recognize that cis women have it bad on dating apps, too. Latinas, like all other women, deserve the truest forms of love, compassion, safety, and care from our partners. Our heritage is not a crux, nor a deterrent, nor a fetish inviting men to sexualize our bodies without our consent. Our hair, our bodies, and our skin tones are sacred, representative of the diversity of our Latinidad, and should be treated as such. Yet there’s an added layer of exploitation that trans women are forced to endure — and it’s utterly violating.
I've sifted through hundreds of messages from complete strangers who feel comfortable enough expressing that they'd like to "try me for their 'first time,’” as if I'm a chemistry set to be experimented with rather than the human being that I am. Forget “Hi, how are you?” or “What are you up to?” as predictable, if boring, openers. I’ve received messages about lurid fantasies without my consent, and have been repeatedly dehumanized and denied intimacy, and told that my life does not matter if not for what my body can do to satisfy cis men's desires. The number of unsolicited nudes I’ve received truly cannot be counted, despite clear warnings in my bio and in messages to not send such photos.
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Courtesy of Christina Angelica
It’s a problem the apps are aware of: A new law in the U.K. mandates that dating apps have to block these photos and Bumble has published advocacy work about such sexual harassment, but am I hopeful that things will change? Not particularly. The LGBTQ-focused dating app Grindr also boasts about the importance of consent and highlights the predatory nature of unsolicited nudes, yet the app is still rife with cis men preying upon users seeking deeper connections than just the physical. I’m often left feeling as though there are no safe spaces for me to seek out a monogamous relationship without the risk of being sexually harassed, which can feel extraordinarily lonely.
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"Latinas, like all other women, deserve the truest forms of love, compassion, safety, and care from our partners. Our heritage is not a crux, nor a deterrent, nor a fetish inviting men to sexualize our bodies without our consent."
ANGELICA CHRISTINA
”
And that’s only the latest layer of anti-transness I’ve been subjected to throughout my life, particularly given that I grew up as a hyper-feminine child with a penchant for Disney princess films and pop divas like my idol, Christina Aguilera. Both my Puerto Rican household and the broader neighborhood I grew up in — a low-income, primarily Black and brown corner of East Harlem in New York City — prioritized machismo over all else. I never felt the safety or permission to embrace my most authentic self, not in my neighborhood, neither in school, and certainly not in my own home. I cried, prayed, begged, and pleaded for acceptance, but, instead, I was met with denial and physical abuse.
It’s the sort of machismo that has historically shamed young Latine men and boys when they express human emotions. The kind that pressures Black and brown boys to be hyper-masculine, hardened, and brimming with toxicity while demanding that women and girls “know their place.” The kind that expects women to prioritize having children and cooking for the man of the house above all else, fully ignoring the reality that some cisgender women aren’t able to have children, and some simply don’t want to.
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It’s a stereotype that is as damaging to men as it is to women. Men and boys of color are never given permission to cry, to be soft, to embrace the divine feminine. It’s the sort of harm that informs and impacts the way cis men treat women. It’s the kind of violence that is deadly to both trans and cis women.
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"I’ve received messages about lurid fantasies without my consent, and have been repeatedly dehumanized and denied intimacy, and told that my life does not matter if not for what my body can do to satisfy cis men's desires."
ANGELICA CHRISTINA
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It’s also, hopefully, on the way out: A survey published by the Pew Research Center in 2024 found that 73% of respondents don’t like machismo. They overwhelmingly said that the concept is a bad thing. The intersection of machismo and anti-trans sentiment is less studied, but the overwhelming emphasis that machismo is related to masculinity and gender-based roles is plenty damning. That only one in five people who are aware of machismo and admit to operating among those guidelines is all the proof you need that this isn’t a trait to uphold or celebrate.
Still, it’s a factor that likely contributed to some of the worst encounters of my life — of the man who asked me out when I was 17, only to sexually assault me several times. Of the messages I received on early online dating sites like TSDating and Craigslist’s romance section, where my inboxes were inundated with propositions for sex, unsolicited nude photos, and graphic details of what these men wanted to subject to me. Of the dates gone sour, like the man who later admitted to fetishizing my transness and the complete prince who was scared of what other people thought.
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Courtesy of Christina Angelica
No doubt some of these men are emboldened by the current political climate and U.S. President Donald Trump, a convicted felon who was also found liable of sexual abuse. No doubt the current administration’s single-minded efforts to demonize and criminalize trans, nonbinary, gender non-conforming, two-spirit, and other queer human beings only furthers a catastrophe of blatant hatred and violence toward us. (Trump's re-election campaign spent $222 million on anti-trans ads during the 2024 election cycle, which sadly resonated with Americans on all sides.) And no doubt the constant efforts to smear us as “groomers,” or as the cause of societal moral unraveling is meaningfully and irreparably violent.
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"What I don’t want is a man to instantly degrade me when learning that I’m trans — an identity that I’m proud of, but one that isn’t an invitation for harassment or abuse."
ANGELICA CHRISTINA
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Add all of this to the fact that, statistically, Black trans women and other trans women of color are impacted by violence and murder at staggering rates. We're brutally targeted on a daily basis by the same cis men and women who oversexualize us, as proven by Pornhub's 2025 Year in Review: Trans porn was rated the second-most viewed category on their website.
For most of my life, I’ve longed for connection, intimacy, romance, and kindness from potential partners. Far too often, I’ve watched longingly as my friends and chosen family have found love in the most unlikely places, only to feel left behind myself. I’ve dreamed of finding my príncipe azul, my ride-or-die guy, my person. I’ve fantasized about what a dream date would look like — a lovely candlelight dinner paired with a glass of wine and effortless conversation — and about traveling to far-off destinations. I’d love nothing more than to have a partner that buys me flowers just because it’s Sunday, and a relationship built on trust and intimacy. I long to be courted, romanced, and perhaps even married someday.
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What I don’t want is a man to instantly degrade me when learning that I’m trans — an identity that I’m proud of, but one that isn’t an invitation for harassment or abuse. I deserve someone who sees me for more than the oversexualized stigmas and preconceived notions that follow trans women, Latinas, and those of us who live at the intersection like a plague.
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"Even in my darkest moments, I always come back to the belief that someday, I will find my person. That I will find the kind of love that heals generational wounds, the kind where machismo cannot bloom."
ANGELICA CHRISTINA
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As an activist and advocate with a platform, my life’s work is rooted in fighting for trans rights. We’re human beings deserving of love, care, and compassion. That extends beyond politics, to community care and romantic relationships. Trans Latinas deserve better in dating, both online and in person. My sisters and I deserve safety and trust. We deserve the kind of love that lasts a lifetime. And it begins with our communities dismantling the false assumptions it makes and perpetuates about us. It requires holding the older generations to account when they make an offhand remark, and challenging the men in our lives when they say bigoted things. We are not anyone’s teachers, therapists, or sex workers. The deeper, inner work of healing and being better men is yours to address and yours alone. We should demand more action from the dating apps, and we need to hold politicians to account for the hate they perpetuate.
Even in my darkest moments, I always come back to the belief that someday, I will find my person. That I will find the kind of love that heals generational wounds, the kind where machismo cannot bloom.
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