Queering the MBA

Editors’ note: It is common for students to attend business school for the purpose of making a major career change, and there are myriad programs and support staff in place to help facilitate this sort of transition. But a second year at Owen, Danielle Piergallini, is undergoing a much more profound change. OwenBloggers is proud to present the first in a series of lifestyle pieces written by Danielle chronicling her experience as a transgender student at a major American business school.

The first reply to my coming out letter came ten minutes after I sent the email (at 2:25 AM). Apparently I wasn’t the only Owen student not sleeping that night. Another one came in shortly thereafter, and all throughout the early morning replies from my classmates trickled in via email and text message. Even if I could’ve managed to calm my nerves enough to sleep, the notifications from my computer and phone would’ve kept me awake anyway. By the time I arrived at campus I had already received one or two-dozen positive responses.

But Inside Owen I felt as if my universe had been shifted (like in Inception or something but without the horribly annoying soundtrack). I don’t know if it was an internal overreaction or if people were actually giving me funny looks, but I felt as though I was standing naked in front of my classmates (I guess you could say that since I had just shared my most closely kept secret of the past 15 years with them I was figuratively naked). It was a nice morning so I decided to sit outside in the courtyard and eat my bacon, egg, and cheese bagel sandwich while I finished up some class reading.

The first classmate who came outside to talk looked broken. His body language and facial expression said far more than he could have with 10,000 words. I could tell he was so concerned for my well being that he didn’t need to really say anything. I honestly thought he was more terrified than I was (and maybe that was the case). A couple other guys followed, one after the other, as though they were giving condolences to a bereaved mourner. No one said much more than they were there to support me, as they were sure everyone would. I thanked them and began to realize the gravity of the situation as I headed up to class, Business in the World Economy (macro-economics).

I can’t remember what the lecture was about, but I know that the subject matter wasn’t what was causing my emotions to well up inside of me. My iPhone was going crazy in my pocket, vibrating with each new email and text of support. I was waiting for a couple of choice replies from my closest friends, and each time it wasn’t them my heart rate picked up a beat. Why hadn’t they said anything yet? What if they didn’t? What if they said something I didn’t want to hear? By the time class ended I bolted straight for the building’s doors – I had to get out of Owen.

As I left I called my therapist and got her voicemail – as her machine greeting finished I just started bawling and said that I needed to see her. I found a secluded bench by the law school and continued to cry. I can’t think of a more cathartic moment in my life. She returned my call soon thereafter and asked if I was okay, to which I replied, “yeah, I’m just… emotional” (I did pause to think of the right word, even in that context). I had time to kill before she could see me, so I did what any normal MBA student would do: I skipped my last class, cancelled my afternoon meeting and made an appointment with a double Jack on the rocks. Everything was going to be fine. And by the time Thursday Social rolled around, I was back to normal (pretty much). Classmates approached me much more confidently to talk about my email, and I was finally able to appreciate the awesome support I was getting.

I don’t know how to share all of the responses as my classmates wrote some 3,500+ words in their replies. I found out that a couple of classmates had a trans person in their family, though the bulk of them had never [knowingly] encountered one. Responses ranged from short emails like “Life is short and the whole idea is to be happy. Do what you have to do and you count on me” to emails that bordered on essay length. I think my favorite responses were those that came across as business as usual:

“You’re still a jackass… Don’t think there is treatment for that. Sorry. ”

“If I treat you any different, it’s not out of judgment – it’s trying to find a balance between giving you the support you need and giving you the same shit I give everyone else.”

“I still expect you to be bitching out the ref in flag football next year.”

“I will of course still be your friend, despite your association with UNC players who help destroy my team’s playoff hopes. ”

And my favorite:

“I’m calling bullshit on the drinking less.”