Inside the Mind of a Transphobe: A Day in the Life (Or, How to Lose at the Internet Without Really Trying)

Intro:

Ever wondered what goes on inside the mind of someone who spends their days hurling abuse at trans women online? For those of us on the receiving end, it sometimes feels like there’s a secret club out there: a shadowy order of keyboard warriors, powered by bad coffee and even worse self-esteem, feverishly typing away while the rest of us are just trying to exist.

Today, I’m offering you a guided tour through a typical day in the life of a garden-variety transphobe. Spoiler: it’s not as glamorous as they imagine.

Ready? Let’s follow their tragic, toe-curling journey—from first scroll to lonely bedtime—like David Attenborough narrating a documentary about endangered opinions.

### Inside the Mind of a Transphobe: A Day in the Life

8:00am:

Awakens. Phone in hand before the sheets have even cooled. Doomscrolls through Instagram. Spots a radiant trans woman. Heart flutters, confusion swells.

— “Am I…?”

— “No, of course not!”

Unleashes a venomous comment. Feels a rush of validation, brittle as old bone.

8:30am:

Breakfast. Cornflakes, milk, and a sprinkle of repressed sexuality. Watches a YouTube video essay on “Traditional Values.” Shouts “Yes!” at the screen, trying to drown out the inner monologue about those hypnotic cheekbones.

Average Transphobe

9:00am:

Receives work emails. Ignores them. Instead, leaves another comment under a trans woman’s TikTok:

— “Why are you always seeking attention?”

Heart races, finger shakes. Wonders if anyone will notice their comment.

10:30am:

Stares blankly at a Zoom meeting, eyes glazing over, mind elsewhere.

Daydreams about arguing with trans people in Facebook groups. Smiles at imaginary victory. Feels inexplicably hollow.

12:00pm:

Lunch break.

Watches gym lads on Instagram. Notices one is trans. Quick, panicked stalking—scrolls back to childhood photos, searching for “evidence.”

Finds none. Grows furious.

Leaves an angry emoji on a post.

Eats sandwich in silence.

1:30pm:

Returns to Twitter.

Sees a trans woman being celebrated for an achievement.

Grimaces. “It’s just woke culture,” mutters, already composing a post about “real women.”

Gets ratioed. Pretends not to notice. Checks back every ten minutes.

3:00pm:

Browses Reddit.

Secretly reads “asktransgender” threads.

— “Just… for research.”

Finds themselves weirdly relating. Slams laptop shut.

Goes for a walk to “clear their head.”

3:10pm:

Sees someone with pink hair on the street.

Stares for too long.

Turns away, cheeks burning. “It’s just… society these days,” mutters to a lamp post.

4:00pm:

Back at home.

Refreshes notifications. Still getting roasted on Twitter.

Starts a thread in a closed Facebook group: “Who else thinks it’s all gone too far?”

Gets five likes. Feels important again.

6:00pm:

Tea time.

Family talks about a new trans character on telly.

Makes a comment, voice trembling: “It’s just too much, isn’t it?”

Mum shrugs, changes the subject to potatoes.

Feels unsupported. Sulks.

8:00pm:

Bath time.

Tries to relax.

Remembers the morning’s beautiful trans woman.

Thinks, “She’d never notice me anyway.”

Anger returns, heavy as wet towels.

9:00pm:

Late evening.

Compulsively doomscrolls through TikTok.

Algorithm now entirely trans women, make-up tutorials, and cats.

— “Why does this keep happening?”

Secretly enjoys some of it.

Gets existential. “Maybe I need to touch grass…”

10:00pm:

Lies in bed.

Phone glows in the darkness.

Writes one last comment:

— “Just my opinion, but you’ll never be—”

Deletes it.

Rewrites it.

Sends it.

11:00pm:

Tries to sleep.

Stares at the ceiling.

Wonders why the world feels lonelier every day.

Wonders if anyone really knows them at all.

11:30pm:

Resolves to “be less online” tomorrow.

Falls asleep, phone clutched in hand—

dreams haunted by eyeliner wings and voices that sound suspiciously like freedom.

Outro:

So there you have it—a day in the exhausting, self-defeating life of a transphobe. Imagine investing that much time and energy just to chase your own shadow across the internet.

Meanwhile, we’re over here thriving, creating, and turning every drop of hate into something beautiful and defiant.

Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow they’ll finally log off and touch some grass. But let’s be honest—if they didn’t have us to obsess over, how would they fill the void?

Stay witchy. Stay resilient. And as always: let their rage be the wind beneath your eyeliner.

— Aeris x

Witch of the East