Kizzy B is a Scottish trans woman whose public presence is built around something both intimate and quietly radical:
allowing people to see a life unfolding in real time. At 42, she describes her online work as a way of promoting
“trans visibility and positivity,” while her main Instagram account documents her transition and advocacy. Alongside
that, she maintains a separate space devoted to cosplay and has also connected her social presence with writing on
Medium, suggesting a woman whose interests reach well beyond a single story of identity. There is a particular
warmth in the way Kizzy's online presence moves between the personal and the ordinary. Her posts are not simply
statements about being trans. They include the small negotiations of everyday life: clothes, body shape, finding
something that fits, the excitement of discovering a beautiful dress, and the very familiar frustration when reality
does not quite match the promise of a size label. In one recent post about a dress bought second-hand, she writes
with humour about sizing, tailoring and the practical challenges of dressing a body that does not always fit neatly
into the assumptions built into women's clothing.
That mixture of advocacy and everyday honesty may be what makes her presence particularly compelling. Visibility
does not always have to arrive as a speech or a political statement. Sometimes it is a photograph, a joke, a dress,
a cosplay character, a glimpse into transition, or simply the decision to be present and recognisable. Kizzy's own
description of her social-media work places that presence in the service of trans visibility and positivity, while
her separate creative interests allow a fuller personality to emerge beyond the label of “trans woman.” Her story
also sits within a wider reality familiar to many trans women: the process of becoming visible can be deeply
personal while simultaneously becoming a source of encouragement for other trans women. For this interview, then,
the interesting question is not simply what it means to transition, but what happens when a private journey becomes
a public one, when advocacy can coexist with humour and fashion, and when visibility becomes an everyday act rather
than a single defining moment.
Monika: Today, I’m honored to be joined by Kizzy B, a remarkable individual whose journey through life has been
nothing short of inspiring. Kizzy is a dedicated surgeon, educator, and a passionate advocate for the transgender
community. She’s also a proud Scottish parent, and her openness about her experiences as a transgender woman has
made her a powerful voice in the social media space. Welcome, Kizzy, and thank you for joining me.
Kizzy: Hi Monika, thanks for such a lovely introduction, and for including me in your distinguished list of
interviewees.
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“At its heart, transitioning is
an incredibly joyful process.” |
Kizzy: I’m glad that comes across in the photos that I share because, at its heart, transitioning is an incredibly
joyful process. I do try to be honest about the bad parts of transition too, though, and I have talked openly about,
for example, my marriage ending and how I’m affected by the erosion of trans rights and healthcare in the UK.
I
think, like many people on social media, I have a slight bias towards positivity, but perhaps that’s not such a bad
thing in times like this! I’m also always aware of how much privilege I’ve had throughout my life and try to
acknowledge that amongst the joy.
Monika: Kizzy, can you share a bit about your childhood and how you first began to recognize your gender identity?
What was your earliest memory of feeling different?
Kizzy: I can’t exactly put my finger on when I started to experience gender incongruence, but I do have a specific
memory that I can explicitly look back on and say, ‘yeah, that was related to being transgender’. I had a best
friend at school, who I met in nursery (kindergarten), whose family were close to mine. We would sometimes spend
weekends or holidays away with both families, and I can remember walking up a hill in the Scottish Highlands with my
friend when we were maybe seven or eight years old. As we walked, we were chatting away about what we wanted to do
when we were older, and decided that we were such good friends that we should get married. I instinctively imagined
that I would be wearing a lovely white dress on my wedding day, but didn’t really think that was odd at the time.
Who wouldn’t want to look pretty on an important day like that?
Monika: How did you navigate your early experiences of gender identity while growing up in Scotland?
Kizzy: A couple of years after the story above, when I started to see the horrible ‘representation’ of trans people
in the media in the early 1990s, I began to realise not only that I was different in the way I experienced gender,
but that people viewed it as gross and shameful. That was the start of my internalised transphobia, which caused so
much pain over the next few decades. It was also around that time that I decided I wanted to be a doctor, and I
struggled to reconcile the gender incongruence I felt with the idea of being transgender and having a career in
medicine. I don’t think any of that was unique to growing up in Scotland, more the experience of thousands of trans
people around the world when exposed to the transphobia of TV and film.
Monika: Was there a defining moment in your life when you realized that transitioning was the right choice for
you?
Kizzy: I spent decades burying my gender incongruence, managing to avoid thinking about it with fairly unhealthy
coping mechanisms. I think many late transitioners manage their dysphoria with the ‘release valve’ of
cross-dressing, even if it’s with the cycle of buying clothes and then purging their wardrobe in shame. I never
really allowed myself that, because to even consider the idea would have required confronting my gender identity,
and I think that, deep down, I knew it was a fragile balance. At the same time, I had convinced myself I was
comfortably cis, so I survived for many years with this burden hiding in the dark bits of my mind.
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| 1st time in public presenting femme, Newcastle Nov 2022. |
When I eventually broke in 2022, and confronted my gender incongruence, it was a metaphorically explosive event. I
knew I couldn’t go back to being cisgender, but for a while I was convinced I could be bigender, moving from
presenting female in some parts of my life and male in others.
I spent a weekend away in Newcastle, about six weeks after accepting I wasn’t cis. I spent all three days in ‘girl
mode’, when previously I had only snatched an hour here or there once the kids had gone to bed. When I had to go
back to ‘boy mode’ on the Sunday evening, I couldn’t do it. I sat in the bathroom and wept inconsolably. After that
moment, I quickly realised that being bigender wasn’t enough, and I think it was just me holding on to the
familiarity and safety of presenting male.
Monika: You’ve undergone Facial Feminization Surgery (FFS), which you’ve spoken about with a lot of enthusiasm.
What was that process like, and how did it feel to see your reflection after the surgery?
Kizzy: For me, FFS was genuinely life-changing. I knew it was something I wanted from very early in transition, and
so I had my first consultation with the surgical team after only a couple of weeks on HRT. I booked the surgery
itself for as early as possible, which was around one year on HRT. I was already looking in the mirror and seeing
that many of the features that gave me dysphoria were related to bone structure, and after a huge amount of research
I was pretty sure the soft tissue changes from oestrogen wouldn’t have an impact on, for example, how prominent my
brow was.
The fact that I could get such quick access to surgery is down to privilege: having a well-paying job and a
supportive family.
In terms of the process, I think my surgical background definitely helped me understand the possibilities and
limitations of the procedures, and informed my choice of surgical team. I didn’t want a particularly aggressive
surgery, where the results are ‘hyperfeminine’, but wanted something that looked natural, almost as if it wasn’t
obvious I’d had surgery at all. It’s such a personal process, and I’m not judging if others want a more aggressive
look, but natural was what I felt would suit me best.
Monika: What was the recovery like, both physically and psychologically?
Kizzy: For the surgery itself, I found the physical recovery pretty easy. I had forehead reconstruction,
rhinoplasty, jaw contouring and a hair transplant, so I looked a bit monstrous, but I was up and walking around the
hospital the day after, and walking a few miles a day by day three. I was in the Old Town of Marbella for two weeks
after the operation, and I formed core memories of wandering its picturesque streets in the sun, covered in
bandages, having the time to think about who I would be when I got back home. I also made some incredible new
friends who were all recovering from FFS at the same time, and we still chat constantly on our message group despite
being spread all over the world.
The psychological recovery was much more difficult, though. It’s really challenging to look in the mirror at one or
two months post-op, with a face that’s still recovering, and not worry that you’ve done the wrong thing or that
you’ll look awful once it’s all healed. I don’t think I’m being conceited to say that I’ve had really good results,
and I’m really happy that the surgical team nailed the natural look I was going for.
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“For me, FFS was genuinely life-changing.
(8 days post-FFS, in Marbella April 2024)” |
Monika: How did people react to you at work with your new face, and has FFS changed how safe you feel?
Kizzy: Going back to work with a new face was quite interesting. To most people I was instantly recognisable as ‘me
but a girl’, but some people who perhaps hadn’t seen me in a while, or hadn’t heard about my transition, would blank
me in the corridor or speak to me like a stranger, and then go back to normal once they realised who I was.
Having FFS was a key part of addressing my dysphoria, but it’s also helped with safety. The awful truth is that
trans women are at lower risk of abuse, both verbal and physical, when they ‘pass’ better, and I’m sure there is
evidence that the average person treats them better. ‘Passing privilege’ and ‘pretty privilege’ are definitely real
phenomena.
Monika: Did you face any specific medical or societal barriers in your transition, particularly being a surgeon
and educator in a profession that can sometimes be conservative?
Kizzy: I honestly have to say that my transition has been fairly easy from a professional point of view, which is in
stark contrast to what many trans people experience. I was appointed to my current job in the NHS and university in
2019, four years before I began transitioning. I’d also done my surgical training in the same department, so I’d
known most of my colleagues for nearly fifteen years, and I think I had a fairly positive reputation across the
various professions I work with, including medical colleagues, nurses, physios and admin staff.
While that meant I was very anxious about how people would react to my coming out, I was in a senior medical role
that pays well and has status. I can imagine a different journey for someone who is more junior or in a different
part of healthcare, and in fact I’ve heard some awful stories of discrimination and prejudice from other trans
people in the hospital.
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“‘Passing privilege’ and
‘pretty privilege’ are definitely real phenomena.” |
Monika: How did your colleagues actually react when you came out?
Kizzy: When I came out, in October 2023, I had been stressing about the reaction of my colleagues for months
beforehand. As you say, the medical profession, particularly surgery, has a reputation for being conservative, and
orthopaedic surgery is often stereotyped as being full of ‘bro culture’. I’m lucky enough to work in a very
progressive department, though, and at the end of the day I knew there were enough colleagues who would accept me
that I could cope with any who didn’t.
I was still kind of bowled over by how supportive everyone was when I did come out, and colleagues who I thought
might find my news difficult sent me some incredibly heartwarming messages of acceptance and support.
That said, the societal barriers put in place by the UK Supreme Court and the EHRC are making my professional life
more challenging on a daily basis, although I’m definitely insulated from them by privilege.
Monika: Could you describe how your experiences with healthcare professionals evolved throughout your transition?
Were there any positive or negative experiences that stood out?
Kizzy: It’s a strange experience being a medical professional while simultaneously being a patient, accessing NHS
services that are so horribly paternalistic. Gender Identity Clinics in the UK are currently structured to strip
significant bodily autonomy from trans people, for example by forcing assessments by multiple doctors, including
psychologists and psychiatrists, before we are ‘allowed’ to start treatment. Many of the steps we go through are in
contrast to the principles I learned at medical school over twenty years ago, and currently teach to my own
students.
However, I think I’ve probably had an easier time accessing care due to being medical myself. I’ve not skipped any
queues in the NHS, as there is certainly no prioritisation for medical staff, but I think conversations are
immediately on a different level when speaking as colleagues. I think my story and experiences have probably been
questioned a bit less than some of my non-medical friends.
Monika: What has your day-to-day experience with your GP and NHS gender clinic actually been like?
Kizzy: The doctors I’ve met at my NHS Gender Identity Clinic have been lovely, though, and I think they probably
treat their trans patients better on the whole than some of the clinicians I’ve heard about elsewhere.
I’d also say that I’m really lucky to have a great GP practice, who have made the whole journey extremely easy, for
example by agreeing to shared care and taking quick action on blood test results. It’s actually very disappointing that this is an unusual situation that needs comment, as it should be the gold standard across all primary care.
In terms of my surgical care, I’ve had to access all of it privately, as most of my procedures aren’t covered on the
NHS and the waiting list for NHS gender-affirming surgeries is huge. It’s definitely been interesting to be ‘on the
other side’ of the surgical experience, and perhaps I was able to go into it with a bit more prior knowledge and
insight into the ups and downs. I’ve hopefully helped some other people by sharing my non-expert medical experiences
of my own surgery too.
Transitioning has made me look back on my life and what I’ve achieved with, I think, reasonable insight into how my
own efforts have mixed with the advantages I’ve had as a white, able-bodied, middle-class person who spent their
early career presenting as a cis-het man. I’m proud of who I am now, and the journey I took to get here.
END OF PART 1
All photos: courtesy of Kizzy B.
© 2026 - Monika Kowalska
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