With Horse Barbie, Geena Rocero Tells Her Most Authentic Story Yet

At the age of 15, when many teenagers are grappling with how to present themselves to the world, Geena Rocero knew exactly who she was. The Manila-born model had found early fame competing in the Philippines’ widely popular and very mainstream transgender beauty pageants where she lived openly and proudly. “I was the one. I was the pageant diva,” she says. But upon moving to the United States in pursuit of a bigger modeling career, Rocero immediately discovered that if she wanted to find success, she would have to conceal her true identity—a privilege she acknowledges isn’t afforded to everyone in her position and was aided by the fact that social media at the time was pretty much nonexistent.

By 2007, she was signed to NEXT model management, had landed a role in John Legend’s video for “Number One” and would spend the next decade modeling for international swimsuit and beauty editorials. But the stress of living stealth was debilitating for Rocero, causing a deep sense of paranoia that she decided to confront by coming out in a now-viral TED Talk video in 2014. The overwhelmingly positive response to her speech led Rocero to a new chapter in her career as an activist with speaking engagements at the United Nations and the White House. The now 40-year-old also launched her own media production company to tell more stories from the trans community. But navigating her role as an advocate while also wanting to express herself fully as a human, with all the messiness and mistakes that come with simply existing, isn’t always easy. In her new memoir, Horse Barbie, so named for the unkind nickname she was given by pageant competitors that she turned into a badge of honor, Rocero outlines her full circle journey from hiding her truth to living her most authentic life.

Next year marks the ten year anniversary of when your TED Talk was released on Trans Day of Visibility. What were your feelings leading up to that moment?

Though I was out and proud in Asia, when I moved to America to pursue a career in fashion, I had to be in the closet. Because in 2005 New York, being an out and proud transgender fashion model was not allowed. The industry is littered with stories of so many trans women working as models, but the moment they got outed, their careers were ruined. I had to be stealth for eight years. The fashion industry did not know I was trans, my modeling agent did not know. As much as I recognized the privilege in being able to be read as a cisgender woman, I was suffering. It was the constant paranoia and debilitating emotional anguish that at any moment, somebody could find out about me. It got to the point I just couldn't move forward with my life. On my 30th birthday in 2013, I decided to tell my story. I felt like, if I'm going to risk this career, it's go big or go home, and I don't know a bigger public speaking platform than the main stage TED conference.

How did things change for you after that?

Since that TED Talk, I went from hiding and living stealth to swinging the other way, which is being a completely unapologetic proud trans woman. I was thrust into this global conversation and in a way, became a representative of trans people. I joke about this now, but I felt like I was having an Angelina Jolie moment, going from modeling sexy lingerie to speaking at the United Nations in my very polished, minimalist Ferragamo dress.

After two years of doing that, I was feeling like I was in a different closet, one of respectability. To be not only the only trans person but also usually the only person of color in these powerful spaces, whether at the State Department or the World Economic Forum, the United Nations, I realized that it's really not a good look to be the only one in the room. I began to question why I was the only one, what systems created this? I went from Angelina Jolie to Tyra Banks: I started a production company, because I wanted to bring more people into the conversation, to tell stories other than my own.

Meanwhile, you were working on Horse Barbie, in which you share some of the more intimate details of your life, including your transition and journey to being out as a public figure. What’s it like putting your story out there at a time when the trans community is facing so much hate on such a broad level?

For so long, people would say: just be visible, just come out and things will be okay. But that doesn't apply for trans people most of the time. Certainly, trans peoples’ experiences are very different than, let's say, the marriage equality campaigns. Now more than ever, we need to truly be in community with each other. I was very lucky to be born and raised in a culture where you never exist just as an individual—it's all about the community. And I'm not talking about the Western idea of community. We have this word in Tagalog, kapwa, which is basically your inner spirit. It’s always shared with others, because of the belief that you are a reflection of the immediate people that you're surrounded with. When I moved to America, it was all about individualism. One person gets credit. That was really, really weird for me. The only thing, truly, that I believe saved me and that hopefully will save us, is to really be in community with each other. Hopefully, writing this book in this moment in time, people see that truly what I care about is living in the fullness of my spirit and my life.

You mentioned respectability politics. How have you managed and maybe broken those expectations?

The title of the book, Horse Barbie, is based on the spirit I had in pageants, which is an elegance and this almost mythical essence of how I projected myself. I also inhabited that when I was in those rooms at the UN, having that burden of representation. But I was also a very scrappy beauty queen, traveling all over the Philippines, getting ready on the back of a bus while it's zigzagging down a one lane mountain road. That kind of artistry is like, let's just make it happen. So I also tapped into that.

I certainly know my feminine power is derived from being in touch with my feminine pleasure. Kudos to my publisher and editor because there are moments in Horse Barbie that I wasn’t sure they were going to allow me to write, but they did. I think as I've written all of that, I didn't care about if it's respectable, I cared about if it's truthful for me.

What do you hope people will take away from your book?

In the climate that we have right now with attacks on trans people, I keep going back to being this unapologetic self. I look back at that little trans Filipino girl in the alley where I grew up, to now being at the White House and all the rollercoaster of a life in between—I kept pursuing what was truthful for me, even without any path laid in front of me. Whether you're trans or not, the book is for anyone seeking a little more truth and authenticity.

You’ve spent over two decades working in fashion now—how have you seen the industry change?

It's the easiest thing to put a trans person in an advertising campaign and for brands to feel good about it. There’s certainly a place for that. But if we're really saying that we care about lived realities, especially with what we know now about what trans people are going through, let's really have a conversation about equity and making this sustainable. Let's put people like me in positions of power. Who’s telling the story, and how the story's being told makes a big difference.

What’s next for you?

While I was writing this book, I took a little break and directed a four episode docuseries for PBS called Caretakers about Filipino American frontline workers. It was my directorial debut, and I got four Emmy nominations. So, I will be directing more. I want to tell more stories. I'm excited.