Transgenderism on the Rise in Amish Country
Wearing a soot-stained old straw hat, nineteen-year-old Micah (formerly Miriam) adjusts her suspenders and adjusts again.
“The elders think it’s a new type of quilting bee,” she says, “but it’s really gender euphoria with potholders.”
Once a bastion of literal black-and-white thinking, Amish enclaves are reportedly adapting to new expressions of self—some willingly, others with the speed of molasses in January. The younger generation, already flirting with “Englisch” influences like electricity and emojis, has begun exploring identity spectrums wider than the Schuylkill River.
Community leaders are divided. Bishop Eli Stoltzfus III issued a cautious statement: “The Lord made man and woman, but he didn’t say anything about sequins.” Meanwhile, the Ordnung—the strict set of church rules—has allegedly been updated to include allowances for “tasteful flamboyance if worn beneath a wool apron.”
One pivotal moment came during last year’s quilting circle, where Eli Jr. debuted a patchwork “coming out quilt,” each square representing a different part of his identity. “It was all in the stitching,” he whispered. “Even the goats seemed moved.”
Local critics warn that this cultural shift may lead to an era of unchecked creativity. “Next thing you know they’ll start line dancing,” muttered one concerned elder. “In polyester.”
Among the more unexpected voices of gender affirmation is that of a local farrier known by day as Amos, and by night as Glenda the Forge, Lancaster County’s only known drag blacksmith.
“I don’t just shoe horses,” says Glenda, cinching a corset made from repurposed leather harnesses. “I reshape iron—and expectations. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a spark fly off an anvil mid-lip-sync.”
When asked if this dual identity causes tension within the community, Glenda remains pragmatic. “I keep the horses happy, the wagons rolling, and the gossip juicy. Nobody complains when your hooves are tight and your eyeliner’s tighter.”
Even the local feed store has adapted to the changing times, says clerk Rachel Lapp. “We used to carry just oats and burlap. Now we stock glitter glue and industrial-strength hairspray. It’s called evolving.”
