By Kit Redstone. Directed by Julian Spooner. Produced by Rhum and Clay Theatre Company and Kit Redstone. At the York Theatre on Saturday, October 6. Continues until October 13

A year after his first testosterone injection, Kit Redstone faces another milestone in his transition: his first visit to a men’s locker room. Kit wonders, “Does the way we look create our personality or does our personality create the way we look?”

Testosterone is the autobiographical tale of Kit’s passing through this sweaty gauntlet and, more broadly, into manhood. Redstone describes it explicitly as “a journey into my head”.

The show has a bit of a manic cabaret vibe, as we jounce from childhood memories to fantasies to the mundane reality of the locker room. There are some dance numbers, choreographed sequences, and William Donaldson as the Diva has serious pipes. He belts out tunes by Chaka Khan and the Weather Girls. I, for one, have never before heard Kelis’s “My Milkshake” chanted as a kind of trans incantation.

At the centre of it all is Redstone, who plays himself. He’s our guide and cipher as he investigates “what on Earth it means to be a man”. He covers a number of highly relevant cultural touchpoints—sports fellowship, pick-up artistry, sexual harassment—but also confronts the terrifying normalities of life in the locker room. Redstone’s is a very baring and, therefore, brave performance.

Two other performers, Matthew Wells and Julian Spooner, round out the cast. Spooner has a particularly good turn in a monologue where he harangues us about 10,000 years of toxic masculinity, all “because of the coincidence of a chromosome”.

Alberta Jones’s set puts masculinity under the microscope. The stage is framed by benches and banks of lockers, so that the playing space is quite tight. However, Jones has added a huge sloped mirror on the upstage side of the space, enabling us to witness small moments in reflection.

There were also some subtleties in Jones’s costume designs. When Redstone enters, he is wearing Everlast shorts, classically a boxing brand. This feels quite appropriate, as Redstone has entered a kind of boxing ring.

Testosterone has a ramshackle looseness to it, which I appreciated. However, I did occasionally wish that Spooner, who directed the show, had paid more attention to the seams between the scenes. Those transitional moments felt clunky at times.

This is the third play I’ve reviewed in the last two years set in a male bathroom or locker room. As theatre gets more diverse and inclusive, are we also taking a second look at these smelly chambers of masculinity?

If you don’t mind spending 65 minutes in this men’s room, you’ll find Testosterone a charming, heartfelt show that looks beyond the linoleum.