Saturday night, I attended One Big Event at the Connecticut Convention Center in Hartford.

It was a dress-to-kill event and I did my best. I wore a figure-hugging, leg-baring Christian Siriano gold brocade cocktail dress that I accessorized with pearl jewelry and nude platform pumps. I wore false eyelashes, so it took me nearly an hour to do my makeup and hair, but I was out-the-door in my faux lynx fur coat at 5:30 PM to make the 22-mile trip up I-84 to Downtown Hartford.

I arrived at the Convention Center, an absolutely gorgeous venue at 6 PM just in time for the cocktail hour. After walking a short distance through the parking garage and into the Center, I took three escalator to the glass-enclosed top floor which provided a spectacular view of Hartford and beyond. Very classy!

I was pretty happy with the way I looked. My dress got rave reviews right from the get go. When I arrived at the reservation table to check in and get my table assignment, the drop-dead gorgeous woman handling my reservation said, “Your dress is gorgeous!”

And that’s the way it went throughout the night. I lost count how many women, strangers all, said that they loved my dress. I even got a “I love your dress” from a young man in attendance!

However, all was not well. I should know better than to break in new shoes at an event like One Big Event. By the end of the cocktail hour, my feet were killing me, so I was happy when the doors to the banquet hall opened and I could sit down at my table.

There was a full-house; about 500 people in attendance including the Mayor, the Lieutenant-Governor, and one of our US Senators, Richard Blumenthal. None of them sat at my table. Instead, I sat with friends I have known for years and two newbies: girls named Billie and Katie. Katie was with her spouse Scarlett Thompson, the makeup artist I met and dined with at Fantasia Fair last year.

I asked Scarlett if she went to Fantasia Fair this year and she said no. I replied, “I didn’t go this year either, so that’s why I didn’t see you there!”

She laughed and then I added, “I go every other year. If you go every year, it’s like going to the county fair every year - you see the same pigs!”

She laughed again and then asked half-seriously, “What are you inferring by that?”

We both laughed.

I had a good time talking and laughing with my friends. Dinner was excellent, the speeches boring and the fund-raising annoying especially in light of the cost of admission.

The band struck up around 9:30 PM and it seems that about half the people got up to dance and the other half exited the banquet room to go home or to go outside the banquet hall where they could continue schmoozing without competing with the loud music.

I hung back in the banquet hall for about a half hour, but no one asked me to dance. One woman checked me out so thoroughly that I thought I had a dance partner for life, or at least for the next song or two. But she moved on --- maybe she figured out I was a tranny and not the woman of her dreams. So I decided to go outside the hall to find my friends who had gone outside earlier.

I found them and hung out with them for about 45 minutes. I was tired and there was nowhere to sit and chat, so I decided to go home.

It was a great girl's night out. I made new friends and enjoyed catching up with my old friends. I dressed to impress and I think I achieved that goal. But next year, I think I will pass on One Big Event. It's like going to the county fair every year...

Actor Buster Keaton (left and right) in the 1921 American film The Play House.

Wearing Nha Khan.

In boy mode, I went to the dry cleaners to drop off the dress I wore Saturday night. A guy about my age, maybe older waited on me.

"Can I help you?"

"I need this dress cleaned and pressed."

The cleaner picked up the dress, inspected it, then did the paperwork. As he handed me a receipt, he jokingly remarked, "I assume this is your wife's dress and not yours."

I was surprised by his remark and did not know what to say, so I just smiled.

The dress will be ready later this week. I think I will pick it up during my lunch hour on Halloween.

Actor Rupert Everett femulating on the 2009 British film St. Trinian’s 2.

Wearing Trina Turk (left) and Slate & Willow (right).

By Michelle

In August, I wrote “Boys’ Day Out” about a day watching motor racing during which I informed my “knows about my feminine side” friend that I had an ambition to go to Royal Ascot race meeting en femme. He said he would be willing to accompany me if I’d like him to.

Since that day, we have had regular e-mail conversations on various subjects (femulating did come up on occasions, too!) To my complete surprise, he also offered to have a “dry run” or two to build up to Ascot next June. Rhonda, when commenting on my original article, had suggested this might be a good idea, to see if could handle the situation.

After much planning, we eventually set a date to meet for lunch at a place which required an hour’s drive for each of us. I decided what to wear and changed my mind many times after that as the day got nearer. Unfortunately, about a week beforehand he e-mailed to say with much regret that he would have to work that day, so could we rearrange?

Very disappointed, I suggested an alternative and it was agreed we’d meet on October 22, a Tuesday when neither of us were working.

As the day drew near, I feared another postponement, but I needn’t have worried. After final confirmations, I set off from home on the day two hours before our rendezvous time. One hour for travelling, one hour for an in car transformation.

I arrived a few minutes early; my friend arrived pretty much on time. He’d never seen me dressed before, although he had seen “glammed up” photos ---his reaction as he saw me was as if I was my male self in jeans and tee shirt. As I remember, it was “Hello” and some comment about his journey. Should I take this as “I’m not impressed by what you’re wearing”, after all every femulator likes to be complimented or should I take it as “she wants this to be normal, I won’t seem surprised?”

After going out dressed for many years, I still expect the first person to see me to do a double take and stare, so when they don’t, I should no longer be surprised, but I still am. Anyway, of the two interpretations of his reaction, I decided to assume it was the latter.

We walked from the car park to the entrance of our lunch venue. My heart was pumping as we entered the front door. We were warmly greeted by the staff who didn’t react at all unusually to the 6’1” female who had wandered in from the rain, and again when ordering from the bar and being shown to our table, there was no expression of surprise.

Conversations with the staff over lunch were pleasant and “normal” for want of a better word as they were with my lunching partner. We talked about all types of topics, but this time femulating was not one of them. We could have been any man and woman meeting up for lunch and judging by the reaction of the other diners (or should I say lack of it) it would seem that they thought the same. If 30 years ago you had told me when I was only dressing when at home dreading an unexpected interruption, that I would do this one day I would have not believed it.  It was wonderful.

The tables gradually filled up until we were surrounded on all sides. I was still a little nervous and conscious of my too masculine voice, but there were no double takes or stares (not that I was of aware, anyway) and my confidence grew.

I left my escort to pay the bill (I had contributed, but wanted him to hand over the money) and walked through the bar to the ladies’ room before we left the restaurant – again no reaction at all from anybody. We said goodbye and thanked the staff and after a few photos in the car park, we drove to the nearby National Trust property where we browsed in the gift shop and took more photos.

On returning to the pub’s car park to pick up my car, aware that this lunch was in fact a more unusual experience for him than me, I asked, “How was that for you?”

The response was that he had enjoyed it. I asked was he still up for Ascot?

He said, “You’re still going for it are you?”

I said that if it possibly could be arranged I was.

“Yes, definitely,” he replied.  He could cope with the situation, after all! It was then, for the first time, that conversation turned to femulating. I explained that I was quiet over lunch because of my consciousness of my voice. He asked if I had I ever had any adverse comments (fortunately, so far I haven’t, although I have, of course, been “read” on occasions). He said he certainly hadn’t noticed any second looks in my direction. Good, neither had I.

In texts since our meeting, he made an unprompted comment saying “I looked great,” so my assumptions about his reaction on our first meeting were not far off.  Thank goodness for that!

One final thing, we have been best friends for over 40 years in a completely male buddy way, but as we said goodbye, as he held out his hand to shake mine, I leant across and kissed him on the cheek. I immediately regretted doing this, but it just seemed the right thing to do. As a woman at that moment I was thanking him for a nice two and a half hours or s, and that he had completely accepted me for what I am. I immediately apologized and wiped his cheek to remove any lipstick.

“Now THAT would take some explaining to my wife”, he said.

The whole event was a marvelous experience, mainly because it was so normal and uneventful. And, yes, I have a very good friend.

A Femulate reader (center) dressed as a flight attendant
with her friends at a recent Halloween party.

Wearing Brahmin.

What a great day!

Today is Halloween, my Red Sox are the World Champions, and I went to work en femme!

About 1 AM Thursday, I decided to stop celebrating the Red Sox World Championship and get some beauty rest (can't get enough of that) because I planned to go to work en femme in the morning.

I woke up about 15 minutes before my alarm clock, got out of bed, fed the pets, shaved, showered and began doing my makeup. Putting on my face took about 30 minutes and putting on my clothes took about ten.

I wore my black Ellen Tracy dress with the sequins pattern at the neckline, nude thigh-high hosiery, "Love Fury" black patent platform pumps from Nine West, black Maskowsy bag and silver jewelry (Avon watch, Napier earrings and bracelet). It was about 40 degrees Fahrenheit outdoors, so I also wore my black DressBarn sweater coat (note to self: fix the loose button on the coat before you lose it).

I will mention my unmentionables because some people want to know: Victoria's Secret black lace brief panties and "Bombshell" bra, a waist cincher that is so old that the brand name tag is unreadable and I don't remember the brand, and a Bali Spanx-clone cami to smooth out my torso.

I fetched the newspapers and brought them in the house, which required walking up and down a 125-foot paved driveway in 4-1/2-inch heels while trying to negotiate the cracks and pivots in the pavement in semi-darkness. Who needs coffee to wake up! I completed the trip without incident.

I drove to work arriving at 7:50 AM. I drove standard transmission wearing my platform pumps with their 4-1/2-inch heels even though I had brought along a pair of sensible shoes just in case. I wore the platform pumps all day long and also drove home wearing them; my feet were none the worse at the end of the day.

Since my previous appearance at work en femme last Halloween, we have hired only one new person, our receptionist. When I pulled into the parking lot, she had just arrived and was getting out of her car. When she saw my car, she waved. There would be no fooling her, but she was very impressed with my femulation and admitted that if she had not seen my car, she would not have recognized me.

I unloaded my computer bag and handbag at my desk and went to the ladies' room to check my hair and makeup. All was well, so I walked down the hall to visit the head of my department. She thought I looked great and liked my new wig better than the one I wore last year. She took some photos and another employee took a photo of the two of us standing side-by-side.

My boss was wearing a very nice figure-hugging dress and joked about me wearing a dress,  too (she knows I am transgender). While she was talking to me, she adjusted her underwear, which made an audible snap as she did. Was she wearing Spanx and more importantly, was she so comfortable with me as just another female that she felt free to do that? In response, I adjusted my Spanx-clone cami and it made a similar snapping sound. She began laughing hysterically after I did that.

In my rush to get ready for work, I forgot to bring a yogurt from home which I normally eat as I work through my overnight e-mails. So I went to the cafeteria which my company shares with another company next door. I encountered a handful of young people from the other company and no one paid me any mind.

I had not been in that cafeteria in years and the cash register was not where it used to be, so I asked a young man where it was and he responded to me as if he was talking to a lady, not another guy, that is, he was very respectful and spoke as if he was helping a lady in distress. It was very nice.

The morning went by quickly. Various co-workers stopped by to see my costume. Gals and guys alike said I looked great. And some of them also wore costumes, but I was the only boy in girl costume.

The vice president of engineering came by and said he is always amazed by my transformation. "I don't know how you do it," he remarked.

The president of my division passed by and greeted me by my female nickname, Sandy, which my former boss had dubbed me last Halloween in honor of the hurricane.

Some other co-workers who I encountered during the day, just said "Good morning, Stan" and did not mention my costume.

My best friend at work, another diehard Red Sox fan, stopped by to celebrate our World Series victory and remarked that I looked "very pretty."

During my lunch hour, I drove to the dry cleaner to pick up my dress. The fellow who waited on me when I left the dress earlier in the week was not around and a young woman waited on me.  She asked me if I was picking up and I said I was picking up my dress.

She took my receipt, fetched the dress and I paid her. She was pleasant and I could not tell if she suspected anything about my gender.

Next stop was Stop & Shop to pick up some groceries. As I pushed my shopping cart into the store, a woman older than me gave me the once over. She had a husband in tow and I figure she was wondering how my outfit would look on him.

A few other women and a few guys also checked me out while I was shopping. No one smiled or smirked knowingly, so they were either impressed, seen it before or thought I was overdressed for Stop & Shop.

Actually, during lunch hour, there are always other women in the store dressed like me. There are corporate parks and medical offices nearby that are full of women dressed like me who buy groceries during lunch hour. In fact, I saw a young woman in very high heels wearing a flouncy skirted dress that I would die for. I was tempted to ask her where she bought the dress, but she was heading out the exit.

I did ask a middle-aged women where she bought the Red Sox World Championship sweatshirt she was wearing. She pointed out to me that it was an old shirt from the 2007 World Championship, not this year's, but that she hoped to get a new World Championship  shirt soon.

I finished shopping and found a cash register without a line. The cashier was a woman who I had cashed out with before. In the past when I cashed out in boy mode, she was cold, efficient and business-like. On Thursday when I cashed out in girl mode, she was as friendly as can be!

I returned to work, ate lunch, and noticed that the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with me. The afternoon went by slowly and ended with an interesting encounter.

One of our lab technicians walked by my cubicle slowly checking me out as she passed by. Then she turned around and did it again in the opposite direction. Obviously, someone had told her to find my cubicle and check me out. She then studied the name plate outside my cubicle and asked, "Are you Stan?"

I said, "Yes."

She looked confused. So I switched eyeglasses from my readers to the bifocals she was more likely to see me wearing.

She said, "I still don't recognize you!"

It was time to go home, but I did not want the day to end because this was the way it was meant to be.

Actors femulating in the 2013 stage production of Re-Designing Women.

Wearing Vivienne Westwood Anglomania (left) and Raoul (right).

Starla sent along 101 new finds in her quest for femulations in online high school yearbooks and I thank her for the effort, often under difficult circumstances (the website that hosts the yearbook does not always play nice).

Whenever Starla sends me a new batch, I view them all looking for the better femulations (see the photo above). In this latest batch, I noticed some of the girls wearing “Miss FFA” banners. Being a city boy, I did not know that FFA stood for Future Farmers of America until I looked it up. My first guess was that FFA stood for Future Femulators of America!

Anyway, the 101 new images from Starla are now in the Yearbooks collection on flickr and you may view them in two ways:

Method 1: Open one of the Yearbooks sets (A through Z) and you will find the newest uploads at the end/bottom of the set. (The oldest uploads appear at the beginning/top of the set.)

Method 2: Open this photostream and you will find the newest uploads at the top of page 1. The uploads get older as the page numbers get higher with the oldest uploads on the last page.

By the way, the contents of the Yearbook A through Z sets are organized according to school name, for example, the photos from Sacred Heart High School would be in the Yearbooks S set.

Haresfoot Club members femulating for the University of Wisconsin Madison
stage production of Call Me Madam in 1957.

Wearing Pink Tartan.

“I am a woman. For this, I am called a liar.

“I know who I am, what I am. I am a woman, and that’s the truth.

“I don’t want “special treatment,” I just want to be respected as a human being, as deserving of dignity as anyone else. I want to be able to exist in the world without the core of my identity, something that I grappled with for more than a quarter century, being dismissed by someone who couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like. I want to be able to go to work without worrying about being fired for who I am. I want to be able to use the restroom without fear of being beaten or accused of having malicious intentions. Like everyone else, I want the world to see me for me.”

My friend Jan passed along this excellent piece by Parker Molloy titled  I’m A Transgender Woman, And This Is What It’s Like and I am passing it along to you.

Male femulating at the Colwyn Bay Astral Concert Party in the early 20th Century.

Wearing Evan Picone.

Back when I was studying to be a girl, I learned that to elongate your legs, you should wear shoes that do not break the continuous line of your leg from the hemline of your skirt to the throat of your shoe. Anything that breaks that line ruins the illusion and makes your legs look shorter. As a result, ankle straps and similar adornments should be avoided. So I am confounded by the popularity of some of the shoe styles being worn by women these days. Specifically, I am referring to the styles that cut the legs off at the ankles and have no throat at all. Each to her own, but this girl wants her legs to look long. So I will try to follow this shoe advice, although I do admit having an affection for Mary Janes and cannot resist breaking that rule occasionally.

Actors Dennis Marsico, Tom Vazzana, Louie Gravance, David Kelley and John Graham, some femulating, some not on stage in Murder's a Drag 2011.

Wearing Maggy London.

I am feminine. This is not something I developed over the years --- I have been feminine all my life.

Being feminine came naturally to me. I did not intentionally choose to be feminine; I just acted naturally, but society categorized my natural act as feminine.

I did not have an inkling that I was feminine until an older boy told me I needed to stop acting like a girl and to man up for my own good. I rejected the boy's assessment and continued to act naturally and as a result, suffered the slings and arrows of my peers, who called me such names as sissy, twinkie, fairy, faggot, homo, etc.

And worse, I was so blind to my own femininity that when I saw it in other guys, I assumed that they were gay because that was the stereotype for gay males that I had learned.

As I grew older and wiser, I realized I was feminine and really a girl at heart. I also learned that my stereotype for gay males was wrong. Gay males can be (or appear to be) as masculine as heterosexual males. I also learned that heterosexual males can be feminine... just like me.

And I just came to the realization recently that the feminine male friends and acquaintances that over the years I branded as gay were not necessarily gay, but may have been transgender... just like me.

Professional femulator April Carrión.

Wearing Allison Parris.

Tokyo’s Komaba High School is an all-boy’s prep school. That little detail did not prevent the school from holding a traditional beauty competition, the Miss Komaba High School Beauty Pageant, in which male students donned female finery to vie for the honor of being recognized as the most beautiful girl on campus.

Read all about it at Rocket News 24 and thank Aunty Marlena for passing the story along to the Femulate news desk.

Also, visit Facebook for more photos of this year’s pageant and last year’s pageant.

For Halloween 2013, fashion blogger Bryan Boy femulated as Vogue editor Anna Wintour.

Wearing Tahari Arthur S. Levine.

Actor Jorge Enrique Abello femulating in Colombia television’s En los tacones de Eva, 2006.

Wearing Nightway.

Now that I had some time to think about my Halloween workday en femme, I want to share some thoughts.

I think one of my co-workers may be trans or a tranny chaser. Each time I have shown up at work en femme for Halloween, he has visited me for an inordinate amount of time to take in my costume. Other days, he never visits me except for work-related matters.

Another co-worker who I have known forever always keeps to himself and seldom speaks to me except to say "Hello" and even then, I always have to initiate the greeting and it seems that he has to think about it before he responds. This year, I was very surprised when he came to my cubicle and spoke to me profusely about my costume. Go figure.

Compared to last year, my workday en femme this year was anti-climatic. Some folks who took note of my "costume" last year, took my appearance in stride when they saw me this year. My take is:

• They are no longer surprised by my costume choice or

• They are getting used to seeing me en femme or

• They suspect I am trans, accept that I am trans and don't want to react as if anything was unusual.

Whatever the case, I think if I dropped the other high heel shoe and start working en femme on a regular basis, it would not be an issue at work.

A half dozen femulators dressing in period costumes.

Wearing Wow Couture.

BAND MEASUREMENT (the number)

Most men measure their ribcage under their breasts to get their band measurement. Double check this measurement by wrapping a tape measure snugly around your back, under your arms and across the top of your chest above your breasts. Because your ribcage expands and contracts as you breathe, taking both measurements will help you find your most comfortable fit.

CUP MEASUREMENT (the letter)

With your bra on, wrap a measuring tape around your back and across the fullest part of your breast. Don't pull too tight! To find your cup size, subtract your band measurement from this measurement.

If the difference is...

1 inch, you're an A cup
2 inches, a B cup
3 inches, a C cup
4 inches, a D cup
5 inches, a DD cup
6 inches, a DDD cup

So if your cup measurement is 39 inches and your band size is 36 inches, the 3 inch difference makes you a 36C.

If you are not sure about measuring yourself, you can have a professional fitting at an intimate apparel shop or in the lingerie department of a department store.

Your mileage may vary, but I have been fitted for bras in both girl mode and boy mode in both venues and have never been turned away. In fact, the women performing the fittings were very helpful and seemed pleased to have a male join their bra-wearing sorority.

If you are unsure about which bra-selling venue to seek out for a fitting, you can always call ahead and ask. Also, during the holiday season, guys shopping for intimate apparel gifts is common, so walking into a lingerie shop in boy mode is not that unusual this time of year.

May you have a good fitting and buy a bra to die for!

(Sources: thebracoach.wordpress.com, thatslifeladies.wordpress.com, www.maidenform.com)

Actor Gene/Jean Malin femulating in the 1933 film Arizona to Broadway.

Wearing Giorgio Armani.

The 50th anniversary of President Kennedy's assassination is coming up and the media is commemorating the event in many various ways. I was just 12-years-old at the time, but I was very political even then and JFK was my hero. I campaigned for him as best as a kid could and I was thrilled to see him in person both times he visited my hometown of Waterbury. JFK was my hero, but Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy was my idol. During that time, girls and boys with girlish inclinations were fascinated by the Jackie's beauty, style and grace. We all wanted to be just like her. I never wanted to grow up to be President, I wanted to grow up to be First Lady and I femulated her for Halloween one year. Jackie was not only a fashion plate, she was also a style-setter. I recall in 1967 that people were scandalized by a news photo of Jackie wearing a skirt that revealed about six inches of leg above the knee. How could a woman of her stature and a certain age (she was 38) dress like that? What a floozy! But next thing you know, everywhere you looked, fashionable women of a certain age were wearing skirts with hems hovering well above the knees. She was classy and elegant until the very end. What an inspiration!

Professional femulator Steven Brinberg as Barbra Streisand.

Wearing Yoanna Baraschi.

Next Thursday, I make my semiannual trip to Southern Connecticut State University in New Haven to do outreach at two Human Sexuality classes. The classes have about 30 students each and typically female students outnumber males about 5 to 1.

What is outreach?

It may mean different things to different people, but in my case, the outreach scenario is as follows:

There is a panel that may include male-to-female, female-to-male, post-op, pre-op, and no-op transgenders. I have been in panels where there were as few as two transgenders and as many as eight transgenders.

We each speak for about five minutes and tell our life stories in a nutshell. Then the students ask us questions.

The goal is educate the Human Sexuality class  about transgenders. My personal goal is to demonstrate to the students that transgenders are people just like them. Hopefully, our mini-biographies and our responses to the questions will help achieve those goals. The reactions of the students indicates that in much of the time, we are successful.

A femulator, circa 1970.

Wearing Andrew Marc.