Above are photos of the very cool students in the two Human Sexuality classes at Southern Connecticut State University where I did transgender outreach yesterday afternoon. I have a lot to say about yesterday, so stay tuned.
Actor Frankie James Grande’s amazing femulation on stage in the
New York stage production of Pageant: The Musical in February 2014.
Wearing Kay Unger.
Salon.com today posted an interesting interview with Katherine Cummings (photo right), a former guest at Casa Susanna and a consultant on the stage production Casa Valentina.
You can read the interview here.
“Today is an exciting day. A judge in the state of Kansas has officially ordered my name to be changed from ‘Bradley Edward Manning’ to ‘Chelsea Elizabeth Manning.’ I've been working for months for this change, and waiting for years.”
Read the rest of her story here.
Tuesday was another wonderful woman's day for me!
My outfit was a rerun of the outfit I wore when I attended the True Colors Conference last month. The weather was much more appropriate for the outfit than it was nearly a month ago when I was chilled to the bone whenever I was outside.
I wore my Sofia Vergara wrap dress, Avon jewelry including my Pandora knock-off bracelet (which I just love), Hue black tights, Payless black bag and Nine West black wedge shoes. I also wore my Fashion to Figure trench coat to keep off the rain which was in the forecast for later Tuesday.
The first part of my plan for the day was to go shopping at Fashion to Figure in the Westfield Mall in Meriden. I literally arrived at the JCPenney entrance to the mall as the doors opened at 10 AM.
When I entered JCPenney, I was shocked to see that the store was going out of business. The sales floor was mostly bare with only a few racks and tables remaining.
JCPenney had been an anchor store ever since the mall opened in 1971 and I have enjoyed shopping there en femme on countless occasions. I felt sad about its demise, but I was not surprised. The Westfield Mall like others in the USA have been in financial distress as their customer base, the middle class, has been vanishing. Stores close and the floor space remains empty unless a "dollar store" or somesuch arrives to fill the vacated space. I hoped that would not be the future of Fashion to Figure, so I was going to do my part to not let it happen.
I had made a wish list of interesting items I had seen on the store's website, but I forgot to bring the list and had to work from memory. Luckily, a very good sales rep named Luce did my bidding and was able to find every item I described to her. And off to the dressing room I went to try on all the clothing she had for me.
The blue peplum top I liked fit perfectly. I loved the color and liked how it looked on me. It was a keeper.
I tried on three different sizes of faux leather leggings, but did not like how they looked on me in any size, so there was no leather leggings to my shopping cart.
I loved the jump suit, but the first one I tried on was too big and it seemed that I would have to do without until Luce located a smaller size on display in the store's picture window.
I need another dress like a hole in the head, but I saw the one that caught my eye online and I just had to try it on. Three tries and I found one that fit me like a glove and it was the final item to go in my cart.
It just goes to show you that the sizes can be all over the place. Starting out, I told Luce the size of the trench coat I had bought at her store during my previous visit and she used that size as a base for the clothing she found for me. That base size was only good for the peplum top. The jump suit I bought was a size smaller and the dress, two sizes bigger, so you never know.
As I exited the store, another customer remarked, "I love your shoes!"
"Thank-you," I replied, but thought, "I wish I could say the same."
I wore the Nine West wedges for the first time when I attended the True Color Conference last month and they lasted about two hours before I switched to flats. I thought that they were uncomfortable that day because I had set the ankle straps too tight and as a resulte, they were cutting into my legs. So when I put the wedges on my feet Tuesday, I made sure that the ankle strap was as loose as possible, but it did no good. Two hours in, my feet were killing me and I still had about seven hours to go.
Payless to the rescue! They have a store just across the way from Fashion to Figure, so I decided to see if I could find something that I could wear the rest of the day. The Payless sales rep sized up my predicament and concluded that the wedges were uncomfortable because they did not have a platform. She may be onto something because I have another pair of wedges with a heel just as high as the Nine West wedges, but with a platform and I have worn those wedges all day long in the past without any discomfort.
Payless did not have much in my size except for two pairs of 3-inch high heel pumps --- one in black patent and the other in nude patent. What the hey! I tried them on and they were so comfortable I could not believe it. Payless was having a buy-one get-one for half off sale, so I bought both pairs and walked out of the store wearing the black patent pumps.
By then it was time to go to Southern Connecticut State University to do outreach. As I walked back to JCPenney to fetch my car, my right shoe slipped off my foot three times! This was not good, so when I returned to my car, I stuffed tissue behind my heel inside each shoe and that kept the shoes on my feet the rest of the day without any discomfort.
Professional femulator Francis Russell, circa 1940.
Wearing Bebe.
The second part of my woman's day involved doing outreach at two Human Sexuality classes at Southern Connecticut State University. Professor Schildroth has been inviting me to her classes in New Haven for the past eight years and I always try to accept her invitations schedule permitting.
Lately, there have been four of us doing outreach for Professor Schildroth's classes: Michelle, a post-op male-to-female transsexual, Quinton, a post-op female-to-male transsexual, Mary-Ann, a no-op no-HRT male-to-female transgender, and myself.
We start each class by giving a brief biography, then the class gets split in two with the post-op folks doing Q&A with one half of the class and the no-op folks doing Q&A with the other half. Half way through the class, we switch groups so that all the students have an opportunity to quiz the post-ops and no-ops alike.
Sometimes the students are very hesitant about asking questions, but that was not the case on Tuesday. Each of the four groups of students we outreached had at least one member who was anxious to ask us questions and once the ball gets rolling, it seems to loosen things up and other students chime in with questions.
Many of the questions we have heard before. For example, on Tuesday, we were asked how we chose our female names. (That is probably the most common question we get.) On the other hand, the students often surprise us with questions we have never heard before. One question that we don't get too often, but was asked twice on Tuesday is how do we identify sexually. ("Lesbian" was my reply.)
One question from Tuesday that I never heard before was what is the one thing we want to get across to the students?
My reply was that we are not freaks like you may have seen on the Jerry Springer show. Rather, we are just like everybody else, average people you encounter anywhere --- and then I added --- we just dress better (that got a big laugh).
In between classes, we went to the student center to eat a snack and chat. I had a wardrobe malfunction while walking to the student center. The high heel of my shoe got stuck in a crack in the sidewalk and I lost my balance. Luckily, Professor Schildroth was at my side and caught me before I fell and hit the concrete. That was a close call!
In the past, I have received compliments from the ladies who work in the food court and Tuesday was no exception. As I perused the menus of the food court restaurants, a woman behind one of the counters caught my eye and mouthed the words, "I love your dress." I mouthed back a thank-you and with that, I decided to buy something to eat from her establishment.
Tuesday's outreach was one of the more enjoyable ones I have participated in. The students seemed to enjoy it, too, and most of them wanted to participate in the group photos, which I posted here on Wednesday.
And when we posed for the photo in the late afternoon class, instead of saying “cheese” to put smiles on everyone’s faces, we said “femulate.”
How cool is that!
Professional femulator Sarah Mitch.
Wearing Madeleine.
Gary Jarman of the rock group The Cribs femulates
for the cover art of their Housewife recording in 2010.
Wearing Bebe.
After work on Thursday, I was waiting at a red light at the on-ramp to the parkway when I noticed two decals on the red Chevy Cavalier in front of me.
I have seen one of the decals on other vehicles countless times in the past --- the blue and yellow equal sign that the Human Rights Campaign uses as its logo.
On the other hand, I have never seen the other decal on a vehicle in all my life --- the transgender symbol.
I was impressed. Here was someone who was very out about who he/she was, so much so that they were willing to display it on their vehicle.
Maybe the driver was not trans, just a supporter and admittedly, most civilians would not know the significance of the transgender symbol, not to mention the equality symbol, but still...!
I tried to see if I recognized the driver, but I could not get a good look from my perspective and when we got on the parkway, the red Chevy sped off leaving me the dust.
I wish I had an opportunity to talk to the driver and commend him or her on their true grit.
Actor Johnny Depp femulates on television’s 21 Jump Street in 1988.
Wearing Madeleine.
Struck by the crazy number of suicide attempts in our little community, I approached Stana to do a series of guest blog posts in the hope that the more success stories we have out there, the less people will attempt suicide.
Our little community is between 0.1% and 1% of the population depending on how you count. 41% of us have attempted suicide and of the people who try, about a fifth succeed (our rate is 9 times the national average). To me this is unacceptable. It has to be stopped! But, how? These posts are my contribution to helping stem this tide of needless destruction.
The more we understand what makes us tick and the more we understand the stories of those who have successfully climbed the mountain, the more we can develop strategies to succeed ourselves. But it is important to be aware that “successfully” is a loaded word. There is no general transgender story, every transgender person's story is different and every person's definition of success is different... and to some degree, that is part of the problem.
Here is my story and my strategies and I hope that those people who are similar to me in approach can learn from my successes and my failures.
The Early Years
I was born into a large family of girls. This may have had some bearing on the outcome of my journey through life (Ya think?!). From early on, I have known that I really was or wanted to be a girl. My mother said that when I was 3 or 4 years old, I tried on her girdles in (what I thought!) was secret. I have no memory of this. It was an occasional memory that my mother dragged up. She died not knowing that I was transgender (well, if she did, she never let on!).
However, I do have an early memory of going to visit an aunt and uncle when I was about 5 or 6. I rambled off to explore the house while the adults were talking. I went through my aunt's underwear drawer and tried on some of her girdles. I think I had a thing about girdles back then. I have no recollection of how these girdles fitted me. I must have been swimming in them!
I also remember visiting a different aunt and uncle (and their kids) when I was about 11. Again I sneaked into my aunt's underwear drawer and took a girdle and a pair of nylons and locked myself in the bathroom to try them on. I was in the bathroom for so long that people were knocking on the door to get in. I had to come out, but, how? What would I do with the clothes? I stuffed nylons into the toes of my shoes and hid the girdle rolled up under my sweater.
How I managed to get away with these exploits is beyond me. But, herein is the first lesson: people only see what they want to see.
Next up, the teenage years.
Singers Roger Taylor, Peter Straker and Freddie Mercury
femulating in the 1992 1987 The Great Pretender music video.
Wearing Evan Picone.
Before we get on to the teenage years and all that history stuff, I should give a little information about myself. I am in my mid-50s, married to a wonderful woman who is very accepting of my feminine side.
However, she does like her guy around, so I am a part-time guy. I am no op and no hormones (given a free choice, these might be a little different!) I believe that all relationships need compromise and these are some of mine. Her support for Monica is very important in my life and I do not want to push things as I love her dearly.
We have been together for a great number of years and I told her that I was transgender back when I knew that she was the one for me. Somehow I knew it was not right to enter into a relationship without full disclosure. That was one of the few flashes of genius I have had in my life. However, it is fair to say that neither of us knew at that time how this would all play out. Maybe, like in The Matrix, she would have taken the blue pill if she had known.
I have referred to my story as a success story and that is the way I see it now, but it was not obvious from the start how it might turn out. Sure, I am not full-time and sure I am not on hormones or post-op, but I have what I consider to be best thing that you can achieve as a transgender no matter what. I have a close group of women friends who support and love me for the woman that I really am.
I believe that part of the depression that leads to suicide is the inability to connect with other women and to find support amongst them. This group of close women friends is priceless to me. I have a Heart Circle call with about 6 or 8 of these women each week by Skype. You could not hope for a more loving and supportive bunch of women.
This series of blogs will tell the story of how I got from a place that seems familiar to many who have travelled this road to one of great emotional satisfaction and enjoyment. There is nothing special about me, I have been lucky and have had great breaks; but looking back, I can see a pattern which can be woven into a strategy that may help others. As I have said, anything I can do to help people falling into depression and suicide is well worth the effort. It is my small contribution to our community.
However, just because there is a strategy does not mean that the journey is easy. It is still hard work and lots of effort, but at least with this strategy, one can see the goal and the benefits of the goal and you can see others who have walked that path and achieved the results.
Again, this is just my idea of success; others may have different ideas of living a successful transgender life and it would be great if they could lay out their strategies to help those who follow. The more we lay out the paths for those who follow, the easier it will be.
There is a certain responsibility for us pioneers to show the way to others or at least, suggest the way to others. It is up to those who follow whether they want or see the value in the path that we lay out, but at least, we are helping others by giving them options.
(Part 1 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appeared here yesterday. Part 3 will appear here tomorrow.)
Two members of the punk rock group The Cramps femulated
for the cover of their 1990 single All Women Are Bad.
Wearing Blu 39.
Pre-teen, I must have been a worry to my parents. They told me stories of wanting a doll and pram for Christmas and also stories of not standing up for myself in the school playground.
Though such things were not talked about then, they must have worried that I might be gay. Certainly, when you look at photos of me from that era, I looked like a bit of a Mommy's boy! To toughen me up, they sent me off to martial arts training. That lasted about six weeks… until somebody hit me on the nose and made me cry. I never went back.
The early teenage years were a rush of hormones and guilt. My staunch religious background did not help. It was during those years that (under the powerful poison of testosterone) I changed from being a person who knew she was female to being a crossdresser. My mother's clothes bore the brunt of this. I was never caught… well, if anybody suspected, nothing was said. There were favorite 1960s dresses that I now pine for. In my early teenage years, my mother and I were a similar size… even the same shoe size. This is how I learned to walk so well in heels! (As the Jesuits say, “Start them young!”)
During those days, I even sometimes went to school wearing a full girdle. I can remember walking down the street and hearing the metal garter ends clinking and hoping that nobody would figure out the source of the sound.
I was exposed once when my mother decided to clean out my room. She found a pair of her panties and her slip in a rucksack hidden in my wardrobe. She tried to get me to come clean about it, but I lied because I had the sense to know what would happen if I came clean. I blamed it on one of the younger children playing in my room. It was never mentioned again. I guess she put it down to teenage experiment. She was wrong!
During those years, I did all the things that other transgenders do to try and hide the soft and female side. I played football, joined the scouting movement, joined the army reserves, went hunting, fishing, mountain climbing, and had crushes on girls. If my parents were worried before, they had no worries now. But I knew deep down that this was all a mask for who I really was. The problem was I could not see any way out of the groove I was in. There was no alternative for a male of my background. I had to grin and bear it… and I did. However, I still either crossdressed or fantasized about it.
In my early 20's I went to college and met the woman of my dreams. We got on very well together and I guess we both knew that we were right for each other. I knew deep down that I had to tell her my secret as we could not go ahead with a relationship based on a lie. It was a big risk for me. What if she broke it off after hearing my secret and then went and told her friends and it got back to my friends and family; not a good scenario!
When I told her, she responded with some questions about what I did, etc. I explained as truthfully and as in depth as I could. She took it in her stride. Of course, neither of us knew then what the future had in store, especially as the testosterone started to run out! Maybe she would not have been so sanguine had she known. But I like to think that even if she had known, she would have gone ahead --- for both of us, the ride has been worth it!
(Part 2 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appeared here yesterday. Part 4 will appear here tomorrow.)
Femulator in 1962 street style.
Wearing La Femme Image.
A small detour before we get back to the history. One thing that one really needs when one embarks on the transgender journey is a good sense of humor. You really do need the ability to laugh at the situation and even sometimes at yourself.
I have recently come back from a trip to San Francisco and Denver.
Photo of me out and about in Denver!
I stayed in San Francisco for a couple of days to take in some culture and to do some shopping. This was the first time (and I have been many times) that I encountered rain in San Francisco and this required me to buy a mac, but more of that later.
During this shopping trip, I was occasionally asked for a photo ID if the cost of the purchase was over $50. As a part-time guy, my guy photo appears on my photo ID. I calmly handed it over when asked (my credit card only has my initials). Only a few years ago I would rather have rats eat out my eyes than give somebody a photo ID of me as a guy while I was dressed as a woman.
But I guess there is something in the air in San Francisco as nobody batted an eyelid. I don't think anybody even looked at my photo; they just compared names.
When I was in Boston in October, my wife and I hired a car. Again I handed over my photo ID and the lady behind the counter looked at it and said, “There must be some mistake. This is not the right ID.”
I assured her that it was. She looked again and was satisfied! Ah! We live for such moments of confirmation, but wait there is more!
Back to San Francisco where it is raining, I head off to Macy’s to buy a mac. I find a really nice London Fog mac at a sale price, just what I want and in my size. I take it to the cashier who asks me if I have a Macy’s card. I tell her I do not. She gives me 10% off anyway and asks for my photo ID. I hand it over quite calmly expecting the usual no comment.
“Oh!,” she says, “You are using your husband's card. That is no problem!”
If I was not already married, I would have married her on the spot!
Back to Boston in October --- I am walking around Lens Crafters looking for a rimless pair of glasses. The assistant comes up to me and asks, “Can I help you, sir?”
This is a picture of how I looked. I thought I did not look too bad. I took this photo in my hotel room immediately afterwards. 
I felt that the only sensible answer was to say, “Thank you” and I walked out.
I could get all bitter and twisted about being “sir’d,” but I always try and look at these things as a learning situation. Either there was something about my presentation or voice which was not helping her to make the connection or while she recognised that I was transgender (it is difficult to pass in very close proximity), her brain had not supplied her with the correct gender marker.
Being charitable, it was probably a mixture of both. I now realise how drab that outfit looked on me and maybe I was not being as confident as I should have been. In general, people will meet you half way as long as they can see that you are really making a reasonable effort.
There is a saying I learned at Esprit (more of that later) in 2009. It goes like this: “If you think you are passing 100% of the time, the only person you are fooling is yourself!”
A positive response to a setback is the only way forward. For us transgenders, I keep reminding myself, there is no goal to be reached… the journey is the goal.
(Part 3 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appeared here yesterday. Part 5 will appear here next week.)
Actor Marty Thomas femulating in the 2014 NYC stage production of Pageant: The Musical.
Wearing Do & Be (dress) and BCBG (bag and belt).
In my twenties (this was before the Internet), I was gradually becoming aware (because I had read in magazines somewhere) that I was not alone. There were other 'weirdo’s' out there like me.
I had never mentioned anything about who I was to anybody. I remember once, while I was still living at home, my mother praising me for being an all-around nice and good person. I said to her that she had no idea who I really was and that if she really knew, she might not think so highly of me. Of course, I was thinking of my big secret: my transgender side.
She brushed it off with the comment that of course, as she was my mother, she knew what I was really like. She was right and she was wrong. The basic person was the same, but the operating software was radically different. She never saw the results of the software directly.
In my twenties after I had moved away from home and was earning my own money in the big city, things started to change. I still had no name for my female side. The name Monica did not come to me until my 40's.
My twenties was the era of catalogue-shopping. With the help of my wife and her clothes, I was able to gauge my size and order from the catalogues. My wife was very happy to help me buy underwear and other accessories in department stores. Of course, I would be standing beside her looking furtive as if everybody knew she was buying for me. It was so embarrassing and humiliating! So different now, when I was in Boston in October, I went for a bra-fitting; I did not even break sweat when the lady asked to feel the weight of my falsies!
Gradually I built up a wardrobe. My wife was fully aware that I dressed when she was out and she was happy with that. However, she did not want to see me dressed when she got home.
Unfortunately, I do not have any photos from that era. But, in hindsight, it really was a time of fetish and “trashy tranny.” It almost makes me blush to think of it now.
I lived near a wig store… one of those 80's stores that sold nylon wigs and various types of hippie clothes. After many weeks of walking past the shop, I finally screwed up my courage and walked in. I pretended I was buying a wig for my wife. Why my wife would want a long haired nylon wig never dawned on me! I picked one out that was nearly down to my waist (I found out later when I got home) and said to the shop assistant, “I think she will like that.” As usual, the only person I was fooling was I.
Picturing it now, I must have looked like something out of The Night of the Living Dead when dressed. No makeup (and no beard cover!), long hair to my waist and skirt and hair almost meeting at the same place! And underneath, a girdle with enough elastic to make a medieval catapult! No wonder my wife did not want to see me!
In my thirties, we were into the Internet age and by then I knew I was part of a community. Through my exploration on the net, I knew about hormones, sex changes, meetings, special websites and clothes for transgender people. I even learned that there was a bar about half an hour away from me where people met in drag every Friday night. I am not sure if I was still in denial about who I was or if I was just too plain scared to dress and get on public transport to go there. Probably the latter! I had grown up with a lot of ridicule and it is often hard for me to handle that. I really wanted to go out dressed, but that was long way into the future.
(Part 4 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appearedhere on Friday.)
Kristen Marie Rhea
Wearing Sharagano.
The whole subject of passing is a pretty fraught one and I don't pretend to have a consistent answer to the question. Emotionally I want to pass – I want to pass as well as I possibly can given the constraints. I realize that it is unrealistic to think that one will pass 100% of the time and yet, that is my goal emotionally.
Rationally, I can see the other side. I can see that focusing on passing well is only upholding society's artificial binary gender preference. If somebody does not stand up against the binary gender preference, then it will continue! Yes, but does it have to be me who stands up against it? If not me, then who?
To find a path through this philosophical swamp, I fall back on my definition of success and that is, to have a group of supportive female friends who accept me for the woman I am. Hence, I try to pass as best I can as because in my opinion, that is what will get me closest to my goal.
To find what one's definition of success is, one needs to be in touch with one's body. Those of us who have been socialised as men find it hard to get in touch with our bodies, but I have found a body of work which helped me greatly in this. It is called The Art of Feminine Presence; more about that later.
There is a fine line between passing and parody and the line is probably different for everybody who sees you. If you fall into the parody category, then you will not be taken seriously and may well become the butt of derision, sarcasm and even violence. Hence, it is better to be well on the other side of that line. In truth, you cannot pass too well.
It gives me comfort that even people like Jenny Boylan (who is post-op, on hormones, though she may have come off recently and has lived as a woman for many years) worries about passing. My take is that no matter how good you are (even if you are in stealth), worrying about passing is part and parcel of being us.
Passing is part art and part science, as far as I am concerned. The science bit breaks down into four elements: voice, movement, presentation (clothes, makeup, etc.) and internal operating system (how you see things and talk to yourself). The art comes in blending these four components into a believable/acceptable female. Of these four elements, the most important one for me is my confidence and internal monologue. Passing is also one of these infinite recursive loops. The better you feel, the more confident you are, the better you pass, the better you feel, etc.
To pass well, in my experience, you have to know what kind of woman you are and really own that. My friends jokingly call me “Synagogue Mom!” You also have to accept that you are a trans person and be happy to own that. For many, that is harder than it might seem and takes practice and introspection.
If you get read, you need two strategies. One, for how you handle your own disappointment and two, for how you handle the person reading you. When I get read, I just give a big smile to the person reading me. There is nothing more feminine and tension relieving than a big smile and usually people just smile back at you. If you have the courage (I have not tried this), you could also wink at them!
Getting read is very bad for the ego. It reminds me of the old saying, “It is not reality that hurts: it is the difference between your perception of reality and reality that hurts.” This is so true for passing and being read can ruin your whole day.
On my first day out en femme, I just about got to the lobby of the hotel before I got read… and did I get read! It was probably the most embarrassing incident of my life. But more about that later.
The way I have learned to tackle being read is to keep telling myself that I cannot be responsible for the reader's reaction. I am doing nothing wrong. I am a transgender person and this is how transgender people dress, move, etc. We are 0.1% of the population and we are entitled to respect. If I do not ground myself quickly, I can just go into my head and lose the plot completely and that leads to panic and fear and more lack of confidence and being read even more.
A good exercise from The Art of Feminine Presence is to ground yourself in your lower belly and don't let the thoughts go into the head. Then imagine a light globe sitting in that place (we call it the “womb space” – I like that! – in martial arts and Tai Chi it is called the “Dan Tien”) radiating a protective light from there. You are bathed in that light out to an arm’s length from your body and nothing can come through this light to harm you. Then feel your body as it moves. Staying attentive to your body and enjoying your body movement helps you move even more like a woman! Then put on a big smile.
This sounds long-winded, but with practice, you can do it all in an instant. This stops the thoughts from going to the head and staring the long chains of “what ifs” that lead to fear, lack of confidence, embarrassment, and humiliation.
(Part 5 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appearedhere yesterday.)
Helene Barclay
Wearing Cotton Addiction (sweater).
In my thirties, I had a big purge. It was really the only purge that I did and the nylon wig went to its final resting place. I don't even remember why I purged; I think it was because I was moving.
Another thing that happened about that time was that I got into transcendental meditation. I meditated (I almost said religiously!) regularly and for a number of years, it worked for me. I don't think I crossdressed for about 5 years… what a waste! :)
Like most men, in my twenties and thirties, I was a keen watcher of women. But while most men wanted to get inside their panties, I wanted to get inside their panties in a totally different way! During the meditation days, even that stopped. So, maybe there is a cure! :)
In my late thirties, we moved to a new city and I dropped the meditation and, lo and behold, the old feelings gradually wound their way back into my psyche. As we did not have any kids, I was able to start indulging my hobby a bit more. Internet shopping was just about taking off and things started to change quickly in the wardrobe front. The “trashy tranny” phase was over and a more bohemian style took its place.
We both lived about 20 minutes away from our workplaces and one of the funnier incidents I remember from that time was when I was working from home one day. I decided to try on one of my wife's more formal dresses that she had not worn for a long time. We are similar in size, but not that similar. This was a dress that she had bought for a wedding and never really liked it afterwards. Being bored and wanting a break from my work, I decided to try it on. I was still in my pre makeup days, so all I needed was a shower and some underwear.
I got the dress on no problem, but, as I zipped it up, the zipper got stuck half way. It was right in the middle of my back and I could just barely reach it, so I could not get it up or get it down. I knew I had two choices: either break the zip and suffer the wrath of my dear wife or call her to come home during lunch time and zip me out of the dress and suffer the wrath of my dear wife. I chose to call her. She was not very amused, but saw the funny side of it. We laugh about it now!
In my mid-forties, we moved again. But this time, to a small community. As I was not out nor going out, this was not an issue. I just had to make sure that the neighbors could not see anything through the windows while I was dressed and make sure that I did not answer the door if anybody came.
The first couple of times that anybody did come to the door, I rushed around getting my guy clothes on and making some excuse for why it took me so long to get to the door. One incident I remember is getting to the door, asking them to come in for coffee and as I am closing the door – fortunately while they had their backs to me – noticing that I still had my rings on. I stuffed my hand in my pocket and mumbled something about having to go to the bathroom.
Now I am much wiser, I don't answer the door. However, it can be very nerve-racking listening to people outside your door and ringing your bell while you are inside en femme.
In my late forties, I learned about professional makeovers and was determined to get one. When we went on holiday in 2004, not only did I get a professional makeover… I got two! Each one was done by a different salon. But more about that along with some photos next time.
(Part 6 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appearedhere yesterday.)
A femulator in her kitchen.
Wearing Madeleine.
For me, being trapped in a male body was never something I thought about. It was foreign to me when I first heard of it in the ‘90s. I knew I was female or that I should be female. I remember from my childhood various schemes and dreams of how I did or might become a woman. Needless to say, none of them worked.
With the wisdom of maturity, I now realize why I rejected the idea of being trapped in a man's body. I realized that if I am trapped, then like some princess in a tower, I needed somebody to come and rescue me. That did not really gel with me. That gave the power to other people and took the solution out of my hands.
After musing on this topic for some time, I realized that really I am a woman with a man's body. Some women have green eyes, some women have red hair, some women have birthmarks… I am a woman who happens to have a male body. Given that this is the situation, I had to find ways to accommodate this and live within the expectations that have grown up around it.
To be morbid for a moment, I see from the suicide figures that women who had been through SRS do not necessarily have a happier and more fulfilled life than those who did not. So this got me thinking... sure, every woman has a vagina, but not all those with vaginas are women or at least, not accepted as women. Maybe for some the “vag is not the badge.” Maybe there is more!
Thinking about it from a mechanical perspective, you can boil a women (and men) down (sorry that is a bad choice of words) into two components: the hardware and the software. The hardware is obvious, but the software has four components: voice, movement, presentation and internal operating system.
I am guessing that what drives a lot of people to drugs, drink, despair, and suicide is the lack of connection and support from other people especially other women. Thinking along these lines helped me realize that maybe for some people SRS is seen as a quick an easy option to achieving womanhood. You pay some money (a lot of money in many cases!), do some time in hospital, and you are a woman.
In truth, nobody but yourself and your intimate partner cares about your hardware. How you interact with the outside world and make loving and supportive friends is through the software,
There are no guardians of the holy flame of femininity (sorry Elizabeth!) who grade us on how close we are to being woman. Femininity is bigger than any one person. No person encompasses the whole of the feminine. It is like the blind people and the elephant. One says an elephant is like a tree because he feels its leg. Another says it is like a rope because he feels the tail. The life experience of the black celibate Catholic nun, the white butch lesbian, and the physically abused Chinese mother of 10 are totally different with little in common. To claim that the common denominator is the vagina and that that is the ultimate mark of a woman is misogynistic to the extreme. As we know, only too well from our feminist history, a woman is far more than her genitals.
Who is or who is not a woman is determined in a very democratic way. The people you meet while you are out and about en femme are the people who determine if you are a woman or not. If you get read a lot, then you are not measuring up. If you make a number of close supportive and loving women friends who treat you like one of their own, then, for all that matters, you are a woman. You may not be in the main species of womanhood (however you define that), but you are certainly in one of the sub species and that for many of us, that is very acceptable.
(Part 7 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appearedhere yesterday.)
Brian Molko, rocker and femulator.
Wearing Gregory Parkinson.
On a vacation to London in 2005, I finally plucked up courage to go and have a professional makeover. My desire to be Monica (I had the name by then; how I decided on this name has, however, been lost in the mists of time) had increased steadily since the turn of the century. As my testosterone started to run out, I more and more wanted to spend time as the woman I knew I should have been.
I chose two salons for my photoshoot: The Boudoir and Pandora de Pledge. Pandora is no longer with us unfortunately.
By this time, I had a small female wardrobe, but I still had not really tried makeup, I did not have a wig and I had never been out!
To the right is the first picture ever of me dressed.
I was the only customer at The Boudoir that day there and a very nice chap spent about an hour putting on the makeup and explaining it all to me. Even as he was doing it, I thought there is no way I am going to remember all this and sure enough, I was correct.
He chose a number of other outfits for me and photographed me in various poses. Looking back now, I definitely look more of a “guy in a dress” than a woman. However, it was another step on way. Success is built in small steps.
The following are some of the other photos from that day.
My next stop, a few days later, was the famous Pandora de Pledge.
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One of her assistants did the makeover. He had me sit facing away from the mirror and then when he had finished the makeup and put the wig on me, he turned me around to see myself in the mirror. I nearly cried. It was the first time I really did see the woman in me.
However, there was one embarrassing incident. They had in a second client while I was there. I was so nervous in those days that I was really angry, though I did not say anything. What if that person was somebody who knew me! I did not think about the fact that it was probably equally embarrassing for him!
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And just to round it off, here is the last photoshoot image of me taken in Denver in April 2014 nearly 10 years later!
(Part 8 of One Person’s Journey to Womanhood appearedhere yesterday.)
Fellows femulating in a minstrel show in Halifax, Nova Scotia, 1931.
Wearing Shoshanna.
My post here last Monday, Tranny is Not a Four-Letter Word!, received a mixed reception. Some people agreed with me... that the trans community should reclaim the word "tranny" from the slanderers, while other people disagreed with me, don't want anything to do with the word and insist that everyone should stop using it.
Which brought to mind something that happened to me when I was in New York City a few years ago. I was en femme walking up Fifth Avenue near Rockefeller Center on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in June. Approaching me were a group of three or four high school-aged guys. I did not pay much attention to them, but as we passed each other, one of the guys shouts out, "Dyke," referring to me.
Although some lesbian groups have tried to reclaim it, the last time I looked it up, dyke was still generally considered "a derogatory label for a masculine woman."
I assumed that the guy thought he was insulting me, but little did he know that calling me a “dyke” was high praise and an affirmation of my womanhood. Sure, I would have preferred to be called "femme," but being regarded as a masculine woman is a lot better than being regarded as a guy in a dress! After all, I was presenting as feminine as I could manage while constrained by my Amazonian size.
I always present as feminine as possible. I have invested a lot of time and money into my presentation and I think it pays off because I seldom get called out as a guy in a dress. I do get a lot of looks and you can never be sure if they are looking because you are looking good or because you are looking trans. I am sure my presentation confuses some, but I believe that my presentation is good enough so that the confused are not sure what's really in my panties.
Dyke is as bad as it ever gets and that is actually pretty good!
Actor David Drake femulating on stage in My Tawny Valentine, 2012.
Wearing Trina Turk.
My Fantasia Fair buddy, Mariette Pathy Allen, has a new beautiful photobook. Titled TransCuba, it "focuses on the transgender community of Cuba, especially its growing visibility and acceptance in a country whose government is transitioning into a more relaxed model of communism under Raúl Castro's presidency."
Mother Jones' interesting review of TransCuba includes eight photos from the book; you can view the review here.
I own Mariette's previous transgender photobooks and plan to buy TransCuba at Fantasia Fair so that she can personally autograph it for me.
A professional femulator appears on an early 20th Century Cuban tobacco card.
Wearing Elie Tahari.
