Didn't go

In reference to yesterday's post: I didn't go.

There was a practical reason...Deb had something come up...but there was another reason too.  I just couldn't make the wig look right.  Either wig, the conservative dark brown one or the red-gold tranny-mane.  I stood looking in the mirror, and they just seemed fake and ridiculous.

The thing is, my own hair is getting long enough so that when I brush it forward and fluff it up, it is starting to look markedly femme.  It doesn't quite snap yet....it's not quite long enough, and the fact that it still grey gets in the way...but it's close.

So when Deb canceled, I ended up sitting at my kitchen table playing internet chess with beard-cover makeup on, my hair brushed forward, dangly earrings, and femme jeans and an androgynous top.  No shapewear.  No lipstick.  No shoes.  And when I got up and posed in the mirror in the hall, I saw a different femme look beginning to emerge for me...not in-your-face cross-dressed, but the natural earthy-crunchy tall skinny woman I might someday be.

That's the look I want the next time I go out.  Except for overt drag for fun, I think I may be done with strutting my stuff in wig and fake boobs.

Hey, if I keep growing my hair out and start coloring it (my next big treat, I think), and keep getting rid of my beard (and may I just mention, electrolysis hurts), and start wearing clothes which are subtly more femme, and if I continue to allow myself to relax into moving and acting and talking and feeling just a little more femme all the time, as I have been doing...if I keep doing all those things, I may just change by imperceptible degrees into a woman, right in front of everyone's eyes.  Maybe even without hormones and face surgery.  Those steps could just cement it.  And then with or without clothes and makeup--even dressed in my old man suit--I would look female, because I would be female, all the way through, from my innermost soul right out to my skin.

I didn't go out yesterday, but it was not a return to that old cell.  It was a step forward in a new long slow process of becoming a woman from the inside out.  That's how it's going now. 

Dressing over that seems as out-of-order as painting the house while you're still framing it.

Comments

[Dawn on MDI]

well said, and well-felt. I am becoming more comfortable with my own butch-ness as I age, but there are still times when dressing in a way that makes me feel empowered can also make me feel vulnerable - as though the butch gear somehow reveals a part of me that I am still reluctant to share with the world out of fear of ridicule. Some days I can do it, and some days I can't. And while I don't identify as trans, I understand how wearing our insides on the outsides can be at once liberating and frightening. I shall keep reading here. This is a marvelous journey you are sharing with us. Thank you.