GenderBendy

Man in a dress no more

Yesterday I bought a dress. So what? Yeah, you’re right, not earth-shaking, but the moment does provide an object lesson in layers of becoming.

One of the first things I did after my gender revelation in ‘08 was buy a grey knit sweater-dress with a big floppy collar, at Reny’s. Oh, my, I was in state - terrified and ecstatic. I couldn’t conceive of trying it on in the store, so I took it home, discovered it was too small, and went back in an even more heightened state to exchange it. The flat hard look the young woman behind the returns desk gave me was my first encounter with the judgemental eyes of the world.

I had fun with my new dress. I put it on along with my new garter-belt stockings and black pumps and costume-jewelry pearls from Walmart and my outrageous rolled-up-sock-with-filbert-nipples boobs and posed for the camera. It was the beginning of figuring out who I was.

As time went on I acquired more dresses, of two types: fancy ones from the evening gown racks at Goodwill, and simpler everyday ones either bought without trying on or given by friends. I continued to have fun wearing both kinds at home, but the only time I wore a dress in public was when I put on one of the fancy ones for a soirée - the USM drag show, the EQ Maine dinner, a holiday party - and it was always a big deal. I never wore the simpler ones in public, even after I was completely out and living full time as a woman, because I just didn’t like the way I looked in them.

Yesterday I met Susan for a shopping date at the mall, and on the sale rack at Banana Republic I found a light soft grey-and-white V-neck dress in stretchy cotton. I tried it on and stood looking at myself in the three-way mirror. Susan looked with me.

Me, to myself: Shoulders back, dear. Chin up. Relax the lower back more, let it curve. Is it binding or bagging under the the arms? No, seems to be just right. Wow, not bad at all.

Susan: Oh, that’s really nice.

Me: I don’t know...I just don’t wear dresses. People don’t, you know? So it’s a thing.

Susan: What do you mean?

Me: Well, I have dresses, and I put them on and look in the mirror, and I see...I don’t know, I’m so tall, my shoulders are still so broad, my hips are narrow...I still see a man in a dress.

Susan: You don’t look like a man in a dress. I’m not just saying that. I want you to feel good, but I would say if you did. You don’t look like a man in a dress.

Me: Thanks, I needed to hear someone say that.

I bought the dress (Only $18 on deep discount - score!), and in a few months, maybe on the first really warm day of spring, I’m going to wear it to work. No back-up outfit in a bag in case I chicken out. I’m going to commit to the dress for the day. And honestly, I don’t think it’s going to be a big deal. Check out how far I’ve come:

12/31/2008:

1/15/2012:

Chatted up

Last night during the First Friday Art Walk, for the first time in my life, I got hit on. As a woman, I mean, by a man.

It was at the Institute of Contemporary Art at MECA. I was staring at  the work “Sturm und Drang,” by Stacy Howe, when a strong masculine voice spoke next to me. “Powerful piece, isn’t it?”

He was maybe 60, casually dressed, with artfully unkempt grey hair and beard, full unsmiling lips like my father’s lips, and aggressive eyes. Despite our similar heights I felt loomed over. I arranged my throat for the feminine voice I had been practicing all day. “It’s intense and disturbing,” I agreed.

He began to explicate, pointing out features. His voice was deep, and he spoke loudly. His comments were insightful, knowledgeable, and stated as fact. I felt invited to admire.

As he spoke he contrived to step back and give me the full-body once over. I was rocking the femme: sandals to show off my lavender toenails, a swirly above-the-knee black skirt, a skin-tight curve-enhancing spangly purple top, big twirly silver earrings, and my new ultra-femme designer glasses. I had my hair clipped back for a soft over-the-shoulder fall, and had made up my eyes.

I listened with my arms fenced across my front and felt acutely my lack of experience responding to a man on the prowl. I wondered if I thought he was attractive, but I was too discombobulated to tell. All I knew was that I didn’t have a clue what to do, and that I wanted to get away.

This proved hard to do. He controlled the conversational rhythm. He would pause for an affirmation, but then cut in again, leaving me no chance to disconnect.

I saw another woman approaching, attractive, physically confident, stylishly dressed. She tapped him on the shoulder. He made an impatient “wait a minute” gesture and turned to her. Clearly at least friends, they greeted each other, hugged, bantered. I gathered from their conversation that he was an artist, and retired. I could have walked away, but I didn’t.

Then he was focused on me again. The other woman hovered. Scraps of coherent thought flitted through my brain: should I drop a hint that I’m trans? He certainly seems practiced at this. Hm, I don’t feel required to have any ideas of my own. What’s with the frown line - doesn’t this man ever smile?

The other woman somehow snagged him back again, and I saw my opening. I touched his shoulder. “Sorry, I have to go,” I said. “Nice chatting with you.”

“Nice chatting with *you*,” he said, like a last reaching out of a hand, and then I was away, feeling giddy, relieved, gratified, womanly.

Whadayathink: should I go back next month?

Reporting from the Orinda, CA public library

Halfway through a week’s vacation in San Fran, and travelling trans has turned out to be utterly routine. Either I’m passing, or not noticing when people read me, or both. I do still want to be seen as female...but all I can muster when I’m not is a slight mental shrug, and on we go.

What’s turning out to matter on this trip is mostly family. I’m staying in the guest cottage of an aunt and uncle I’ve only known slightly until now, and I am very much enjoying becoming better acquainted with them, their daughter, and a couple of their grandchildren...preteen cousins whom I met for the first time yesterday. I’m enjoying talking family history with my aunt, my father’s sister. Last night I leafed through her baby book. I find myself fascinated by the women of my family, and I stared hard at pictures of my grandmother as a young woman. She had a hard life and was in some ways a hard woman, but she also had a strong smile and a twinkle and was frankly sexy in a couple of shots...in one picture showing off long muscular legs as she poses in shorts, straddling a bicycle. And my father’s two sisters were both gorgeous young women, and all girl...very feminine.

I have yet to connect with SF’s LGBT culture, but I will tonight; my friend Jamie put me onto an event (and is now insanely jealous that I’m going...sorry girl, I promise to tell you *all* about it) at an LGBT community center in the city, a panel discussion featuring both trans women and cisgendered women talking about femininity and feminism, and featuring a couple of bona fide stars...particularly Julia Serano, trans activist and author, and one of Jamie’s idols. Also, I’ll be taking my cousin out tomorrow for a well-deserved night out (she’s a single mom) to see the play M. Butterfly, the main character of whom is a trans woman. I’m looking forward to dressing for the occasion...I brought my kick-ass pumps, tights, red skirt, and other finery, and I am determined to wear them at least once. Even if it is pouring.

And, I have one other activity planned for this afternoon which may include an interesting gender-facet: I’ve found a chess club in the city where, apparently, you can stop by, pay a fee, and play some pickup games. I have not played face-to-face chess since before I started to transition - only on the internet - and I’ve wondered for a while now how my current gender expression will play in that world. Chess is still a heavily male-dominated sport, and there are still plenty of guys who hate to lose to a woman. How will they feel about playing me? Will they become flustered? Will I win games I would otherwise not have won, as a result? Am I in fact taking unfair advantage of their poor sensitive male egos? Do I care? ;-)

Butching up no more

Tomorrow I have an appointment to have four new tires put on my car. It’s past time: yesterday I had a flat and wouldn’t be surprised if it was because I just wore completely through the rubber somewhere. I’m on the donut for the drive to the tire store.

It has taken me so long to do this partly because I can’t afford it; I’ll be further burdening an already overburdened credit card. But it also has to do with my gender work.

The last time I had to venture with money in hand into the ultra-masculine world of auto-repair (not counting oil changes at Chip’s...he’s an old friend) was a year ago, at inspection time. Since I was still living as male, I butched up for the occasion. [Post here.] But butching up is not an option this time. I’m buying tires as a woman named Elizabeth now, no matter what.

Thank goodness for friends and the Internet! First I sought a recommendation from my friend Dal, who is not only a transwoman but has worked as a mechanic; and then I discovered to my joy that her favorite tire store has a fully-featured website where I could pick my tires, decide what extra services I wanted, select which store I wanted to go to, make my appointment, and get a subtotal on my purchase, all without any human interaction at all.

I did have to make it through the company rep's call to confirm details. Despite prolonged struggles with voice I still sound somewhat male, and I could hear the man’s confusion as he asked for Elizabeth; but then his good sense of customer service engaged and the conversation became less awkward.

Still, the whole business has me feeling uptight and suspicious...and I hate feeling this way. That’s actually the worst part of this: the yucky sensation of helplessly demonizing the probably decent guys who are going to put my tires on for me. I do still have to be careful, just as a consumer; and my shields will be up, in case I stumble across an unfiltered bigot. My biggest challenge, though, is going to be giving these guys the benefit of the doubt they deserve.

Deciding what to wear would also be a challenge, except wind chills are going to be down to 13 below tomorrow morning. I only have one ensemble for temps that cold. Just as well; I have enough to worry about already.

Locker room denoument

So today was my first day in the women's locker room.

I gave some thought to The Moment this morning as I was dressing and selected both my over-the-jeans knee-high boots and big flashy earrings; for additional femme triggering/moral support I also wore the flamboyant black-and-white striped plush bucket-hat I picked up on sale at Target the other day...it makes me look like a slightly batty society matron out shopping on the avenue.

At the gym I stopped in at the office first to write a check for my yoga class, and expressed again my trepidation (see previous post) to Wendy, the nice woman who works there. I asked which door I should go in to have the shortest shot at a private changing stall, and she offered to walk me down. I accepted gratefully.

On the way down the stairs she mentioned that just inside the door she was taking me to there was a handicapped bathroom stall, and suggested I might be more comfortable changing there.  I felt a twinge. I was braced for the full experience, all ready to elbow my way through the teeming crowds of naked women without batting an eye...and also I wondered just for a moment whether I was being gently shunted to a side-path (equal but different)...but I let both thoughts go and decided just to see how it was and figure out what do to in the moment.

We entered the door. Short hall, turn right. No one in sight. Big fans humming loudly. A glimpse of two young women in racquet-ball outfits chatting way down at the other end of the room. A ten-second tour from Wendy of the shower area, where the other changing stalls were...the sound of someone showering around a corner, otherwise deserted. I opted for the handicap stall, changed into my yoga clothes, and left the locker room without meeting another soul.

Yoga was more that fun...it felt like finding something I’ve been looking for for a long time. I am stiff and weak and couldn’t do some of the poses at all, and I’ll be sore tomorrow.  I am definitely going back next week.

When I went back to the locker room after class the handicapped stall was taken, so I ended up in one of the private stalls in the shower area after all. Wet floor...had to carry my socks and boots out into the hall after to put them on. Didn’t meet or even see anyone this time either.

To summarize, no big deal. Anticlimax. The outcome I was hoping for. Yay! There still may be uncomfortable moments in the future, but I know my way around now. I’m good to go.

The most obvious differences between the men’s and women’s locker rooms at this particular gym: The tiles, lockers, walls and floor in women’s are prettier colors than in the men’s; every shower stall in the women’s has a curtain, while  men get the “gang shower”; both facilities are clean, and the men’s doesn’t smell bad, but the women’s smells nicer; and, the voices murmuring far away had a higher softer timbre, gentle and unaggressive. I liked it. I felt I belonged there.

From ecstatic to blasé in two years - First Event 2011

On Saturday I dropped in for the day at First Event, one of the major trans-gatherings that happens each year in the U.S.; it takes place each January at a Marriott in Peabody, MA, an hour’s drive south of my house. 

The First Event two years ago was the first time I ever wore women’s clothes in public, just a few months post-revelation, and it was an epiphany - one of the most intense experiences of my life. The second one, last year, was not quite as big a deal, but still, in those undercover days, a rare and exciting chance to go deep femme for *two whole days*. [Posts from last year here: getting ready (including a descrip of the first year), first day report, second day report]. This year I wasn’t even going to go until I mentioned it to my friend Jamie-Lynn and she agreed to come.

The day did yield a number of interesting moments:

Shopping for earrings in the marketplace, which was mostly focused on the needs of M to F crossdressers, I found myself passing by rack after rack because everything was just too over-the-top glam. I finally found a pair I liked at a little consignment table...quirky silver danglies featuring a variegated blue-and-grey stone bead. It was only when I got home that I realized they were clip-ons. (I still like them.)

In a panel of facial feminization surgeons, the frighteningly egotistical Dr. Z bustled in late and then hijacked the session to attack the work of Dr. O, considered by many to be the preeminent FFS surgeon in the world. He had slides of what he said were some of Dr. O’s patients (closeups of naked skull, the forehead skin clamped back), and was explaining how the work was fundamentally flawed. Dr. O was not there, but his devoted assistant Mira was...Mira who, in a session last year, told us reverentially that Dr. O is a Michelangelo. She stood up and interrupted Dr. Z’s tirade. He overrode her. She muscled in again. I left at that point - I hate that sort of conflict - but Jamie stayed, and told me after she interrupted to ask a question, which apparently derailed the battle...good for her!

I also had an interesting encounter with Jennifer, who was in the audience with me in a session. She asked a question, and her voice work was superb...a gentle, natural-sounding, and attractive womanly tone...so I began to observe her. She was about my age, height, and build, and had not, so far as I could tell, had facial surgery, but she snapped strongly femme. Her hair was soft and full and attractively styled; if it was a wig, it was a more natural-looking one than most around us. Her clothes were elegant and understated. She had a woman’s mobile face and quick soft smile, and she held her body folded softly in on itself, arms and legs crossed, spine pliable, head lowered diffidently. Her eyes also had a tendency to flit down.

I approached her after the session and introduced myself. The first thing she said was “I’m sorry.” I was impressed by how feminine that was, and at the same time my inner feminist wanted to lecture her: “Honey, don’t apologize for yourself!” She shared voicework hints with me with which I am experimenting today: put your hand on your chest as you speak and make sure there is no buzz in the chest-cavity at all; visualize your voice as floating in the air out in front of your nose; and record and listen to yourself (yeah, yeah...I know that’s key, but I hate doing it.) My overall impression was of a person whose femininity is just shining out of her, completely unmannered and unselfconscious. She was inspiring.

And, there was the panel of trans youth with their parents. There were two trans girls and three trans boys there, ranging in age from 12 to 22 or so. It was the little 12-year-old trans girl who captured my attention. She had a child’s version of Jennifer’s natural femininity...to all appearances a pretty young girl in a baby-blue girl’s top, her long brown hair held back with hairpins just behind her ears. She was sitting next to her mom and paying close attention to all that was said, completely at ease, smiling often.

As we heard each family’s story in turn, I felt tears start to come. I had to leave for a while. It was the love and support of the parents on the panel which reached me the most. I so ache sometimes for my mother’s love...for her to know me and love me as a girl...and I can never have that. I could have been like that little girl, supported by her parents, planning an early and complete transition. I could have had forty more years of life as a girl and woman. It’s not the first time I’ve mourned these losses, and I don’t suppose it will be the last.

Jamie sat with me and gave me hugs...she was great. And it was fun sharing the conference with her...telling her backstories, pointing out VIP’s, listening to her network with the activists at tables in the marketplace, and just gabbing in the car on the way down and back. In the short time I’ve know her, she has become a dear friend.

So that was First Event 2011. The main insight from the day: I have come a loooooong way in a fairly short time. From ecstatic to blasé in two years...how ‘bout that.

A new normal

I put on a man shirt today. That’s unusual...I’ve been going through a long phase where I’ve wanted all my clothes to be feminine all the time, even the ones (underwear, socks) which people can’t see. But I was going out to shovel snow, and I wanted something warm which actually fitted, so I pulled out the soft heavy dark-blue cotton pullover with the zipper V-neck which I used to think looked somewhat feminine on me. It was so nice to have the shoulder-seams sit right, and the sleeves come all the way down to the bumps at the base of my palms with no tugging. Then I looked in the mirror and saw a female person wearing a man’s shirt.

What a sweet moment: my face, my hair, my body, and more importantly, how I was holding myself and the look in my eyes, all struck me as markedly more womanly than the last time I was able to objectively see such things. I work hard every day on femininity, trying new ideas, reinforcing old ones, laboring to internalize new habits in dress, movement, gesture, expression, speech, and affect...but for long stretches I can’t feel any change. Underneath, though, slowly and inexorably, I am changing, and today I got to perceive it. Yes.

I have felt intensely different for a couple of years now; different both from the man I used to be, and from the great majority of all you conventionally-gendered people in the world. The emotional upheaval of the name-change and going full-time recede into history, and now, all of a sudden, I feel a new kind of normal. It’s the normal of a person changing from a man to a woman who has gotten over all the gee-whiz, and who, while metamorphosis continues, just wants to create and work and nurture her kids and enjoy her friends and plan for the future and open more to the possibility of finding love...in short, to live her life. This is me now: an ordinary woman becoming.

Doesn’t matter that people are still unthinkingly reverting to “he”. Doesn’t matter that so many things about me are still so masculine...my face, my build, my voice...my glasses, for crying out loud. The world’s slowest magic trick is working. Behold, I will wave my magic wand and change from a man into a woman! Heeeeeeeh....[five years go by]....eeeeeey presto! Tada! :-)

Pretty much done with man-clothes

One morning a few weeks back, getting dressed, I looked at the thick waistband of my jockey shorts and thought, I don't wear these any more.  So I put on one of the few pairs of cotton panties I had acquired up to that point, then stopped on the way to work and bought a couple six-packs more of basic knickers, and it's been girl-underwear ever since.

A few days later, I more or less retired most of the rest of my male wardrobe.  I haven't taken big bags to Goodwill yet, but I have been dressed as a woman for the last couple of weeks, and it is my plan to go on dressing as a woman for the rest of my life, from here on out.  The only time I am still wearing man-clothes is when I go running...and I'll fix that too at some point.

The thing I didn't figure out looking forward to this moment was that I could wear shorts and tops and shoes which, while definitely from the women's clothing half of the store, would appear as basically gender-neutral out in the world.  I thought it was going to be man-jeans and man-shirts until one day it was skirts and blouses.  Androgyny-play, yay!  :-)

Turns out many of my women friends shop routinely on the man-side of the store, and hardly any of my acquaintance of either gender dress very femme at all.  A few weeks ago I went to a play in a dress and heels and was the only woman in the audience wearing a dress or heels.  Getting into dressing femme begins to feel like rediscovering some arcane lost art...Japanese Tea Ceremony...

An advantage emerges of having come out as trans early in the process.  Now everyone around me knows about my gender work, and basically gets along fine with however I am presenting.  On Friday I did push over the line, with the frankly femme white top, big earrings, and hair soft and full with an elastic headband, and saw my friends and coworkers' eyes flicker as they figured out how to deal...but it was OK.   I was still wearing it all when I got home, and waved at a couple of neighbors who stared back, so I'm coming out now in my neighborhood...I used to fear, now I just don't care...people deal.

That's the most important thing I'm learning.  People deal.  Meaning, they just don't care that much.  I mean, think about the big things I've learned about some of my friends lately:  life-threatening disease, sexual orientation, matrimony...and none of these pieces of news has moved me to more than easy condolence or congratulation...I'm as self-centered as the next person...and I take comfort in knowing that you're the same.  So thanks for bothering to read all the way to the end.... :-)

Yay, Pride!

In a few hours I will joyously march with my dear friends behind the MaineTransNet banner in the Portland Pride Parade.  We've gotten a lovely day for it.  My darling Deb is going to march with us, which makes me happy... :-)  I'll be wearing a gorgeous red yellow green wrap-around skirt which she gave me which was at Woodstock, my elegant white top with the silver bead-work at the collar, the red flip-flops with the sparkles in the cork, and of course dangly earrings...  I hope I'll see you there...  :-)

helpful link 

Happy Pride!  :-)

One top over the line

Today at work I am wearing the exact same outfit as listed in my last post except for more overt dangly earrings and a different top (white simply-tailored cotton with a demurely scooped neck and silver bead applique around the collar), but those two changes seem to have bumped me over the line...I'm popping femme.  One of our volunteer hosts had occasion to give me a pronoun on air and picked "she."  A fellow employee just greeted me and one other male person as "ladies and gentlemen."

I'm being a woman in the world.  Turns out to be not such a big deal...and huge.  I'll see if I can get someone to take a pic and post it later.

OK, back to work...