This week I made a happy discovery - it's so much easier to take down Christmas decorations in high heels, especially the tree ornaments! Which leaves me wondering whether there was more to doing the shopping and housework in all-day heels than American Moms in the 40s and 50s originally let on. Was it just to keep up appearances, or did they find it so much easier to reach items on high shelves with an extra 3-inch boost? Not that I ever needed an excuse to wear them, myself, but there are perks.
Tuesday was my first opportunity of the new year to score some badly needed girl time, and I grabbed it with both hands. I love Christmas, but...wow, what a terrible holiday this year. I don't mean it wasn't fun (because it was... well, most of it) but December came on a little strong, like a red-faced uncle who finishes off the spiced punch before the rest of us have a second cup, and then he decides to make you open his presents before you've even sat down to dinner so he can bring up how much money he spent. wOoG!...I apologize for dumping that ugly metaphor on you, but here's a short summary of our holiday woes:
- Fruitless last-minute shopping
- A small, precious window of time that did not include every family member in a hundred mile radius
- Death
Not necessarily in that order. So when I say I really needed to kick it en femme, you have some idea. At work, where the majority of my co-staff are female, the Nudge was pretty persistent. All day long I kept inadvertently stumbling into a little pocket of imagination where my feminine intimations like to abide. I surrendered when I got home, on condition that I'd have an adequate slice of time to myself. That's something I promised myself last year, after struggling with obsession...No getting dressed up unless you get to enjoy it. An hour isn't worth it; two is good for when I'm desperate; three to four will tide me over 'til the next full moon, if it's done right.
"So," I hear you ask, "what's the point? What do you get out of it?" That's one hell of an excellent question. But let's start with...
The Basics of Closet Cross-Dressing
When you have a secret desire and only have the rarest of moments to indulge your fancies without being discovered, you begin to treat those moments with a strange respect, an idyllic privilege. This is where rituals are born, and in the case of the closeted CD (cross-dresser, to abbreviate) each one is different (so far that I've learned, comparing various online testimonials).
There are several constant variables in the stay-at-home CD's ritual:
- Premeditated decision to set aside time for "temporary role transition" - This is simply the inner girl getting stiff and antsy and trying to claw her way out of the public persona she's been cooped up in for so long. Like many genuine females, her moods are unpredictable and her demands are high.
- Scheduling to ensure privacy, maintain secrecy, and fortify security - Most of us give reign to our alternate gender personas in solitude, due to obvious reasons. Some of us are very good at it. Some of us also have horror stories to tell, like when our bedroom locks suddenly don't work, or getting trapped in the bathroom when our parents drive up to the house an hour before schedule.
- Attentive, meaningful selection of wardrobe - We only get to "go girl" every blue moon, never as often as we like, so what we get to wear for the few hours of freedom we scrounge truly matters. Some, for example, are wild about heels, so the outfits they choose will focus on the shoes. Some would rather wrap themselves in an intimate ensemble, replete with teddy, garters and silken robes. It totally depends on the mood. "What kind of woman am I today?" Close friends and family of CDs may surely notice a trend in the style of clothes they prefer, notably the kind most women would only wear out on hot dates. ~~ NOTE: Many of us own alternate wardrobes filled with elaborate, extra feminine apparel. Truly, women don't usually slink about the home in corsets, spike heels and LBDs (unless they're characters on "Desperate Housewives") but the CD isn't trying to establishing a fundamental lifestyle. She's cramming a ton of carpe diem into a fraction of the time she actually wishes she had to live like a woman. We might spend more time in flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks if there wasn't so little time to wear the sexy stuff too.
- Adornment - It goes without saying that if we go to the trouble of laying out clothes then we'll probably put them on...if for nothing else than it'd otherwise be a pointless waste of time. But, to me at least, there's something gratifying about the time it takes to don my female raiment. I enjoy satisfaction at competently snapping garters over nylons, pulling hose up my leg without shredding them with my toenails, or actually doing my hair in a way that looks pretty, and like I meant to.
What comes next for the poor, lonely closet CD, all dressed up and no place to go? I mean, what do you do with yourself? That's entirely unique for each of us. Some like to interact with their peers on the internet. Other like to engage in typically feminine activities, i.e. curling up with a romantic comedy, creative craft-making, cooking. It doesn't meet particular standards to watch a baseball game while dressed like one of the player's wives who sit in the stands (though, ironically, it's easy to forget how much more in common we have with today's Genetic Girls (GGs), hundreds of thousands of whom are becoming big time sports fans converts).
Quite frankly, as far as I'm concerned, it's being able to live the same way I do every day, only with a different mindset. Which is why last Tuesday I wore a form-fitting body suit and tights, had a half hour workout on the Wii, slipped on a pair of slingback heels and swishy skirt, my hair pinned back in double pony-tails, and did my chores. I chose to stop treating my life as though there were two worlds vying for control. Though I'm still closeted, and although I still can't entice my wife to get to know the other me any better than she does now, from now on I'm not two minds, but one. Even if I'm the only one who notices.
~HCP
