Clothing Optional

There are several things I love/hate about Pinterest - that is to say, which vex me but I can't really complain about.  For instance, Pinterest knows what I'm looking at and enjoys herding me down channels of mini-obsession.  It knows I like shoes and outfits, but it likes to suggest exotic lingerie, short tight skirts and (!!?) light bondage wear.  Pinterest is trying to turn me into a little slut.

Also, when it comes to pinning I'm just a cheerful ball of compliance, enjoying everything I see so much I don't even know if I've already saved it two or three times.  The more time I spend ogling girly things, the happier Pinterest is.

It's ultimate goal: replicating my brain with pixels and creating a digital
copy of myself, who will finally appreciate all the effort its making.

What plagues me most of all isn't really down to Pinterest itself, but the lack of harmony between my virtual closet and my personal set of existential desires, which my Pinterest boards represent.  The bane of my transgender used to be department stores, where I still conceal my jealousy and yearning as I pass by shop windows full of feminine wonder; now I don't even have to leave home to experience this dysphoria!

I stepped through the barrier of female-exclusive consumerism in college, when (with the emotional support of my bestie, Angel) I bought my first outfit: a short sleeve purplish lavender body suit & button-up denim mini from thrift, and my first ever pair of black high heels (MY heels, all mine!) from Payless.  It's funny now, how I think back on those choices and roll my eyes at how cheap, how tawdry these particular clothes were... I mean, today I do own a denim mini, several body suits and black heels, only they're much more tasteful.  But those were first steps, the first time I'd ever worn clothes that were based on my tastes, my choices, my identity, not just borrowing from someone else's, so I value that turning point.

Currently, my wardrobe consists of a decent variety of styles for nearly every occasion, from casual to dressy.  I've previously mentioned how I could last a few weeks using this set of clothes without needing a wash day.  For someone who doesn't leave the house, it's practical, pleasing, and reflective of my personal feminine image.  I have nothing to complain about.

Except...

I reeeeaaaaallly want more clothes!  I can't help it, and I probably wouldn't help it if I had the choice.  I love to dress up.  When I'm Kris, I don't give much thought to what I wear or what people think of me - jeans and t-shirts, that's the life for me.  (And don't get me started on the masochistic lunacy of NECK TIES as a masculine fashion tradition!)  Guys have a simpler fashion palette, and that's just fine.  As a woman, however, I require special considerations in the clothes I wear, such as intricacy, appeal, variation, and distinct muliebrity.

I bet they didn't put THIS word in your SATs!

Therefore, If I ever find myself a sugar momma willing to bankroll my softer side, I have a list of wardrobe improvements* I'd like to make:

1) Breasts

Let's start with a very basic need which supersedes attire.  I'm absolutely weary of not having breasts to fill out my bra. I hate going about my business and having to push my chest back down every ten minutes or so, due to lack of fundamental weight that defines the point of even wearing a bra.  Do any women have Floating Bosom Syndrome?  Not according to Google, they don't.  Ridiculous!

In short: I want to wear bras, so give me the means to justify them.  (Synthetic, please.  I'm not in the least prepared to explain to the world why I decided to spring for implants.)

2) Lingerie

If a girl's outfit could be compared to a work of architecture, then underwear is the foundation.  Perhaps no one can see it, but it makes a world of difference to what we see on the outside.  The right kind of underwear can inspire confidence, improve one's demeanor, or just be a feel-good part of your day.

I want a drawerful of matching bra & panty sets.  I need a variety of stockings with garter belts, and a selection of patterned tights (and basic colors, too).  Another drawer must be filled with lacy chemises, teddies & silky negligees.  Bustiers would be a lovely addition, and (since we're talking) I've always wanted to try corsets.  (And if we're venturing into dedicated preferences, I'll confess that I won't say no to the odd bit of intimate leather and metal, if such apparel does indeed exist.  I'm sure I wouldn't know...)

I'm not sure how to classify body suits, but they turn up in every search for "lingerie," even though you can wear them visibly as part of an ensemble.  They're tight little shapers that help keep nether bits snug, support the chest, and slim contours. I have four pair myself, two solid and two striped, and they are unparalleled for bringing my femme to the fore.  Simply magnificent. So I'm just going to leave this here...

3) Dresses

Say what you want about the liberties women enjoy to wear whatever they want, but I'll insist there is no happier expression of feminine spirit than the essential dress.  It's a do-it-all kind of piece, decorating the shoulders, neck, bosom, back and waist, then cascading from the hips down with a gender-exclusive signature look that cannot be replicated.  Examining the last century, decade by decade, makes me fall in love with dresses and how they've evolved, convincing me they're never going away, and thank God for that.  I would wear a different dress every single day.

4) Skirts, Pants & Tops

I feel like I have to put these together, because even though tops may be worn with pants, you can't have a skirt without tops.  (The censors just won't have it, I'm sorry.)  Also, the combinations are infinite.  Also also, you MUST coordinate - this skirt with that camisole, those slacks with that shirt, these jeans with a peasant blouse, etc. etc.  That said, I love options.  Female clothing offers a myriad ways to communicate mood, style and personality for every occasion.  Fill my closet with such options, and I'll be downright giddy.

5) Shoes

I've already been over shoes, but it bears repeating in such a list as mine.  I will most certainly wear: High heels, sandals, flats, Mary Janes, wedges, ankle boots, knee high boots (not cowboy, thanks).  I love bows, buckles, ankle straps, peep toes, platforms, sneakers, lace-ups and tie-ons.  Basically, just look up my Pinterest board "Well Heeled" and make that list a reality.

6) Jewelry

There's a fashion rule, that before a lady leaves the house, she should remove one piece of jewelry.  This leads me to believe that women have a tendency to over-accesorize, which may not be a problem for me.  I'm seriously not sure how much of a jewelry girl I really am.  I suspect having bits and bobs dangling all over my person might drive me nuts after a while, especially since I work with my hands so much that rings and bracelets might become a nuisance, even an impediment.  That said, I wouldn't turn away a generous sampling of bling.  Necklaces and bangles are nice, and anklets, and armlets.  Maybe chokers.  What I'm absolutely in love with is the earrings (which is saying a lot, for somebody with no pierced ears).  Danglies, hoops, studs... I'm just saying, if you sat me down in a chair and popped two holes in the lobe & one on the outside (left & right) then I wouldn't likely complain much.**

 ~            *           ~            *             ~          *            ~           *            ~

They say clothes make the person, which is just a cryptic way of saying "You are what you wear."  Maybe that's so, but even if you don't actually wear the clothes I believe preferences count as intentions.  Despite the clothes, of course, I must still use a bit of imagination and ingenuity to make the look work for me.  Just as well, since I'm not generally trying to impress anybody but myself.

Also, a girl can always dream.
And she does, mon cher... she does!

-- HCP

*setting aside, for the moment, the basic need for extra space, time and interpersonal attention that having an expansive wardrobe demands.  They say you can't have it all. Well... who the hell asked "them," anyway?

**I bet piercing stings, at least a little, so I probably WOULD complain.

Tingling Teeth

I used to hate the term “coming out.”  The meaning of this phrase, of course, is derived from “coming out of the closet” which was almost exclusively a gay metaphor which basically everyone else appropriated.  Even straight people can “come out” about their guilty pleasures.  (i.e. “I’m a closet wrestling fan” or “I don’t tell many people this, but I have sexual fantasies about Daisy Duck.”)

"It gets really in-depth after the third
volume of my unauthorized fanfic."

Call it “confession” or “disclosure” …I don’t care anymore.  These days, letting people in on my closet-sized secret is all I want to do. I’d go so far as to say it’s a bit of a discreet mania.

I haven’t shared my gender identity situation with anyone in years, which is down to basic consideration for my wife, who would prefer to never know what it feels like for our friends & family to learn that she married a bi-gendered person.  I get that, I really do… but from the perspective of a trans-person trying to get some basic identity acquiescence, it’s a frustrating arrangement.

I’ve shared my female identity with seven people in my life (not counting the pre-marriage counsellor, who was, in retrospect, wholly unprepared to deal with that specific sort of speedbump in a burgeoning matrimonial relationship; but she did try, bless her heart, even though “wrapping myself up tightly in a sheet from the arms down” is not valid replacement therapy for actually wearing a dress… but I digress).  The hope was always to have people I trust and care about, and who cared about me, be comfortable at any given time to freely address my transgenderism, so that I didn’t feel so alone and helpless in my distress.  I assumed part of the process would involve some acceptance that I, on occasion, would dress the part (in their absence, of course… unless otherwise indicated… in which case I would just be thrilled).

Instead, what happened was the establishment of two camps of interaction:

Camp Don’t Ask/Don’t Tell - this is inhabited by friends who don’t know how to integrate transgender topics into natural conversation.  Their inhibitions seem derived from a fear of saying the wrong thing and offending me, or - in the case of those opposed to my practical application of a wardrobe - unintentionally implying that they approve of my preferred modes of expression.  Broaching the subject in this camp is generally a complete waste of time.

"Could one of you at least give me a push?"

(To be fair, I’m the only one of my kind whom these good people have ever met. Everything about addressing transgenderism has been new territory for them since the 1990s, thanks to me, exclusively.)

Camp Practical Listening & Shared Wisdom - this camp has an enrollment of one.  Even when she admits she might have no idea what she’s talking about, she still has something to say.  It helps that we’re both wired with the same belief, in that there’s no such thing as analyzing something too much. Unfortunately, this angel belongs to a popular club - “Life Obligations” - that prevents her (and potentially everyone else in the world) from getting too involved in my problems.  (Currently, we are on friend hiatus while she strengthens bonds with her husband, cares for her children with special needs, and celebrates an endless parade of birthdays in her ever-expanding family, all while enduring a weight loss battle.  I have no grounds for protest.)

In the absence of old confidantes, my natural tendency is to seek out new ones.  The obstacles here are multifold.

• The older my peers get, the more set in their ways they become.  They become more guarded of the stability of their own lifestyles, and thus fear any changes that threaten the idyllic worlds their lives have become.  (This point is valid on the condition that everyone has a personal definition of “normal” that my revelation would endanger, which I believe most people do, on the whole.)  This makes me hesitate to bring newer friends closer.

• Telling more people makes the circle wider.  The bigger the circle, the harder it becomes to keep a secret.

• My spouse just loves keeping this secret.  She can live with it, but knowing that other people know is a wound - one which my convictions prevent me from exacerbating any more than I have.

Therefore, being able to out myself to certain people whom I believe could be intellectual and/or spiritual allies in my crusade for trans-recognition has become a crossdream fantasy in and of itself.

As I write this, I’m compelled to add an important fourth drawback, which suddenly seems very crucial to the matter:

• The point of telling someone a secret is to violate its status as a “secret.”  The point of letting someone know that you’re suffering from quiet desperation is with the hope that you might find an escape from it.  Sure, at least you’re not being quiet any more, but if you want things to change, shouldn’t you expect them to change?  Why, then, would I tell someone if I didn’t?

In that regard, my friend Angel once asked me point blank, “What are you prepared to do?”

Lorelai's been there.

It’s a wake-up slap, that question.  It basically means, “Make a decision right now, and see if you can live with it.”  Well… the hard truth is that I’m not about to make any decisions that benefit myself at the expense of my other.  I can’t be Holli and keep Erica.

Nor can I cease to be Holli.  That’s not even a decision I get to make.

Given any kind of chance to live the rest of my life as Holli without consequence of those I love suffering, I know I’d take it.  I don’t even know if that life is better than this one.  I would push that button, because I need to know.

Therefore, me not finding someone else to trust and telling them who I am is like refusing to walk in the room containing the button.  This is basically me admitting that I fear someone supporting me and telling me to go for it.  I fear someone telling me it’s okay to get what I want though it destroys someone else.  I fear that I could be convinced to be that person.

And I don’t think I’m that person.

At least it’s still my decision, even if making the right one isn’t as satisfying as making the one that feels good.

c. Charles Schulz

-- HCP

Say Nothing, Act Casual ... pt. 2

(In which Holli brings "desperate" to a whole new level...)

With the decisive neutrality of my two closest girl friends - Erica, my actual girlfriend, and Penny - and their reluctance to entertain the slightest positive thought regarding my cross-dressing, I seemingly at random picked a girl I knew to be my new confidant - name immaterial, for she was brilliant at listening, but contributed absolutely no thoughts to the process (thus having no extensive effect on my trans life).  I began to lean on her for support, as it were, but she expressed no interest in being my enabler.  After almost an entire summer of being sidestepped, I went to her home and tried on some of her outfits without permission, out of some paltry form of revenge.  Her nigh-indifferent reaction to this made me realize I'd placed too much expectation on her shoulders.  We remained friends, but never conversed so much as before.

I find it funny that at college I'd gone from total closet-case to practically unloading my needs on other people and expecting results.  Either my naivete was on a crash course with reality, or I believed altruistically in the dependability of more capable, confident people than myself.  Maybe both.  Poor girl.  Poor me.

And then I met Angel.  Wise, warm, funny, and such a kindred soul I couldn't even know.  I confided in her.  Then... she gave back.  A little too much, perhaps... rather, I didn't have the decency to stop asking. She shopped with me, helped me dress, did my nails (and I did hers), and every now and then my makeup.  She covered for me when I couldn't account for myself to others.  Angel even confided some of the bitter truths peering out from her own closet, feeling it was good for our bond if she added a little of herself to it too.  She devoted herself to understanding me and getting to know me better, unfortunately to the point where she developed a moderate crush on me.  This nonreciprocal love drove us apart for a short while.  Eventually she forgave me for being myopic and advantageous, and I toned down my desperation when we got together.

As it happens, eventually we both found ourselves married.  While I was willing to make time for our relationship as girlfriends, Angel knew that it would never work.  (Ever try explaining to one's newlywed husband about spending time with someone else's husband without tipping him off that the other husband is a cross-dresser?  Me neither, but I bet it's hard.)  We agreed that ours would have to remain a correspondent relationship. It's still difficult to maintain, now a multitude of children have come into her life (she and her husband foster).

Which brings us to NOW.

Despite that Erica knows what kind of a person I am and what I'm inclined to do when the girlie itch needs scratching, we have more secrets between us now than ever.  I accept half the blame for this.  I simply do not tell her things I don't think she enjoys hearing.  This blog, for instance.  My chat room activities.  My board posts.  Purchases.  Private wardrobe indulgences.  In fact, as far as far as she knows I'm just sitting on a great big mountain of repression and doing just fine.  So in reality I'm exacerbating the problem, based on my worried reluctance to set the hurtful truth free.  There have been so many unexpected "walk-ins" in our relationship, I sense how tired she is of them.  I just feel like I'm granting her fondest wish.  Some people do prefer unfamiliarity.

Erica values secrecy.  She isn't just interested in keeping my closet door closed and barred, but she'd just as well forget her own alleged shortcomings.  Unfortunately, she married a person who's totally into disclosure.  If I had a complaint (haha... "if"... ) it would be that she doesn't know how to open up and explore, discuss, analyze, understand the things either of us say and do.  Of anybody I know - and tell me if I'm wrong, please - she ought to be the most interested in knowing everything she can about this irrepressible facet of my being.  Ought to be.  But isn't.  Much like I have to put up with her temper, but at least take time to understand why she's so angry and say how I feel about it.

Does anyone else get the impression that I'm the woman in this relationship?

I can tell the world my secrets.  Sure.  But the list of who I really give a damn about them knowing is pretty short, with her at the top.

That's all for now.  Erica's out and about for another half hour, and I've been girling it up all by my lonesome, spilling the beans to anyone who'll listen.  I think I'll go do the dishes.  And I don't care who knows it.  =P

~HCP