Tag Archive | Appearance

Still about my hair.

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Sans wig. Looking rather blah.

I bought a new wig. Two of them, as a matter of fact. Should come in on Wednesday. I can’t wait! I want to wear them now! Chop chop!

My current wig has had it. It looks great in photos, but up close, it’s pretty ratty looking, especially in the back. No amount of conditioner or brushing is fixing the issue. I’m growing my hair out, but it’s not where I want it, yet. It’s getting there, but not yet. It’s so effing frustrating.

Gyahhh!

So for the time being, I bought a couple of wigs that should last me until my hair grows in. I’ve considering it for a few weeks now, but I had been hoping to last, but my last excursion into the world without made me change my mind.

As I’ve stated a few times before, I’m considering extensions as well, but I’m not there yet, either. Maybe I’m not ready to venture there quite yet. I don’t know, really. I should probably start to at least go looking at them, see how much they’re selling for, see if I want to pay that amount.

Thus far, I haven’t paid all that much for my wigs, which I’m sure has been part of my problem. If you go cheap, you’ll regret it, and I have. I’m going cheap once more, but I’m hoping for the last time. I’ll pony up a little more for extensions. Maybe. I’m such a tightwad when it comes to stuff. Then I’ll spend an ungodly amount buying something here and there, and end up spending more money that I had intended. Silly me.

So what advice do you have for me? Are extensions the way to go? Does anyone have any experience with them? My hair is getting pretty long, so maybe it isn’t a stretch to think about it. Let me know what you think!

Also, email me at tgstef@stefanilara.com

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Isn’t this better? ~Stef~

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Wig, wig, wig, hair!

20160522_204647I recently decided to start growing out my hair. I say recently, though the truth is that it’s been growing for a few months now. I hate having the wear a wig. It feels unnatural and I fell that the upkeep is next to impossible. Maybe what I should do is spring for a high-quality, human hair wig, but I don’t have that kind of money.

I grew out my hair in college, back in the mid-nineties. When I say I grew it out, I mean just that. I wore it long, all the way to the middle of my back, for almost ten years. I did chop it off once, around 2000, but I grew it back out. Long hair was just part of who I was. It felt right.

But when I was about 28, I decided to cut it off for good. When I say I cut it, what I mean to say is that I shaved it off. Nothing left. I had been wanting to cut it for a while, but it took several drinks, to the point of being quite inebriated, to give my the courage to make that drastic a change. I kept it like that for several years, until after I got married, then I started wearing it in a spike, which lasted another few years.

Then I grew it out. Not long, like I’m doing now, but decently trimmed, short, but not buzzed. I always missed my long hair, but I was a grown up, trying to make a living, trying to look somewhat professional. Now, I don’t care so much. I want to look professional, sure, but I can do that with my hair long. I’m not planning on becoming a businessperson, working my way into the corporate drudgery.

I’m not sure if growing my hair will work. I’ve hit middle age, and though I have a full set of hair, it is receding. If it gets too bad, wigs will be my only option. We’ll see. I just know that I would prefer my actual hair. There’s a lot I can do with it long, say shoulder-length. I’m limited to the style my wig comes in. I can buy different wigs, but that takes up room. I don’t have any to spare.

It’s getting to to the point where I can start wearing hair extensions, which I better than a full wig. I’m doing some research on it. My cousin was the one who suggested it in the first place. I want to ask her to help me, but that may be a while before that happens. We’ll see.

 

And yet another

20160824_150210It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. I’m still alive, though extremely exhausted. Work has been brutal these past two weeks, and I don’t see it letting up anytime soon. I could use some time off. I should look into scheduling a vacation.

Things on the Stefani front is still about the same. I did bring someone else into the fold, my cousin. It began when she brought up a guy we went to school with, someone I always wondered if he was transgendered. There was something about him that made me suspect that he was.

That conversation led me to disclose my own gender identity, though I was nervous to do so. I opened myself up to her, and we ended up talking until after midnight. She was surprised by supportive. I showed her a picture, and she was amazed that I didn’t come across a some drag queen. I took that as a compliment.

Earlier, I had wondered out loud whether I should grow my hair back out, and she pieced it together, that my desire to grow my hair was an extension of my gender identity, and my loathing for wigs. She then made the suggestion that I should try to use extensions instead.

We talked clothing, makeup, and other girl things, which I found quite strange, but oddly satisfying. I could drop all pretenses and be me. It was great. I felt free, happy that at least I have an ally in the family. She did agree with me that my parents would never accept me, nor would my sister, but that’s a longer conversation.

What I hate is that I don’t have ample time to me Stef, only the occasional stolen moments. A friend asked me if I intended to transition, and all I could say is that I didn’t know. I’ve maintained that I had no intentions to do so, but this pull is getting stronger, and though I’m unwilling at the moment to say that I will do so, I have to concede that it is a possibility.

I don’t have to make up my mind yet. I can still dress when I have the chance. It’s the best I can do, and it’s fine for the time being. I have found some measure of peace whenever I do get to dress. I have found happiness, though only for brief moments of time.

Pictures

2016-07-08I haven’t taken as many pictures of myself as I used to. Isn’t that odd? Maybe it isn’t. My friend thought I was being a little conceited every time I got dressed up, and I would take several pictures of myself, admiring the transformation from drab to glam. It was intoxicating! I wanted to document this change to prove to myself that I really did look that good.

Okay, that’s coming out a little conceited.

I don’t think I’m alone. On all the blogs I follows, forums I visit, social media sites where others like me post, I see countless examples of other crossdressers posting pictures of themselves, seeking validation that maybe they kind of pass. I know I’m guilty of that. I’m also guilty of enjoying the compliments I receive.

Lately, however, I have not taken as many pictures. I click a couple, but I don’t sit and pose, trying to find the best picture. I don’t dress to validate myself. I dress because it feels right. I dress to be me, and that’s enough.

So there aren’t as many pictures of me to post. I don’t feel the need to document every time I put on a dress. I’m able to enjoy my time now, sit back, and glory in my femininity. It’s nice. I still enjoy being complimented, so I suppose I’m not going to stop taking pictures all together. I mean, years from now, I’m going to want to see what I looked like. I owe it to myself, after all. I’m just a little more discerning.

Reintroductions

IMG_20160603_210251I’m about set to take another road trip down to visit a friend of mine next weekend. I can’t wait. I’m working to get my car ready as my air condition decided it no longer needed to work. I think I’ve located the leak, I’ve ordered the part, and I’m hoping it arrives before I leave. The Texas heat has begun to settle in, and I’m not looking forward to making that drive sans air conditioning.

I’m also looking forward to it because I’m planning on making the drive as Stefani. I did it last time, back in March, but I pulled over before I got to her house, changed back into boy mode, so that her husband wouldn’t see me. He doesn’t know, and as macho, right-wing man, anyone that doesn’t subscribe to traditional gender roles is to be ridiculed.

So I’m leaving early Friday morning, around five in the morning, and I asked my friend to be off that day. I want to introduce Stefani to her, even though she already knows. I send the occasional photo, but she hasn’t seen me dressed yet. At least not since 2000. I can’t believe it’ been that long.

She was the first person, back in ’97, that met Stefani. In fact, she’s the one that asked if I had a name. Back then, I dressed in secret, and though I came out to a friend even before then, it was still more of a fetish thing, one that filled me with shame and regret.

I came out to her as a joke. We worked at the same place, a Burger King on campus of the university we were attending. I kind of fell in love with her, which is strange to say now as she is my best friend. Then, I didn’t know her, but I thought she was cute, and we had that awkward banter that two people who are into each other fall into.

I would joke how I probably looked better in a dress than she did, as I recall. She laughed, but then she called my bluff. She told me where she lived and invited me over. To my everlasting surprise, I went over. I’m not sure if I actually put no a dress on that occasion, but I eventually did. I remember her pulling out a short, black dress. That I could have put it on is nothing short of amazing, considering how thin she was back in those days. Come to think of it, I was a lot thinner, too. Ugh, I feel fat!

Back to my story. She’s the one who helped me accept myself for who I was. She exhorted me to stop feeling guilty and to embrace the woman within. She taught me how to dress, showed me who to do make up, and encouraged me to leave the house, which I did. We went our during the day, me in short shorts with hose, and a sleeveless blouse. I totally rocked the look back then. It helped that I actually wore my hair long back then. We even went to Lubbock once and shopped around, if I recall correctly.

A lot can change in over the years. I’m no longer a thin wraith, and I don’t pass as well as I did back then. We dated for a while, broke up, but remained friends. She married, and I did as well, before divorcing five years later. The only constant is our friendship. And though I hid Stefani away for years, she never wavered in her acceptance of a person I tried to deny.

So here I am, ready to reintroduce myself to the woman who helped create my identity all those years ago. I can’t wait to make that drive, to step out of that car, and have her see me again.

What do you guys think?

I told you guys about my new wig in my last post, but I hadn’t had a chance to try it on until late last week. Then it occurred to me that I hadn’t posted any pictures of my new do. What do you guys think?

I know I love it. It feels better and fits better, and I’m no longer getting tangled at the dinner table, lol. I can’t wait to have a chance to go out in public. I’m hoping to get that chance in March. We’ll see what happens.

 

XOXO
~Stefani~

The transformation

stefThe ritual begins with a quick shower. Depending on what I plan to wear, I may shave my legs, or I may decide against it, but I usually do. Even if I’m just wearing jeans, I like the feel of pantyhose on freshly shaven legs. And yes, I usually wear pantyhose, even in jeans. I love the way they feel.

After I’m out of the shower, I’ll go into the bedroom and start to dress. I try to avoid looking at myself in the mirror at this point because all I see is a middle-aged man staring back at me. Once I’m finished dressing, I’ll put on my shoes and then head to the mirror to do my make up. I have no choice but to look at myself at this point.

Looking into the mirror, I’m confronted with ridiculousness of the sight. I’m 39, clean shaven, and after almost fifteen years, I feel naked without my goatee. I steel myself and prep my face and then begin my ritual. I like to present a natural appearance, so my make-up is minimal yet necessary. I apply concealer to my beard area that doesn’t quite hide everything, but I’m still searching for the right products that work with my face.

I pat my foundation on, followed by my powder. Next I being working on my eyes. I’m using liquid eye-liner at the moment, and it’s interesting to use, but I still haven’t quite mastered the technique. I fumble forward and apply my eye shadow, followed by mascara. Once done, I brush on some blush, apply a second layer of powder to set everything in, and finally I’ll do my lips.

I glance into the mirror to see my handiwork, and I feel silly. I’m the clown in my own private hell. I close my eyes before I turn to walk away. I glance at the full-length mirror and catch the middle-aged creep staring back at me, looking like the laughing stock I feel at that moment.

I slip on my wig cap, followed by my wig, and the man disappears. It’s at that moment that I emerge, no longer silly, no longer ridiculous, but a woman as I feel I am. I touch up hair, give my make-up a once over, then I step in front of the mirror and I’m looking into an alternate reality, one where the person looking back at me is the person I know I am. I feel beautiful and I’m mesmerized by the look of contentment that appears on her face. It’s the same look I know I’m radiating.

In that moment when I slip on my wig, I’m transformed, and I’m aware of the transformation. It washes over me and I become a new person, a happier person. I pause before stepping out of the bedroom and into the living room to show my friend, and she usually gasps appreciatively. I’m complete.

I take a few pictures of myself, selfies to memorialize the stolen moments I have away from the prying eyes of society. I share them online, a concession to my need to be accepted by my peers. A few make unwelcome comments, a little to sexual, a little too graphic. Sometimes they are desperate pleas for attention. I’m cautious about who I reveal myself to. I don’t hesitate to block those who make me uncomfortable. I’m not here to be someone’s fetish.

I remain me for a few hours before I peel away the layers and the magic fades into memory. I come down from my momentary high, back too this haze of oppression by body locks me in. I look at the pictures, and I read the comments online, smiling as I think about how happy I feel being Stefani. I envy those who have had the strength to go full time, to transition completely. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.

But for a few hours I got to be me, and it was glorious!