Tag Archive | Clothes

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.


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!

The price of me

20150831_182201I wish I had money. I’m not talking about a couple of hundred or even a couple of thousand dollars. No. I’m talking about the obscene amount of wealth that makes us lowly commoners sick with envy. I want so much money that every one of my desires could easily be bought, my dreams realized with a swipe of a card. I want to be rich.

Okay, so I’d settle for a couple of hundred dollars. I’d settle for a nice pair of boots…, or two. A girl can’t have too many! I am a Texan, so I’ll need some cowboy boots, and maybe a Stetson as well. I need thigh-high boots, high-heel boots, I need heels, pumps, sneakers, sandals. I need purses and bags, and belt. Damn do I need belts. And jackets. Winter is coming up, don’t you know? I need more than my job earns me. I need more!

So maybe I’m being slightly dramatic, just for effect. For the most part, I’m happy with what I have. For someone who virtually lost everything, wife, car, home, and job, I’m thankful for the little I do have. I’m grateful for the opportunity to be Stefani, I give thanks to have a few stolen moments wherein I can simply exist as me, as the woman I am.

But there is a bit of a materialistic desire in me, one that I have to sate a little bit at a time. Lately, I’ve been giving in to my wants more than I should. I’ve spent way too much on Stefani in the past couple of months, especially this week. For a guy that hasn’t bought a single stitch of women’s clothing in over a decade, I’ve spent too much on Stefani, but let’s call it making up for lost time.

I don’t know how many outfits I have, but I do know I have three pairs of jeans, a two pairs of shorts, a skirt, two dresses, and way too many blouses. Sadly, I only have two pairs of heels. I need to rectify that. I went to Payless Shoes, hoping to find an affordable pair of boots, but they were to pricey for me, having spent way too much on several blouses last Friday. That’s okay. We left, and my friend needed to make a copy of her key, so off to Wal-Mart we went. I spent too much on a couple of blouses and a camisole. I need help. Or a sugar daddy.

Maybe not. I’m sure once I build up my wardrobe, I’ll slow down a bit. Contrary to how I’m portraying myself on here, I’m not really all that materialistic. Want proof? I bought a couple of blouses from Wal-Mart. Not exactly a bastion of fashion now, is it? It’s affordable, comfortable, and accessible for the common working folk, like me.

Sure, I may go to department stores a buy myself a little something, but it’s not all that often. All I want is to have something to wear for every occasion. It sounds shallow, but I don’t think it is. This is simply the excitement of the girl coming out of me for the first time in ages. True, I never had this many clothes, but that was due to the constant purging. I’ll never purge again. This is me, and I’m getting used to it.

I just wish it wasn’t so gosh-darned expensive!

If only…

11753870_10204800331195250_1977484206_nI need more clothes, but I’m so broke! UGH! Why couldn’t I have been born rich or something? I need a job, a better job, one that pays me a decent salary. I need money!

Being me isn’t cheap, and I don’t exactly go for designer clothes. I buy most of my outfits at Target or Wal-Mart. Yeah, I’m really high-class, lol. I have expensive taste but a poor man’s wallet. Damn my inability to play nice at work! If only I could get a promotion, or get a better job. If only I would finish one of my many books I’m writing.

If only…

We all have if only  moments in our lives. Some of mine are, in no particular order:

If only…

  1. …I would have been born a woman.
  2. …I could be a normal man.
  3. …I was brave enough….
  4. …strong enough…
  5. …I was skinnier…
  6. …prettier…
  7. If only I knew who I was.

Lately, I’ve spent so much of my money on clothes, but I don’t have near enough. I want more. I need more! I need shoes, boots, I need dresses, jewelry, make-up. If only I had enough money to make ends meet, with enough left over to realize my truest vision of myself.

If only…

Earlier this week, my friend took me to Burlington Coat Factory where I found some reasonably priced clothes. I bought a pair of jeans and she bought me a couple of blouses. Guess what, still not enough. I suppose the truth is it’ll never be enough. Not with my obsession with taking selfies to post online. I can’t help it that I like to show off! I pretend to hate it, but part of me likes the attention, so long as it doesn’t get creepy.

I know I’m not alone in the struggle. It’s hard to balance the girl side that we keep hidden with the public boy image we much maintain to save face. We’re not allowed, as men, to admit that we aren’t 100% manly. We have to be macho, sometimes doubly so, to prove to ourselves and to others that we have a softer, feminine side to us.

You know, I think that’s a shame. If only we were allowed to be ourselves, I think we would be happier, more productive members of society. And I’m not talking solely about the LGBTQ community, but all of society. We are raised to conform to an arbitrary standard of behavior. Sure, some of it is necessary to maintain an ordered society, but why should that come at the price of our individuality?

I realize there are those who have come forth into the light, to show society that being transgendered isn’t some sick vanity, that we chose to be somehow different. How many of us struggled against yourselves, against our need to be who we are, to try to present a normal identity to the world? How many are no longer with us because they couldn’t do it, and opted instead to kill themselves.

Right now, I buy my clothes in secret, afraid of letting my secret out into the world. Sure, I post my selfies, but I live terrified that my family could find out, or my co-workers, or friends. I wish I could go out everyday, showing the world who I truly am, instead of presenting this bitter facade for all to see. I’ve made jokes about wanting to be a woman, and it’s funny that everyone thinks I’m joking, all unable to contemplate that I could actually be serious.

But what if they were to see the real me? What then? Would the accept me and realize that I’m much happier as Stefani, or would they reject me outright? What if I didn’t care anymore? What if I let my secret out to the world to see?

There are so many what if situations that I don’t know what to do, or how to realize any of them. Instead I lay here, dreaming about my next outfit, wondering who I could scrounge up enough money to buy something really killer. Maybe I’m a little shallow and self-involved, but all I can think about is what if I had the money to expand my wardrobe.

If only…