Sarahjanus's Blog

November 14, 2010

Some one called me a man in a dress, I’m empowered

Yesterday was my first ever foray out of the house. I posted my thoughts afterwards in Crossdressers, and just as so many wrote, I went back out tonight. To keep a long story short, I hadn’t planned to but there was too much about last night that needed examining.

Tonight, I went to the main street of a nearby small city and went for a walk. Dress, pantyhose and low heels, far more comfortable in so many ways. By the end of the walk I was eager to interact with another human being. Away I went to a convenience store for milk, and gum.

On my way from the coolers to the front, two women came through the door. Both looked at me and one commented “I see the ladies are out tonight”. I ignored them, went to the counter, paid for my purchase and headed for the door.  From my right somewhere I heard, “See I told ya, that’s a man”.

I have never dealt well with embarrassment. it has kept me from doing many things in my life, but a funny thing happened on the way to the door. I honestly didn’t feel embarrassed. I didn’t flush. My heart didn’t race. I didn’t shake.

I am empowered. It was my choice to go out dressed as I was. I knew the facade was a weak one, in need of work and practice, but I didn’t crumble and that makes me happy.

All the way home I slammed them for being candidates for Walmart People. …

It started with; How can you tell?

  • I’m in a dress, you don’t own one.
  • I use foundation to mask my beard, you don’t.
  • My hair is clean and brushed, yours isn’t.
  • I’m wearing make-up, you don’t own any.
  • I’m driving a truck, you’re driving a 92 Bonneville that hasn’t been washed anymore recently than you have.

 That aside, I know all my physiological signs of distress and embarrassment. There wasn’t a single one. I entertained the thought for a moment of a counter-comment but realized quickly that I had brought this on my own head. I wasn’t even remotely passable and I went out into a public place. The two women, neither of them appearing to be stellar citizens of the city were entitled to comment. That is the cross that I chose to bear when I went out. But I can’t say it enough, I didn’t panic. I wasn’t shaking, that’s one of my very first “tells”. If my voice shakes or my hands shake, I’m nervous. When I used to speak in public, people often commented on how composed I looked. I always said; watch my hands, I’m not composed. I always used a podium so the notes didn’t magnify my hands shaking. I would hide behind it until I got underway. Today there was no reaction to being commented on.

I didn’t blog about the first night out. It wasn’t auspicious in any way at all. I went to a small town, artsy, with pretensions, and walked their main street, looking in the shop windows. I wore a pair of heels that were too high to be comfortable on the cracked and uneven sidewalk. My wig is wrong for me, I can’t keep the bangs out of my face and I can’t pin them back without looking like something from the Little Rascals. Because it was my first trip, all of the minor things that were wrong were exaggerated by my state of nerves. I didn’t last very long before I was back in the truck and on the way home.

When I got home, I set up my camera to take pictures of my different outfits. I learned that; a] I don’t know how to pose for the camera; b] I’m never going to be a supermodel. The pictures were nearly laughable. I put everything away and decided to take a break from dressing while I did a reality check.

My post at Crossdressers generated over a dozen comments, many of which said that I under-estimated the value of what I had done and that I would be back at it soon, seeking more. My thought in response was; I doubt that.

The evening arrived and almost without thought, I knew I had to dress in a different outfit, different shoes and try it again.

I knew going out the door that my make-up was horribly applied. My foundation is the wrong color for my complexion. I don’t think it was properly blended. My beard still showed as a different skin tone than the rest of my face. My wig isn’t right for my face and the long bangs hang in my face too easily and too often.

But I choose a different dress and away I went. I was the only skirt on the street. Every other woman was in pants. Some were in wool caps and mitts. I wasn’t going to blend. Arguably, a woman in a dress, alone, could be walking from or to a restaurant, so I toughed it out. I had to go by a number of pubs. Most had men outside smoking as I approached. As I closed in and passed by, I would either look down and let my hair fall into my face, or reach my hand up and fiddle with my hair, effectively blocking my face. None of them gave me a second look that I was aware of. None of them said anything.

After the walk, as I wrote, I was eager to interact with a stranger. I went to a coffee shop drive-thru. The girl who served me showed nothing on her face to indicate she noticed anything unusual. She may not even have really looked. I scouted out a grocery store but it was Sunday evening and the one I looked at was far too busy for me to struggle into and out of. The milk is always way at the back and there were bound to be line-ups. I wasn’t ready for that. Besides I was still close enough to home to cross paths with people I know. A slim possibility but a real possibility, so I passed on the grocery store.

I chose a convenience store and in I went. I picked a parking slot away from the door so that I could get out of the truck and walk across the lot. I worried, as I reached for the door, that the attendant may think I was a robber-in-disguise and hit the hold-up alarm, but he didn’t. I crossed paths with my fate and carried on. I walked out calmly, returned to my truck, took off my outer coat before getting back in, and headed home.

This was quite frankly, an amazing experience. Now I look forward to improving my make-up, working on my feminine traits versus my male pattern behaviour. Now I’m wondering when and where I’m going to get the chance to do this again.

I am exhilerated, me, the absolute master of deadpan, the one accused of not having emotions, I’m thrilled to the core of my soul.


1 Comment »

  1. Fiddling with the hair, very familiar : ). Seems to be a natural reflex for us.
    Congrats on your self-assuredness and lack of embarrasment. A trait I wish I had.


    Comment by Felicity — November 15, 2010 @ 6:28 am

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