Just Fabulous

In these days of COVID-19, I do not go out much en femme or even en homme, so I hope you enjoy this story from 10 years ago when a girl did not have to think twice about going out.

Wednesday, my plan was to attend a day-long seminar on photograph lighting techniques.

I went en femme wearing an argyle sweater tunic, black leggings, and black booties. I considered wearing black tights without leggings, but the tunic was way too short, so I chose a more modest fashion statement.

I dressed, drove to Hartford, parked my Subaru and found my way through the Connecticut Convention Center to the ballroom hosting the seminar where I joined approximately 500 other attendees.

If I learned anything from the seminar, I learned that I have a lot to learn!

I sat through the morning session and got very little out of it. It was way over my head. I needed training at a more basic level and this seminar assumed I already had that training.

During the lunch break, I decided it was pointless to continue. The folks running the seminar were speaking English, but it might as well have been a foreign language. So sitting through four more hours would be fruitless, not to mention extremely boring.

By the way, except for the woman collecting my seminar ticket, not one person spoke to me at the seminar. I exchanged a few hellos and smiles with other women in attendance and I noticed a few guys and gals checking me out, but that was the extent of the interaction with my fellow attendees.

Since I needed a few things for my upcoming Fantasia Fair trip, I decided to go shopping and I can't think of a better time to go shopping for girly things than when I am dressed like a girly.

My first stop was a strip mall in West Hartford where my favorite clothing and shoe stores reside.

As soon as I walked into Dress Barn, the sales staff recognized that my argyle tunic was theirs and they all complimented my outfit. (“That sweater looks fabulous on you,” so said one saleswoman.)

Last time I went to Fantasia Fair, Patty let me borrow a sweater coat that kept me warm during the cool weather in Provincetown. I wanted to get one of my own and I found a black double-breasted shag trim sweater jacket that was a perfect fit.

Dress Barn had a promotion that if you bought one sweater, you could buy a second at 50% off, so I perused their selection of sweater dresses. I found two to try on.

As I walked to the dressing room with my finds, I passed a rack of houndstooth sheath dresses that were oh so retro that I had to try one on. The only problem was that they did not have my size. Not to be deterred, I took the largest size on the rack with me to the dressing room and hoped for the best.

A belted purple sweater dress was too tight (and probably too short), so I re-racked it. A gray cable sweater dress was a perfect fit; it showed off my every curve, so it was a keeper.

Finally, I tried on the to-die-for too-small-for houndstooth dress and I was shocked that it fit. Go figure — dress sizes are all over the place; you don't know what will fit until you try it on. That is why I prefer shopping in person en femme.

Anyway, I bought the houndstooth, too, and between the 50% off one sweater dress and a 20% off everything coupon, I only put a small dent in my credit card.

Next stop, was a few doors down from Dress Barn: Payless shoe store. Like dresses, shoe sizes are all over the place, so I was glad to be able to shoe shop in person en femme. I was looking for something comfortable to wear while I traipsed upon the unforgiving cobblestone sidewalks of Provincetown.

Payless had heels in my size, so I had to try them on. One pair was too tight, another pair fit perfectly, but hurt (go figure), and the third pair was just right; when I slipped it on, it was like putting on a bedroom slipper. It was on sale, too, so I anted up and bought the pair.

At the register, the saleswoman asked if I was a member of AAA, which I am and that was worthy of a 10% discount. So, I bought a nice pair of comfortable and fashionable shoes for $18!

I checked my watch and noted that the afternoon was still young and the West Farms Mall was beckoning to me from across the street, so I spun my Subaru over to the mall and started at Nordstrom.

The store was way out there price-wise. Simple dresses cost $350, but I browsed the racks anyway hoping to find something that was marked down (way down).

While I was perusing a rack of cocktail dresses, a saleswoman nearby spoke up, “You're tall. I’m tall, too. How tall are you?”

I said, “Six foot two.”

She replied, “I'm six foot one.”

And she engaged me in a discussion about being a tall female. She asked me how I liked being tall (“I love it.”). She admitted that she had some difficulties during her school years because of her height, but as an adult, she was happy with her height.

After we exchanged a few more words, I excused myself and headed out the door to greener pastures that go by the name of “Jessica McClintock.” The store had some drop-dead gorgeous cocktail dresses, but very few in my size. I tried on a green dress reputedly in my size, but it was too too small.

The saleswoman confided that their dresses run small and that my best bet would be something stretchy. She suggested a purple stretch taffeta bustier dress, so I took it to the dressing room and tried it on. It fit and it looked great, but it cost $160, so I did not buy it (I had non-buyer's remorse for days).

The cocktail dress I did not buy.

As I prepared to leave the store, the other saleswoman in the store said I looked “fabulous” and the saleswoman I had been dealing with shook her head in agreement.

I thanked them profusely and exited on that positive note.

By then, my feet were no longer getting along with my booties, so I decided to call it quits, and rode my Subaru into the sunset.

Needless to say, my day out en femme was “fabulous.”

Unlike days out in the past, I went about my business without any hesitation because now I am so very comfortable and confident in my skin. After all, I am a woman, so why shouldn’t I be one.

Wearing A.L.C. sweater and Marissa Webb shorts

Dwayne Hickman (left) and Frankie Avalon (right) femulating in the 1965 film Ski Party.
You can view the film’s trailer on YouTube and a 10-minute clip from the film here.