An Autumn Day in London, Part 3

Pizzas, Taxis and the M25

By Michelle Bowles

It was after 3 PM and except from a piece of carrot cake, I had eaten since a very early breakfast. We found a local Pizza Express that was very busy especially for a table for six. However, after a short discussion among the staff, we were shown downstairs. There were spare tables here, but the one we were shown was very close to a family of four already seated and I was a little apprehensive especially as I ended up sitting diagonally opposite and very close to their two young daughters. How long before there were sideways glances and questions to their parents about my gender?

Those glances never came and I felt better.

The conversation flowed and we talked about a whole range of things: pizzas, holidays, work situations, what a great day it had been and even makeup and moisturizers were discussed. And I am pleased to say, trans issues were not mentioned, so once again I felt just “one of the girls” and accepted as such.

Eventually we paid the bill, went to call a taxi and one of the boys asked me if I felt more confident after the makeover. I explained that I did a little bit, but I had felt quite confident beforehand. This was the only time during the day any reference at all was paid to my trans status and even then, this could have been asked of a female, too.

We had trouble getting a taxi for six as we made our way to another upmarket London store, Liberty’s. So I offered to walk and tube it so others could find a taxi more easily. This was a mistake as it took forever to get there and involved much walking and a bit of getting lost.

Eventually we got to Liberty’s to see their Christmas display, whereupon M and myself went downstairs to find the only ladies’ room in this multi-floor store. To add to this shortage of options, when we got there we found only three cubicles, a queue and not the best conditions. We were not impressed especially after the Harrods' toilets, which were palatial with large mirrors, hand cream and even perfume.

When we returned to the Christmas display, I decided to leave the others to try on some clothes on another floor, but after a long look I found very little except a skirt, but at £135 ($169), I was not going to buy it! After trying it on, I thanked the lovely assistant, rejoined the others and after a quick look on other floors, we decided to leave and made our way back to the cars. By the time we started our drive home, it was close to 9 PM.

M and I arrived home around an hour and a half later. I changed back to male mode, but the others hadn’t arrived, so they did not meet my male half.

And that was it!

Soon gone, but I had spent over 14 hours en femme doing pretty ordinary things (apart from a Harrods' makeover). I had been treated as a female all day. The only exception to this was one of the boys referred to me as “he” a few times and even once called me by my male name. Although a little disappointing, I can understand this in a way, as I have male body language, am tall and still have a masculine voice (despite my efforts). M was word perfect in this respect ― “she” or “Michelle” every time.

Only on a couple of occasions, was I given a second glance to my knowledge, but I am about 6’3” in heels, so any similarly tall female might experience this too. I was “Madam’d” at least twice and the staff in the restaurant didn’t even do a double-take nor did those girls sitting about three feet away.
I know there has been a lot written in Femulate recently about being “read” and how it shouldn’t matter. In a way, that’s true, but I aim to present as just another woman and it disappoints me if the evidence suggests that I have not achieved that.

I received compliments on my clothes and makeover, which I can heartily recommend (tell them Michelle sent you) and the other girls made a number of helpful suggestions on products and alternatives. I know I’m too male in returning these compliments; I don’t do it naturally, probably worried that it comes over as flirting, but I must try harder. There were also compliments on how I could walk all day in the boots, which surprised me, too.

I reckon it was my best day en femme rivaling or perhaps beating my Ascot outing over two years ago (see previous Femulate article for details). As I left for home, I thanked M for organizing the day and how kind and patient she (and everybody else) had been. She said she had really enjoyed it, too, and “Just wanted people to be happy.”

My one regret was no time to go into women’s clothes shops, but another day is to be planned soon and this time my spouse is in, too, and we are going to hit those clothes shops!

Part 1 of Michelle's day in London appeared here on Tuesday and Part 2 appeared here yesterday.

Wearing Venus.

Oliver Thornton femulating in an American stage production of The Taming of the Shrew.

An Autumn Day in London, Part 2

Julia Roberts and Princess Di

By Michelle Bowles

Michelle before Harrods and before her makeover

We got to London in two cars, M and me in one, the remaining four in the other. By now, I had been “dressed” and conversing with others for almost two hours and felt very comfortable in the role. So much so, that when I parked and emerged from the car. I didn’t even think about anybody giving me a second glance and sure enough, they didn’t ― they just carried on with their conversations and totally ignored me. (I must be losing my touch, I had hoped some of the men might have given me a second look.)

We had a 5 to 10 minute walk to the tube and this involved walking past a queue of hundreds of people waiting for an exhibition to open. In the past, I would have been daunted by this, but once again, I was not even aware of a second glance as we did so.

Our first stop was Peter Jones in Sloane Square, an upmarket area of London and we went up to the café on the shop’s top floor. Here the assistant said, “Yes, Madam?” as I got to the front of the cake and coffee queue; the first “Madam” of the day is always nice.

I recommend this café if you are in London. If you’re lucky, you can get a good view over the rooftops and the coffee and cake was wonderful. Suddenly though, it was after 12 and we had under an hour to get to Harrods. With one of our number not able to walk quickly and finding climbing the stairs on the tube difficult, this was cutting it close.

However, we arrived outside Harrods just in time. I did delay the group a little more by insisting having my photo taken at the entrance. Now, I know I need to work on my stance for photos, but at least I remembered to smile. I also look a little black and grey (M suggested some good alternative clothing ideas which I have noted), but generally I was happy with what I wore. The only exception to the black and grey was the red bag, which I had seen at an exhibition the last time I was in London and had to buy it; this was its first outing.

In hindsight, I should have worn a red coat I also have, but I’m always worried about standing out, so I took the “dress down” option. My wife paid me a great compliment by later wearing the same outfit except for adding the red coat, my black jumper and her shoes rather than my boots. I got a number of compliments on the boots. M even compared me to Julia Roberts!

We went to the fourth floor where Marcello, my makeup artist, was ready for me. M came along to advise.

Michelle after her makeover

Marcello asked what makeup I was wearing and then asked which celebrity’s look I most liked. I really couldn’t think of anybody, but I did say I liked the way newsreaders present themselves. M suggested Princess Di. What!?

Now I realized why M came with me. First saying that I reminded her of Julia Roberts - admittedly it was mainly the boots – and now saying I could be made up with a Princess Di look. Women are so nice to each other sometimes, I just can’t believe a man would complement another in the same way unless there was a put-down at the end of it.

Marcello was a master and he worked his magic as he removed my make up and applied moisturisers, foundation, blusher, eye shadow, eye liner and mascara. I paid deep attention as he went about his work and he was always discussing what he was doing and what I wanted.

What was a one-hour appointment had taken an hour and a half. Finally, we had to decide on the lipstick. We went out to the main beauty area and discussed the various shades and options and he used the lipsticks on my hand to demonstrate the best color. We went back into the room for the application of the lippy. The effect was quite stunning; the smartphone photo doesn’t do it justice.

While I took in the final effect, Marcello took out a drawing of my face and applied the makeup on the drawing indicating which products he had used where. This too was a work of art.

By now he had spent almost two hours with me. We finally went to the till to buy some of the products. Although the charge for the makeover is deducted from the price of the makeup, the makeup is not cheap. Buying everything would be out of the question, so I resisted the temptation and limited myself to foundation and some concealer.

Other makeup artists came over to discuss what Marcello had done and I felt a bit like a model. We said goodbye to Marcello and as he hugged me, he seemed close to tears and I think M and myself were not too far off doing the same. It was an emotional experience. I e-mailed him later to thank him again and he replied with some really nice and encouraging comments.

We rejoined the others, who had been waiting for far too long, but they all said it didn’t matter when I apologized for the delay and some nice comments were passed on my new look.

Part 1 of Michelle's day in London appeared here yesterday and Part 3 will appear here tomorrow.

Wearing Fashion to Figure.

Her slip is showing (Femulating in the 1970s).

An Autumn Day in London

By Michelle Bowles

Part 1: Here Come the Girls (and Two Boys, Too)

Four or five years ago, I told a work colleague about my feminine side; a decision I did not take lightly. (Do we ever?) After occasionally discussing this further in subsequent conversations, she said we must go on a girls’ day out for makeovers in London. I, of course, agreed that this would be a very good idea. However, the months and eventually years went by and it never quite happened.

My wife knows my friend (I’ll call her M) and we have met up a few times socially. But my wife did not know that M was aware of my feminine side.

A few weeks ago, M came to our house and the three of us went out for lunch. At the end of the afternoon, we dropped M at the train station for her to return home and as we were saying our goodbyes, she said to my wife, “I want to take X (she didn’t use my femme name; she didn't even know it) for a full makeover at Harrods in London. It would be great if you could come, too.”

This was a bit of a surprise as M obviously thought I had told my wife that M knew. My wonderful and understanding wife just took it in her stride, as she does and said if we could arrange it on a Friday (her day off) she could come.

There was not much said later, but my wife mentioned that she’d come if she could, but didn’t mind if I went with M on my own. Again, M and I tried to arrange it, but with summer holidays and other commitments it didn’t happen until a date came up in late October which M, my wife and I could make.

There were still many things to arrange (how to get there, where to change, etc). M also asked if some of her friends could come. I hadn’t met any of them, but was assured they were really nice people and would be very discrete. I had no problems with this but it did mean things had become slightly more complicated.

My wife couldn’t decide whether to come and asked me what I thought. I said it was entirely up to her, but as I was not sure of what to expect, perhaps not this time and if it goes well, we can do another trip to London in the future. She agreed that this was probably the best option.
M made an appointment at Harrods for the makeover and as the day approached, it seemed to be all systems go.

I had realized there was no way I could change at home as my wife and I were not alone in our house, so I asked M if I could change at hers. She said I could and so the previous night, I got all my things together and put them into two bags ready for the morning. What with showering, breakfast, the journey to M’s and then the 60 minutes or so to get ready, if we were going to get to London at a reasonable time, I’d have to set the alarm at 6 AM.

This was early, but I had no problem and duly arrived at M’s at 7, as we had arranged. It was still quite dark, but this just added to the atmosphere. M answered the door and showed me to a room to change with a bathroom just next to it – perfect, especially as the room had loads of mirrors, flat surfaces and good lighting – what more could a girl want?

There was just one final, embarrassing thing. I needed to tell M about my femme name and also had to ask to be referred to as “she” during the day. She responded, “Oh yes, I meant to ask you what it was.” For the rest of the day, I was Michelle to M, and she referred to me as “she.”

I went to the bathroom for my final close shave and wash, but as I attempted to leave the room the handle fell off the lock and I couldn’t get out. Fortunately, after a few shouts and knocks, I was heard and rescued (I was imagining having to climb out of the window and back in!)

Apart from this minor setback, everything went well in the changing department and I could hear others arriving as I was getting ready. I finished in about an hour, which is good for me, but I had to ask M if she could “sort my hair out.” This is always the most difficult thing for me.

She came in, said I looked fantastic and set about trying to improve my hair, making a pretty good job of it. She offered me a nice (and expensive) coat if I wanted to borrow it. I tried it on, but it was at least a size too small. A scarf was also offered, but although it was really nice, I was worried about feeling overdressed, so I declined it.

The next thing was perhaps the most daunting part of the day. None of M’s friends had ever met me before and I was to be introduced to them for the first time as Michelle. They were in her lounge area upstairs and as I climbed the stairs, my heart was in my mouth; but they just greeted me as they would any female. It was a really nice moment. There were two women and a recently wed male couple; we then chatted for a while before we left for the journey.

It was a beautiful October morning and a day in London was ahead.

Wearing Tory Burch.

Kuba Molęda femulates on Polish television's Twoja Twarz Brzmi Znajomo.

Bigwig

As I wrote last month (here and here), I was not happy with my last new wig purchase. There were a couple of things wrong with the wig (the style and the color); the bottom line was that the wig made me look old!

So I began looking for something else.

Like most gurls, my head is larger than the average girl’s and I am always looking for something in large cap size wigs, rather than average cap size wigs. There is a big difference. With average cap size wigs, the wig seems to be constantly trying to jump ship and I have to go to the ladies’ room to anchor it back in place. With large cap size wigs, I slip it on my head and it stays in place until I am ready to remove it.

Sadly, most wigs I have owned were small caps. The problem is that the available selection of large size cap wigs is limited. For example, wigs.com has approximately 800 women’s wigs to choose from on their web site, but only 22 are available with large caps.

So I am always on the lookout for new large caps. During my search for something else, I found a new large cap from Noriko, my favorite wig brand. The wig is “Sky” and it has been available in average cap size for awhile, but just recently became available in large cap size, too.

Check it out if you need a large cap size. I will be wearing Sky soon.

Wearing Club Monaco.

D.J. "Shangela" Pierce

SaveSave

Have a Wild Weekend*

Source: Vaunt Magazine

Check out Vaunt Magazine.

"Vaunt is the world’s first publication celebrating the most beautiful androgynous males from across the globe. Our daring photo shoots crush gender boundaries and offer a new vision of beauty, glamour, elegance, sensuality and fashion sensibility. From the shores of the Far East and cities of Europe to Latin America and across the USA, Vaunt shines a light on the amazing depth and breadth of androgynous male beauty that exists."

* * *

Also check out "The One Thing You're Doing Wrong When Tweezing Your Brows" over at Pure Wow dot Com.

The method described in this article is exactly the way I have been dealing with my brows for quite a awhile.

"It’s all about perspective." From a few feet back, no one will notice those tiny strays you didn't pluck! Honest ― they won't!

* * *

Metisu is a new-to-me online merchant of womenswear (see example below in the Femulate Her slot). They have a nice selection of reasonably-priced clothing in big gurl sizes.

I have not made a purchase yet, so I have no opinion on the quality of their merchandise, but I may take a flyer soon.

Daniel Ferreira (Source: Vaunt Magazine)

Wearing Metisu.

A 21st Century Femulator (Source: Pinterest)

* While you still can!

Shoe Shopping

The caption above is so true! So I bought a new pair to add to my hundred-plus pairs of heels, flats and everything in between.

My new shoes are from Payless, their Haddie T-strap heel in black patent. The shoe is a throwback to styles of the late 1960s and in fact, is a dead ringer for the shoes I wore the first time I stepped out dressed as a woman. 

I had been eyeing Haddie ever since Payless introduced her a few months ago, but I held off making a purchase until it went on sale. My patience paid off and I bought Haddie for $14.99 ― $20 off the original price!

Wearing Vensette.

Death of a Nation

The country I loved died last night. May God damn everyone who killed it.

Bad Encounters

Starla wrote, "Having followed your public femulating excursions over the years, it seems like you pretty much either pass, or don't pass, but have positive encounters, all the time. Or so it seems.

"My question is: have you ever had a negative encounter? One in which words were said or glances shot that made you feel uncomfortable and concerned. Maybe even at some point feeling like your safety may be threatened?

"I only ask because almost none of us, no matter how passing we look and/or how confident we feel, has 100% always positive interactions. You may be an exception, but if you have ever had negative encounters, how you handled them could be very instructive for those with far less public experience."

I get referred to as "he" or "him" occasionally and that pisses me off especially if it occurs in a business spending where I am spending my money. At least give the customer the benefit of the doubt! Worst case... I was going to a transgender conference, checking in at the hotel hosting the event. I'm en femme and the woman checking me in at the hotel refers to me as male. The hotel is hosting a trans conference! You would think the staff would have been more supportive. Admittedly, this was in the mid-1990's and folks were not as enlightened about transpeople as they are today.

Being mis-gendered is not a big deal and certainly not life-threatening. I usually don't do anything about it and often times, they correct themselves and switch to female pronouns without me saying anything.

I can recall only two occasions that were very negative encounters.

1) I was staffing my support group's table at the True Colors Conference, which is for LGBT school-age kids. A high school or college aged person with special needs came by and loudly started giving me a hard time about being a "he-she." I was more embarrassed than anything and just tried to ignore him. Ignoring him worked; he finally gave up and went away.

2) After a support group meeting, a bunch of us went to a gay bar which had drag shows. It was located in a seedy section of Hartford. That was back when smoking was still allowed in Connecticut bars. I did not enjoy the thick smoke (it always stunk up my clothes and wigs), so I high-heeled it out of there after 30 minutes or so.

As I exited, a guy started following me, while yelling, "Are you in the show?" mistaking me for one a the drag queens. My car was parked a block away and I walked as fast as I could in heels. My follower followed me about half way and gave up when it was obvious I wanted nothing to do with him. That was very scary. If there was a next time, I would have asked the bar for an escort to my car, but I never went back.

I have been engaging civilians en femme for about 30 years and thankfully, I have had very few bad encounters. I attribute my success to my presentation. Sometimes I may pass, but most of the time, I feel that my presentation is just good enough so that people who have doubts don't dare vocalize their suspicions because (1) they are not sure their suspicions are correct or (2) they are too polite to say or do anything or (3) they don't care (let it be).

Wearing Eloquii.

John Ritter femulates on television's Three's Company.

trump's America

From today's The Tennessean...

A transgender woman's truck was spray painted with the words "Trump" and torched in her driveway as she and her 3-year-old son were inside their Cookeville (Tennessee) home early Saturday morning.

The victim said police told her Monday morning that they are investigating the incident as a hate crime.

A spokesperson with the Putnam County Sheriff's Office confirmed they received a report of the burned and painted truck early Saturday morning and are investigating. But the office did not return a message about whether they are investigating the incident as a hate crime.

Because the incident may have been a hate crime, The Tennessean is identifying the victim as "Elle."

Elle said she heard a noise outside her home at about 3:30 a.m. She went out and saw the door to her 2006 Harley Davidson edition F-150 pickup truck open. Thinking she'd forgotten to lock or close the door, Elle shut the door and went back inside.

About 30 minutes later, she said she heard a horn honk and looked outside to see her truck engulfed in flames.

"Most of (the paint) got burned off, but one of the police officers pointed out that it said 'Trump' on the hood and the back," Elle said. She said she had no idea who would have done this.

“It just breaks my heart every time I walk past the driveway.”

She said her toddler is still frightened.

A disabled veteran, Elle served eight years in the U.S. Army. She was medically retired in 2007 after suffering from a severe brain injury and post-traumatic stress disorder while on tour in Iraq in 2004.

While she said she hasn't experienced any discrimination in Cookeville since she came out two years ago, traveling outside of the city has proven dangerous.

"I’ve been in altercations out of town because I’m transgendered," Elle said. "The last altercation was there (in Crossville) when a man took a swing at me in a bathroom."

There are no Hillary Clinton signs on her lawn or in her windows, although she said she is active on social media against Donald Trump. She said a Trump presidency would harm the LGBTQ community.

Elle said she would like to ask the person or people who committed the crime why they did it.

"I’m just trying to live my life," she said. "I wouldn’t hurt anyone."

Fill It Up

As I mentioned in my live blog on Halloween, I stopped at a gas station to fill up before I drove to work.

“I went to the gas station I normally go to. There were no other customers, so I pulled up to the gas pump I usually use, filled up and walked inside to pay up.

“The woman who runs the place recognized my car, so she knew who I was underneath my feminine finery, but she said I looked ‘spectacular’ and that she would date me!”

So on Saturday, I returned to the gas station for my car’s weekly fill-up and touched base with the woman who runs the place.

She said she did recognize my car when I pulled up to the pump, but she did not recognize the woman driving it! She assumed someone else was driving my car.

While I was pumping gas, I waved to her and she thought that I looked familiar, but she was clueless until went inside to pay up and asked, “Do you know who I am?”

Only then did she figure me out.

On Saturday, she again praised me for my “costume,” asked how my feet put up with heels all day long and added that I could get a job as a drag queen in Kinky Boots!

Wearing Veronica Beard.

Dale Carmen femulates on stage in The Silver Cord (2013).

Passing

By Starla, Femulate Contributing Editor

Passing. One of the first "jargon" terms a novice crossdresser learns.

No matter one's nature, "passing" is relevant to all of us. Some strive to perfect their appearance to the nth degree, wishing nothing more than the ability to safely mingle with the public and avoid attention and scrutiny. Others don't mind being read, regarding each such incident as a "teaching moment." Still others hate the term with a passion. ("The opposite of  'pass' is 'fail,' a friend once told me. "I don't regard getting read as a failure.") But, really, we don't understand the whole phenomenon, and conventional wisdom is usually wrong, or at least misguided.

One thing that many misunderstand is that "passing" does not necessarily equal "pretty." Old chestnut proverbs like "Pretty is as pretty does" and "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder" are more than just trite aphorisms. There's some truth there, yes, but it ain't quite that simple. (Nothing ever is.)

This is a tale of two friends from my support group days.

Gurl #1 was an older, not very educated soul from what some would call "the wrong side of the tracks." She lived in perpetual poverty and want, scraping by on her wits and the kindness of others. Not too bright, she was nonetheless a very kind person. And she was, in her own homespun words, "as ugly as a mud fence." Her assessment, not mine, though admittedly by society's standards, she wouldn't be winning any beauty pageants anytime soon.

But... she was believable. Let's face it, many genetic women don't exactly have that "Cover Girl" look either. And my friend, even when attired in grubbies with minimal (or non-existent) makeup passed in public. She went anywhere, did anything, with nary an askance glance. Her femininity, rough and homespun as it was, along with her confidence, carried the day for her.

There's an object lesson there. One which was integral to a M*A*S*H rerun I recently saw. In it, Radar orders some "elevator shoes," tired of being made fun of for his short stature. He finds to his chagrin that it doesn't really help, and turns to his ersatz "Big Brother" Hawkeye for advice. "You know, there's height that many never see," Hawkeye tells him. "Some guys are six feet tall inside, and their body just never caught up with it."

Likewise, when it comes to "passing," what's inside can trump the package it comes wrapped in.

In my active femulating years, there were times (not often, but often enough) when I was not sartorially en femme, and felt that I looked nothing like a female, yet would get "ma'amed" without a trace of irony. I'd look in the mirror and see this creature who was wearing baggy, unisex sweats, no makeup, nothing to prop up my gynecomastic man boobs into Wonderbra glory, natural hair unkempt with a severe case of "hairline retreat," and, if one looked closely enough, needed a shave. And still, I got the occasional "ma'am." I can only assume that some inner essence of femininity was overpowering the thrift store threads and George Costanza hairdo.

It's just not always about the details of appearance. I always think of my female boss at one of the jobs I worked en femme back in the day. This woman was taller than me, had even smaller boobs than me, and a decidedly deeper voice than me. But no one looked at her and thought, "That's a guy!!"

Gurl #2 was a cop who lived and worked in the Florida Keys. As a man, this dude was 6'5" and built like a middle linebacker. And, by his/her own admission, "wouldn't pass as a woman at 3 AM on a moonless night with a blind man."

And yet...and yet, when en femme, she was beautiful. Impeccable hair, perfect makeup, designer outfits ― she was stunning, and heads would immediately turn when she entered a room. Followed a microsecond later by the inescapable realization that this person had an "outie" and not an "innie." But her carriage, personality, confidence and self-deprecating humor won over the majority of those she encountered.

"When all else is said and done," she would tell them, "I'm just a guy in a dress. What's the big deal? There's plenty of more important things to worry about in this world." And she would talk up the football season, crack dirty jokes, and in a straight bar, people would buy her drinks and compliment her on her fashion taste.

Homely, yet passing. Beautiful, yet non-passing. And every spot on the scales. In every case, it's the girl inside that will carry the day.

One other aspect of the whole preoccupation with passing or being read...

Conventional wisdom about cultural context is often faulty. Many feel that things have never been better for us. But there are some who have the experience, and not just theory, to assert that passing (or not) knows no season.

When I first started to venture into the TG world, I spent a lot of time on the Tri-Ess BBS. (If you had to look up "BBS," you're obviously a young whippersnapper. Go back to your i-whatever gadgets...and get off my lawn!) Despite the name, this board was not an "official" Tri-Ess service (though they gave it their approval), and trans folk of all stripes (not just married non-op, non-TS crossdressers) hung there.

One older member had been publicly femulating since the early 1960's. Wow, we exclaimed, that must have been difficult and nerve-wracking! Not at all, she responded ― in fact, I think it was easier to pass back then than it is now.

What!?! Chaos ensued. You would have thought she had just told us that she had two heads. Are you insane, we demanded?  We have bulletin boards, magazines, support groups. We have conferences and public outings. We're on Donahue, Sally, Geraldo ― all the talk shows. How can you say it was easier to pass back in the dark ages of the early 60's?

"Simple," she wrote. "We didn't have all the things you mentioned then, but they are a two-edged sword. You see, back then, if you were even remotely feminine, as long as your overall appearance was halfway womanly, even if you had big hands, or a deep voice, or were 6-foot-2 , the default assumption was that you must be a woman, because no man would be caught dead dressed like that. They had no awareness, no concept, no understanding of our existence."

"But now," she went on, "we're everywhere. And more and more, the general public has learned we exist. And when they see CD'ers on talk shows and such, and then see that tall, broad-shouldered woman walking a bit awkwardly in her high heels, it's a different light bulb that goes off. I mean, take our monthly meetings [in Atlanta]. You know that big mall right next to the hotel? The one that is a 'standard attraction' for us gurls exercising our God-given right to shop 'til we drop? Well, on weekends, there are countless local high school kids that frequent that mall. And they know we meet next door, and many of them play 'Spot the Crossdressers' as they hang with their friends. Oh, they don't mean anything by it, and it's just a game to them ― I've had several delightful conversations with these kids."

"So, don't think for a minute that you are necessarily passing. You probably aren't, at least with the younger set. They're savvy, and reading us like a cheap novel. Twenty years ago, I could have probably walked through that mall and attracted hardly a glance. But now... well, we're as out as can be, and people know it. Fortunately, most people just don't care, and take it in stride, because all the publicity has somewhat educated them. But don't think for a second that just because hell doesn't break loose at your presence that you're passing. You're probably not, and that can be a good thing if you have the confidence to accept it."

(And all this was back in the 80's and early 90's. Now, everyone knows about us. Maybe there are a few remote Amazon tribes that are unaware of us, but that's about it. And we have even begun to encounter some negative backlash. Hey, when wackadoo politicians spend time trying to pass laws to make us check our bladders at the restroom door, you know we've really arrived. [sigh] Back in the day, I used ladies' rooms all the time with no hassle. If I were still publicly femulating ― illness and disability keep me homebound, not lack of desire ― I would seriously consider holding it until I got home. Or wear Depends. 'Cause now, they're watching for us. Dammit, maybe it was easier to pass way back when.)

Anyway, that 30-year old BBS posting is one woman's experience ― your mileage may vary. But certainly food for thought.

So, if you think you know everything there is to know about passing, you don't. Neither do I. But there are more important things to worry about. Whether you pass or get read, enjoy the experience of having the freedom and confidence to be yourself, and look others in the eye with a smile.

Wearing Eloquii.

Daniel Diges and Jose Luis imitate Natalia and Melocos 
on Spanish television's Tu Cara Me Suena.