The Fall of High Heels

On that fateful day that I tried on women’s clothing for the very first time, the second item I tried on were a pair of high heel pumps (preceded by a pair of nylon stockings). Ever since then, high heels have been an integral part of my wardrobe.

Slipping on a pair of heels is usually the last step in my femulation – they complete me as a woman and I seldom wear anything else. So it saddens me to read the InStyle article Diana sent me documenting the decline of high heels.

“Sales of dress shoes, including heels, went down 71% in the second quarter of 2020, according to fashion site Glossy. As the world approaches the one-year anniversary of working from home, will women really go back to teetering around an office in stilettos? And, perhaps more importantly, will they be required to in order to be taken seriously and get ahead in their careers?”

The author of the article is happy about the decline of heels, however, her article quotes observers who believe that heels will make a comeback post-pandemic.

Who knows?

I do know that I have lots of heels in my wardrobe and even if they stopped selling heels everywhere tomorrow, I would be set for life.

Wearing Nine West

Alison Laing, transgender pioneer

Ancient History

The following post originally appeared in my old blog, A Passing Interest, on November 3, 2006. I believe Femulate readers will find it interesting because it documents my first solo trip out among the civilians.

What a day!

Yesterday, I spent the day en femme. I shaved, showered, did my makeup, dressed and was at West Farms Mall at 9:50 AM. Then, I sat in my car trying to get up the courage to go inside the mall. After 20 minutes, I made up my mind that “it was now or never” and I got out of my car and went into the mall.

I dressed appropriately to fit in with the other women shopping at the mall. I wore a long black tunic sweater and “heather-gray” leggings (both from Newport-News) and pant boots I bought from Payless. By the way, the boots were a pleasure to wear. Although, the boots had a 2-inch stacked heel, my feet were free of pain all day and wearing comfortable heels helped me get “the walk” down pat. By the end of the day, I was strutting my stuff like a full-time woman! It felt wonderful.

On the other hand, wearing heels did not help me with my height issue. I’m just under six-feet-two in my bare feet and just under six-feet-four with those boots on. I like to wear heels, so my philosophy is that at six-feet-two, high heels are not going to make or break my ability to pass. If I can pass at six-feet-two, then I can pass at six-feet-four. As the day turned out, I did well.

The legend among crossdressers is that when you are out en femme, avoid packs of teenaged girls because they closely check out the female competition and are more likely to spot a crossdresser than other people you will encounter. Being a school day, I did not encounter many teenagers until late afternoon. And when I did, they were very cool if they noticed me. None acted in a disrespectful manner.

On the other hand, watch out for packs of old ladies (I kid you not). They travel in pairs during the day at the mall and if they read you, some of them are the rudest humans I have ever encountered. They stop dead in their tracks and stare, nudge their fellow pack members. I have even had them point at me!

I had lunch at Ruby Tuesday with my friend Sylvia, who graciously dined with me in boy mode. Two elderly women were seated in the booth directly behind me. When we got up to leave, I glanced back at that booth because something caught my eye. The woman who was seated facing my back was alerting her fellow diner to check me out. Meanwhile, the other woman was straining to turn around to get a better look.

I did not react, ignored them (“ignore the ignorant” is my motto) and left the restaurant. But such rude behavior should not be ignored. Next time, I will respond by asking them, “Can I help you?” or some such. (If anyone has a more effective comeback that is not rude, please let me know. I’d like to keep it handy.)

The rest of the people I encountered yesterday were fine. Most people paid no attention to me. Some males checked me out, but did not react in a negative way. Some women were outright friendly, smiled, and some said, “Hello.”

My first mall goal was to go to Sephora or M·A·C for makeup advice. Sephora moved, so they were not where I thought they would be, but as I window-shopped, I encountered Sephora before M·A·C, so I went into Sephora. Immediately, a saleswoman asked me if I needed assistance and I asked her if she could provide makeup advice. She was happy to do so and sat me at a makeup table for consultation. I talked her out of performing a complete makeover. Instead, I asked her just to do a touch-up to improve what I had done.

I am always concerned with my eyebrows, but she said I had done a good job with them and that they did not need any work. But she did suggest some other improvements. She said I needed to draw my eyeliner out further towards the outside of each eye to give them more of an almond shape. She also said I needed lip-gloss and a little more mascara and blush. She implemented the suggestions and I was so happy with the results that I asked her to take my photo. Here it is.

I bought the mascara, blush, and lip-gloss the saleswomen used on me and went on my way to meet Sylvia for lunch at 11:30.

Except for the encounter with the rude elderly women, lunch was fine. The food was good, the restaurant staff was very accommodating, and my lunch date was fun; I had not seen Sylvia since my support group’s banquet in March and we had a lot of catching up to do.

After lunch, I went back to my car to deposit my purchases and touch up my makeup. I guess my encounter with the rude elderly women had shaken my confidence because I sat in my car for awhile to regroup.

During my makeup consultation at Sephora, I mentioned that I had beard cover under my foundation and that I was wearing beard cover because I was a crossdresser. The saleswoman probably knew that already. She sensed my uneasiness and tried to settle me down by saying “You only have one life to live and you should live it like you want. If someone has a problem, then it is their problem, not yours.”

Those words came back to me while I sat in my car and motivated me to go back in the mall and do some shopping. I visited lots of stores looking at skirts, dresses, and tops, but did not find anything interesting until I hit the clearance rack at Talbots.

There I found three skirts and tried them on, but they were all too short. I have nothing against short skirts; I wear them all the time, but these three were mid-length style skirts that became short skirts because of my height.

When I exited the dressing room, the saleswoman asked if  found anything and I said I liked the skirts, but they were too short. She said I was shopping in the wrong department. I was in the Women’s Department and that somebody of my height should shop in the Misses’ Department. 

Sure enough, I found the same skirts on the clearance rack in the Misses’ Department, tried them on and their hemlines were just right. I bought two of the skirts. Both were over $100 list, but on clearance, they were under $30 each.

Before I paid for the skirts, I had one more look and fell in love with a pencil skirt that cost $108. I tried it on and it fit perfectly, but in my mind, it had to be worn with a blouse or top tucked into the skirt, which is a look that I have never had success with. Two saleswoman suggested different things to try on with that skirt and I tried them all, but I was not satisfied with the look, so I did not buy the skirt.

I really got into trying on clothes at Talbots. It sure beats buying online or from a catalog, waiting for the order to show up, trying it on, being disappointed and having to ship it back on my dime. Instead, I had instant feedback. So, after Talbots, I left the mall and headed to a strip mall to try on clothes at my favorite store, Fashion Bug.

I have done a lot of shopping at Fashion Bug, but always in boy mode, so this would be something completely different. My goal was to find tops to go with the skirts I bought at Talbots. I went through rack after rack of tops and found a sweater that would go with one of the skirts... as long as it fit.

As I headed toward the fitting room, I encountered the clearance dress rack and I could not resist looking. There were a lot of dresses that did not interest me, but when I got to the “special occasion” section of the rack, my eyes lit up and I fell in love with a $90 cocktail dress marked down to almost half price.

It is a real girly party dress. According to the Fashion Bug website, it is a two-tone lace dress with camisole straps and tulle peek-out hemline. The back of dress features satin ribbon lacing, like the lacing on a corset. Problem is that I did not know the back from the front when I tried it on in the fitting room. I thought the lacing belonged at the front.

When I tried it on, it seemed to be the right size, but it did not fit right. Then it occurred to me that I had the dress on backwards, so I turned it around and it fit liked a glove. The sweater also fit. I bought both items and got 15% off by signing up for a Fashion Bug credit card.

That was the end of my day. I was very tired at its end. Some of my exhaustion was probably due to my nervousness. But I think I have finally conquered that problem and next time, I will have even a better timeout. All in all, it was an excellent experience and I can't wait to go shopping en femme again.

Wearing JustFab

David Strajmayster and Guillaume Carcaud femulating on French television's Samantha oups!

Someday Funnies

Wearing Lemoniade 

The always lovely Britney Smith

Get Off My Back

I have hair everywhere! Hair removal is my biggest hurdle when I prepare to femulate. For my legs, arms and chest, I use Nair. It works fast and usually one application does the trick.

Your mileage may vary, but Nair does not irritate my skin or cause a rash as long as I steer clear of the genital area when I do my legs and my armpits when I do my arms.

My chest is another story. Surprisingly, my breasts are OK with Nair, but occasionally my upper chest turns red after using Nair. For that reason, I keep a bottle of witch hazel handy. If my chest begins to flare up, I use a washcloth to apply witch hazel to the troubled area and that usually cools things down.

Normally, I don’t wear clothing that exposes my back, so I don’t bother removing the hair there. It is impossible to reach all my back hair with a razor or with Nair. I could get it waxed, but that is a little expensive for this frugal gal. So, to avoid back hair removal, I avoid clothing that reveals my back.

However, the dress I planned to wear to the Avon Christmas party (see previous post) exposed the upper half of my back and chest, so I had to deal with my hairy problem.

The first time I was faced with this problem, I thought, why not try Nair. If it works on my legs, arms and chest, it should work on my back, too.

To test my idea, one morning I dabbed a little bit of Nair on a corner of my natural mohair sweater, waited the requisite four minutes, then took a shower. After exiting the shower, I saw something I had not seen in nearly 40 years: a spot of bare skin on my back! And it was not turning red.

Evidently, Nair would do the trick for my back hair, but how could I apply it to the far-reaches of my back. I doubted that I could do a thorough job applying it manually and I could not find a volunteer to apply the Nair for me, so I put on my thinking wig cap to find a solution.

A day or two later, I thought that a small paintbrush might do the trick. Nair had the same consistency as paint and a paintbrush’s handle would give me a little extra reach to get to those out of the way places on my back. Then, I thought a paint pad (also known as a “poly foam brush”) would work, too.

I headed to the hardware department of my favorite boutique (Walmart) to look for a paint pad. Walmart had a good selection. For my application, I chose a 2-inch wide pad with a wooden handle that cost under $1.

I was ready and when the big day finally arrived, I poured some Nair into a small disposable Styrofoam bowl. In order to get a feeling for how the foam pad would work, I did my legs first. I immediately discovered that the Nair went on faster and with better coverage with the paint pad than when I applied it by hand. In fact, it went on so fast that I did my arms and chest before tackling my back.

Since I would be working in the blind, I decided to attack my back from different directions to try and achieve full coverage. So I applied it over my left and right shoulders and around my left and right sides.

After four minutes were up, I entered the shower and used a washcloth to remove the Naired hair (the force of the shower is not adequate enough to remove the hair). To remove the Naired back hair, I wrapped the washcloth around the head of a long-handled shower brush (I learned the hard way not to use a shower brush solo to remove Naired hair. The bristles of the brush can irritate the skin that has been sensitized by the Nair).

I exited the shower and looked in the mirror to discover that I had missed a spot on my lower back. That was no surprise as that was the hardest spot to reach. So, I applied some more Nair to that area and completed the job.

In conclusion, I discovered that the paint pad not only allowed me to remove the hair on my back, but it was also a more efficient way of applying Nair in general. Using the paint pad was a lot faster and neater than doing it manually and I also used a lot less Nair. Typically, I use one and one-half bottles of Nair to do my legs and arms (I don't always do my chest). Using the paint pad, I did my legs, arms, chest, and back and only used slightly more than one bottle of Nair. As a result, a paint pad is now a permanent part of my beauty tool collection.

Wearing Venus

A blushing bride femulation by Arthur Grayson in 1909

12 December 2006

Last night, I attended the Avon representatives Christmas party en femme. There were approximately 75 in attendance and as I expected, I was the only male Avon representative at the party.

I also guessed correctly that I would be one of the best dressed at the party, but what I did not expect was that it was no contest! I was WAY overdressed for the party. Most of the other reps wore slacks or jeans with tops and a minority wore skirts with tops. I was the only rep wearing a dress.

As I arrived at the hotel, I saw how the other reps on their way to the party were dressed and I had a lot of trepidation attending the party myself the way I was dressed. I actually considered hightailing it out of there. But, as I contemplated my next move in the lobby of the hotel, my district manager greeted me and urged me to go into the party despite expressing my uneasiness about being overdressed.

I signed in at the registration table, received a gift, a raffle ticket, and a name badge. I did not know what name (my real name or my femme name) to put on the badge, so I did not bother wearing it.

After registering, I looked for an empty chair and a friendly face. Everyone looked at me as I walked into the area where everyone was seated. From some of their facial expressions, I felt that they thought I was overdressed, too.

When I found an empty chair, I asked if it was taken and it was not, so I sat down. There were five reps at my table: one older, three about my age, and one younger. They were all very pleasant and included me in their conversation.

Everyone I encountered throughout the evening was very friendly, as if I had known them for years. When I rose to get a drink or go to the powder room, I noticed people checking me out. And when I was in line for the buffet, I could not help noticing all the other folks in line checking me out closely. But I never heard a discouraging word and saw a lot of smiles directed at me.

At the end of the evening, I said goodbye to my district manager and she gave me a big hug. As we separated, I said that we had never met in person and I wanted to introduce myself. I said, “I am (my real name).”

She said, “I know.”

I guess she put two and two together sometime during the evening. She knew I was coming, but had never met me. And she seemed to have known most of the other reps in attendance, so by process of elimination, the tall stranger must be me.

Needless to say, I am curious how well I passed last night, but I guess I will never know. No one let on that they knew I was male. They interacted with me as if I was another female. No one in line with me waiting to use the ladies’ room wondered why I didn’t use the men’s room (where there was no line). So, I guess I did pass!

Wearing Rachel Zoe

Peter Capaldi femulating in the British television movie Prime Suspect 3.

Peeing and Posing Pretty

Sitting Pretty Dept.

Reflecting on yesterday’s post about traveling en femme, I thought I would refer you to a couple of older posts about using restrooms while femulating out among the civilians:

“Sitting to Pee: Here, There and Everywhere” by Starla Renee Trimm

“Sit to Pee” by me 

Both posts contain good advice on the subject.

Watch the Birdie Dept.

Last week, I spent about four hours one day posing for photos wearing different outfits. Usually, I use my iPhone for photos, but I have a Canon digital SLR (DSLR) camera that I thought might result in better quality photos. I don’t use it much because it is a lot easier to use the iPhone, but since I had some time to myself, I took the opportunity to do a photoshoot with the Canon. The result is a slew of new photos that I have been using in the blog the past few days.

I even took a set of photos outdoors wearing the new overcoat and tweed minidress that I bought from JustFab. Mother Nature even provided some snow, so wearing my white go-go boots was so apropos. 

The thing is that my outdoor photoshoot was clearly visible to the neighbors if they chose to look out their windows. Normally, the trees on my property afford plenty of privacy, but the leafless trees of winter reveal everything.

The neighbors with a view have irregular hours. She leaves the house late in the morning and returns whenever. He leaves early in the morning and returns in the evening, but some days he works from home.  

I was too busy doing my makeup to notice if and when he or she left, so I was taking a chance posing outdoors, but I so wanted to do it and I did it. I admit I was a little nervous and the lack of a big smile on my face during the outdoor shots is indicative of that.

It really does not matter much if they saw me ort not. We are not close – just a wave “Hi” if we happen to see each other outdoors. So them seeing me en femme is not a deal breaker assuming that they saw me and figured out it was me.

And so it goes.

Wearing Boston Proper

Frequent femulator Harvey Korman (center) often donned female finery on television's The Carol Burnett Show and other venues where he appeared. You can view the above femulation on YouTube. 

I'm a Traveling Ma’am

Romney asked me for my views and advice about “traveling pretty.”

The term “traveling pretty” was popularized in a blog titled “Traveling Transgender” written by Kimberly Huddle, who flew regularly en femme. Kim has not posted anything since April 2020, but her blog had a great run for over 12 years and is well-worth visiting to read her flying pretty adventures (especially since I have never flown en femme, so have no advice to offer on that matter).

All my traveling pretty has been in a motor vehicle, mostly in my Subaru. And I have done so throughout Southern New England as well as New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania and West Virginia. The only advice I offer about driving en femme is to follow the rules of the road to avoid close encounters with officials wearing badges. 

No surprise here, but male drivers will take advantage of woman drivers. Men drive more aggressively when they cross paths with me. They assume that I will back off and give them the right of way, which I usually do, not because I am meek and mild, but because I am en femme and I do not want to get into an accident.

The worst that can happen traveling pretty in a motor vehicle is having an accident. Dealing with police and a potentially irate driver (of the other vehicle) is not my cup of tea. Luckily, I have never had an accident en femme despite driving a standard transmission vehicle in high heels over 14,000 miles. 

Almost as bad as having an accident is having a vehicle breakdown. 

Years ago after an outreach session, I returned to my Subaru and it would not start. I have AAA, but was not anxious to face a AAA man while I was en femme. So I popped the hood to have a look, found nothing suspicious and got back in the Subaru to try starting the car to no avail.

A small pickup truck pulled up next to me and two young fellows got out to offer assistance. After trying a few things unsuccessfully, they suggested trying to start the car by popping the clutch. I was parked on an incline, so all they had to do was give my car a little nudge and I was on my way, popping the clutch and getting a new battery the next day.

(Today, I have much more experience en femme dealing with men, so I would not hesitate to call AAA.)

Roadtrips require stops for gas, food, rest rooms and overnight stays. Dealing with civilians who sell gas, food and overnight accommodations is no worse than dealing with the sales rep at your favorite boutique; they want your money, so they will treat you nicely in order to collect it. I have never had a problem – even those times when I checked into a hotel en homme and checked out en femme. No one batted an eye.

Rest rooms are a different story. In Connecticut, it is legal to use a rest room that matches your gender presentation, but in some states, it is illegal to use a rest room designated opposite your birth gender. Seeking out a “family” designated rest room is your safest bet. However, that option is not always available, so you might have to throw caution to the wind and use a rest room designated opposite your birth gender. For what it’s worth, I always use the women's rest room wherever I am and have never had a problem. But your mileage may vary.  

I love traveling pretty and cannot wait for this pandemic to end so I can continue my travels en femme.

Bon voyage!

 

Wearing New York & Company

John Ritter femulating in a 1977 episode of The Love Boat. Just as I would never be pegged as a “civilian” in light of my history of public Halloween femulations, I believe that Ms. Ritter is in the same boat. He managed to find himself en femme in one too many of his television and film appearances.

Monday, Monday, Monday

Zooming Again Dept.

Wednesday evening, I was the guest speaker at the CDI weekly Zoom meeting. CDI (Cross Dressers International) is a Manhattan-based organization that has members throughout the Tri-State Area and beyond. 

There were 23 participants, the most they have ever had at their weekly get-togethers. I had a great time telling my story and fielding questions from the folks in attendance. 

CDI is a very cool organization; check out their website and see what I mean.

Sports Dept.

I am tired of all the malarkey surrounding the “controversy” over transgirls competing with cisgender girls in scholastic sports. 

A Daily KOS article, “Trans women in sports and the myth of ‘male puberty’” refutes all the malarkey. I recommend reading it and saving it as ammunition against the next transphobic cretin you encounter spouting these lies. 

Anti-Sports Dept.

Femulation Beats Super Bowl 10 – 0 !

By Velma

(This is a re-write of a Femulation adventure from almost two years ago – February 2019 – pre pandemic.)

Sunday was the first warm and dry Sunday in weeks, and a round of Femulation was definitely the order of the day. Never mind that this Sunday was also Super Bowl day. At least the shopping traffic was minimal.

Back at Christmas, I had treated myself to a new LBD with belled sleeves purchased from Cato ladies clothiers (Cato.com) and this day was warm enough to dress in this dress and show some leg. I had also acquired a great new blonde wig at a consignment store for the huge price of $5. I paired the dress with matching gold and black chain and earrings, as well as black open-toed strap pumps.

My second stop shopping was at the west side Value Village thrift store for more shopping. I was met with a considerable surprise. At the check-out line stood a former co-worker; a lady Teamster truck driver,  Wynne, was at the checkout line at the front of the store. The thing is Wynne is totally fun crazy, the kind of co-worker who was a ball to work with.

I had only seen her once since retiring 10 years ago and that last encounter was about 6 weeks ago, when my wife and I (I was not en femme at this time) were shopping at the same Value Village. At that chance meeting with Wynne, I had decided to invite her to lunch; arrive en femme and out myself at some time in the future. It would be first time I revealed my secret to any of my former coworkers.

With that plan totally trashed, I decided to simply walk by and see if she could recognize the new me. 

I walked about two feet from her, where my face was clearly in her line of sight.  Nothing happened-- no response.

I then circled back around for another pass and did same. Still nothing – she nary batted an eye.

I then turned around and stood in the checkout line behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

Wynne turned and saw me as I said, “Hi, Wynne.” 

My distinctive male voice gave me away.

“Well,  whatta ya think?” I asked.

“Frank?” (not my real name)

Wynne let out a loud exclamatory “Damn!”

“Look at you! You look so good! Your makeup! It’s perfect! You do makeup better than me and your outfit, it’s perfect! You even have matching girl glasses!”

I explained that the glasses were prescription.

“If you had not said anything, I would not have recognized you.”

“I'll bet you didn’t think I had 'it in me? Huh?”

I commented that there was no way I could femulate while working with our fellow rough and tough Teamsters. But now that I was retired…

Wynne commented that you might as well make yourself happy, especially if you don’t have to dodge our old bosses.

By that time, others were in the check-out line behind us, so we waved them on around and talked for about half an hour. Interesting point, was that the customers we waved around us, paid us no attention.

Every once in a while during the conversation, she would let out a “Damn! I can’t get over how good you look.”

At one point in the conversation, she asked about how I held things together. I explained that I was wearing a longline bra, silicone breast falsies and a padded derriere panty. I invited her to check ‘em out. Apparently impressed, she let out another “Damn!”

We said our goodbyes, gave each other a hug, made promises for plans for perhaps a future girl lunch.

The End

Wearing Unique Vintage

Stan Munro, professional femulator, circa 1965

Someday Funnies

 

Wearing Intermix sweater, Sablyn skirt and Golden Goose boots.

Frank Thornton femulating in a 1972 episode of British television's Are You Being Served?

Reinvention

The great thing about being a woman is the power of reinvention. – Sharon Needles

People say I am courageous for doing what I do. 

Maybe yes, maybe no. I sure don’t feel courageous when I present as a woman. Rather, I feel exhilarated that I am no longer pretending to be a man and am living as a woman.

The people I find courageous are the women in our community who do not hide the fact from the public that they were born male and go about living their lives as women part-time or full-time. Some use female names, but some even go by their male names, like today’s Femulator (below). (The latter get extra points on the courage scale in my opinion.)

There are a lot of people who knew me as Stan before they knew me as Stana and in most cases, it made no difference to them. I was still the same person, but with a better fashion sense. So by default, I joined those women who do not hide their male birth origin from the public. 

Today is the fourteenth anniversary of this blog and in honor of that occasion, I am reinventing myself a little bit. Instead of hiding behind a secret identity called “Stana,” I will also go by my male name “Stanley.” 

Ying and yang. 

So, you can call me “Stanley” or you can call me ”Stana” – just don’t call me late for the shoe sale!

Tom Hulme