Progress

Got out Wednesday and wore my new plaid blazer dress fromVenus and new black “Sort” high heels from Nine West. I like it when I wear new, but it was cold and windy, so I topped my new outfit with my vintage white fake fur jacket from Fashion Bug (remember them?).

Met Diana and Sylvia for lunch at Viron Rondo Osteria in Cheshire, Connecticut. The place was packed – lots of people doing lunch to celebrate the holidays. 

We three were seated at a table that could seat many more people and shortly after our food arrived, the manager came by and asked us if we would be willing to move to another table because she had erred and had a party of 19 lined up for our table. To entice us, she offered us free drinks and free desserts, so we happily took her up on her offer.

It was nice to be out en femme again.

After all these years going out among the civilians, I noticed something new during my recent outings. I no longer check to see if civilians are noticing me. That’s progress. (And it’s nice to know that at my age, I can still progress!)

Wearing ShopBop

Steven Weber femulating on television’s The Comedians.

Without Laughing

All my life I wondered why. In the past, I wondered about it a lot, but now I seldom think about it. Now, I prefer to do it rather than wonder about it.

I think my tipping point occurred when I went out and nobody cared (just another old lady shopping at Macy’s) or even noticed. I could enjoy it and not worry about what caused it.

Anyhow, a few days ago, I came across a “theory” explaining why we do what we do. The theory was new to me and maybe it will be new to you. Here it is:

“Those guys who like, or love, crossdressing are the most interesting group. It seems their brains are hardwired to release feel-good neurotransmitters (dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins, serotonin), when they immerse themselves in the feminine. Women’s clothing gives them an automatic and involuntary response with their brain releasing the neurotransmitters producing sensations of excitement, gratification, pleasure, comfort and well-being. These men will often say that don’t know why, but they just NEED to cross-dress. For them the urge to cross-dress is powerful, innate and immutable. Actually, their body needs the neurotransmitters and the clothes are just the tool to get the brain to release them. If they deny themselves the neurotransmitters then they may experience symptoms like, a lack of motivation, reduced concentration, depression, and reduced sex drive. Most people what [sic] to be happy, and for these men, women’s clothing makes them happy.”

That’s the gist of Philip Peters’ theory. You can read more about it on Quora.

So what do you think? 

Personally, doing it is exciting, gratifying, pleasurable, comforting and especially very good for my well-being. As Woody Allen once said, it’s “the most fun I ever had without laughing.”

Wearing StyleWe

Femulating at the All Ireland Pole Dancing Championship

Collecting Smiles

By Tami Knight

On the way to my noon pedicure appointment, I stopped for coffee at Savaya. There are always several couples camped out at the tables, laptops open with concentration levels up. I wore simple straight leg Madewell jeans, linen L'Agence jacket, a burgundy bodysuit from Lulu’s, and black slip-ons. Pretty standard dress for me on this chilly 59-degree midday in Arizona. Two women looked up very briefly, smiled and went back to their screens.

The young man behind the counter took my order, asked my name and got to work on my latte. I walked to a vacant table, leaned against it and studied my iPad for mail on Yahoo. The young man (by my standards, maybe 35) called my name and handed me my drink.  

“You look nice,” he said.  

I thanked him, smiled, grabbed a napkin, turned and walked to the door. I had styled my hair that morning and I guess it came out alright!

Driving a couple miles north, I pulled up to Nail Trix. I walked in, flip flops and latte in hand and waved to Kim in the back. (Always bring your own flip flops!) She is a trusted friend and always has compliments and a kind word.  

I sat in the waiting area, purse and flip flops on my lap. A young mother (again by my standards, maybe 30) sat down just one seat away and gave me a nice smile as she looked my way. I smiled back and watched for Kim to be ready. I heard the mother talking as if to a child, and I leaned to my right to see around the front desk. Sure enough, a very young girl was getting her nails polished.

“How old?” I asked.  

“Five,” the mother said. 

“Oh, how fun for her!” I said.  

She was happy to have her daughter along as there was no sitter to be found that morning, so why not entertain her? Now the two of us were off and running talking about  first experiences. She asked if I had raised children and I responded saying yes, boys.  

Kim called me back to her pedicure station and we greeted each other with a hug and went through the usual pre-holiday pleasantries. It was quiet in the salon and it was nice to relax talking with her while she took good care of my toes.  

Nice to relax too with many simple midday interactions with people being so pleasant. Kim finished up (OPI bubble bath) and my flip flops were carefully slid back on to my feet. I walked towards the front door (toe separators in place) with several women looking ever so briefly my way.

Nice to collect so many smiles and to return them as any woman might. Life is good.

Wearing Allsaints

Jorge Chacón

More Stuff (#22)

By J.J. Atwell

Wow, 22 installments of my Stuff! I’d love to hear about what you would like to read about in future installments.  

Today, I’d like to talk about picking a nom de femme. How did you pick a name for your girl side?

Still a Rose?

Some of us may remember from our English literature classes that a famous writer once wrote, “That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.” I suppose we could call ourselves anything and it really wouldn’t matter to our presentation. But if I did that, this would be a very short column.  

So I got to wondering how crossdressers go about picking out a name for their girl side. Unlike most people, we crossdressers get to pick our preferred name. I’m sure some of us gave that a lot of thought. While some took the easy road of just adopting a female version of their male name. Gene becomes “Jean,” Robert becomes “Roberta,” etc. Maybe I shouldn’t call that the easy way. How we arrive at our nom de femme is something personal and bears some thought.

Yes, Still a Rose!  

When you pick your femme name you are really making a statement about yourself. The simple act of deciding to adopt a nom de femme says that you accept that part of yourself.  That is that she exists. She is real. There is something there that affects you profoundly and is a part of your whole being.

When you use your femme name and have others recognize you by it, it affirms not just that part of you, but all of you. Acknowledging your girl side affects your life decisions consciously and subconsciously.  

How did I pick my nom de femme? I took a fairly easy way out. I wanted to keep my same initials. So I adopted a first name (Jennifer) that is roughly similar to my guy name. Picking a middle name was pretty easy. Joy described my feelings when dressed. It took a bit more effort for the last name but ultimately went with Atwell because it connotes an overall feeling of wellness. How’s that stuff?

I’ll be back

I’d love to hear how you picked your nom de femme. I’ll be back with more Stuff in the next installment. Comments are welcome either here on the blog or by email to Jenn6nov at-sign gmail dot com. JJ is always looking for more stuff, so let me know what you would like to read about.

Editress’ Note 

Some readers have indicated that they are confused by J.J.’s published email address (Jenn6nov at-sign gmail dot com). J.J. and other people use this format to prevent Internet robots from mining email addresses for nefarious purposes.

In order to use such an address to send J.J. an email, you must manually convert this format into a legitimate email address. For example, I will convert Lola at-sign femulate dot org

at-sign converts to @

dot converts to .

Delete the blank spaces and Lola at-sign femulate dot org becomes Lola@femulate.org

Wearing A.L.C.

Mahmoud Hemeida femulates in the 1994 Egyptian film Strawberry War.

Someday Funnies

Wearing Venus

Femulating on the catwalk

Forget the Power Tools

By Paula Gaikows

Wearing Liz Claiborne

ki

Back in 2008, I was breaking out of my shell and starting to accept myself as a transgender woman. This is when I started going out in public. At that time, it was difficult for me to find clothes, however, I found thrift shops and garage sales to be an excellent source.

On a warm spring day, cruising around I stumbled upon a house having a “retirement sale.” Interested, I pulled in. As I explored the remnants of their life scattered across the yard, I ventured into the garage. Upon entering, I was met with an unexpected find that both surprised and fascinated me. There stood a long rack with high-quality career wear the kind a professional woman like a CPA or lawyer would wear. Gorgeous suits, chic slacks and elegant blouses caught my eye in sizes 16 and 18. Wow! 

Shy, I discreetly pretended disinterest, all the while stealing glances and looking over this treasure trove of fashion. These weren’t mere garments; they were the identity of a seasoned executive, her discerning taste, a reflection of years spent navigating corporate landscapes.

As my interest grew, a pleasant older woman strolled up revealing that these were her work clothes. Now retired from business, she no longer needed them. She hinted that people didn’t seem very interested and she seemed disappointed. She then emphasized the high-quality, designer nature of the wardrobe. Caught off guard, I managed to blush and nod a casual agreement, suggesting someone was in for a deal. 

Finding cover in the power tools for a while, I was soon drawn back to the clothes. I spotted the iconic Pendleton wool suit I’d later wear on my train ride into London. Inquiring about the price, she nonchalantly asked for $10 – a true steal. Then there was a navy blue Austin Reed suit that caught my eye and again, a mere $10 secured its place in my future. 

As the pile grew, I couldn't help but smile as I envisioned my own wardrobe curated by a real working woman. The fact that a professional woman like herself had selected and worn these clothes gave them spirit. It was as if they had soul. These clothes held the essence of a woman who navigated the corporate landscape with grace, each piece a chapter in her life.

As I examined an assortment of blouses and slacks, each priced at a $10, the total in my head quickly soared past $100. A daring thought struck me: why not go all-in and acquire the entire collection? 

Summoning courage, I cautiously proposed, “Would you take $100 for everything here?” She bit her lower lip nervously as she considered my offer, then she enthusiastically defended the quality, dropping the names of designers like Liz Claiborne, Ralph Lauren, Pendleton and Calvin Klein. Her $150 counteroffer lingered in the air. I hesitated, confessing I only had $125. A perceptive yet devilish smile crossed her face, sealing the deal with “sold!” 

She exclaimed about someone being very lucky to get these clothes. With a shared knowing smile, it was at this point that it became apparent that she sensed these clothes were meant for me. That unspoken truth hung in the air, silently acknowledged by a gaze that spoke volumes. It appeared as though she was making peace with the idea of me inheriting her wardrobe; these garments held memories and were part of her, the notion of a me wanting them seemed to puzzle her.

Her parting words resonated, “I hope...,” she hesitated nervously carefully choosing her next words, “...these clothes find a caring home and are appreciated and enjoyed.” It was as if she was saying goodbye and letting go.

She would never know that those clothes would ignite the woman inside me and propel me into adventures I never dreamed possible. Every skirt suit you’ve seen in my Femulate articles, each pair of slacks and cozy sweaters – most emerged from that encounter with this kind woman. Those clothes, handpicked by her, transformed me making me feel remarkably feminine and undeniably womanly.

For me this wardrobe was more than a collection of clothes; they were inspirational. By wearing these garments, I infused a bit of her strength, grace and femininity into my own endeavors and I am truly grateful for that. Yes, my dear lady, your clothes found a home where they were loved, respected and worn with grace and pride.

Wearing Jacquemus

Patrick Walshe McBride femulating on British television’s

Shakespeare & Hathaway: Private Investigators

Escaped Again

By Tami Knight

This post is to bookend Stana’s recent piece on getting out in public. I have only my own experiences to share, which span decades! Getting out is an adventure if you are ready. To understand my definition of ready, first look at my past post on ambiguity. (Just search my name on this blog). Along with your presentation, you need to be mentally ready as well.

Presentation

You don’t have to be super model perfect, however you must dress to blend in and measure yourself against other women and how they are dressed. This is common sense. I have always believed that dressing with care, appropriately, shows sincerity in who you are and that you wish to be seen as female. That makes you relatable. I certainly made mistakes decades ago by wearing what I wanted rather than what was appropriate. That allowed others to make broad negative judgments about me, (which I deserved!). The more refined my presentation became, the more acceptance was easy and eventually welcomed.

Location

Stana is correct, the mall has been an easy choice for getting out. However, it can be where (sometimes), rude teens might embarrass you. The retailers will be glad to help you, and they have seen ambiguity before. Other safe spots that are fun are museums, art galleries, lectures, large events with adults focused on a historical event or one of your other interests. Airports, busy downtowns (in the daytime), theaters, wine tastings and nice restaurants are easy as well. I can’t begin to list all the fun interactions I have had with fellow diners at nice establishments. However, after hours is when women want to be safe. I was out with a girlfriend at the Temple of Arts in Arizona, and after this bad play ended, we agreed that we would both walk a good distance to her car together, and she would drive me over to mine. Just in case, always be smart!

I have dined alone or with a friend more times than I can count. I have had such fun with the wait staff, the people at the table next to me, or the couple sitting at the bar. I have never ever, gone anywhere that might in any way spell trouble; or any place my mother wouldn’t go.

Mental Preparation

Early in my getting out, I found I was just nervous enough, that I was not focused on what was going on around me. I missed things in this fog. Worried about who might be looking at me, I couldn’t enjoy the place I worked so hard to get to. My driving was also distracted, and I often made dumb mistakes,wrong turns, or parking errors and didn’t watch my speed. I earned a speeding ticket once.

This fog went away with practice but took time. You too may not be at your best on your early ventures out. So, anticipate this. In time, with care, sincerity, and practice at the right venues, you can begin to enjoy seeing the world through a relaxed feminine lens, make friends, enjoy life.

Wearing ModCloth

Another Modern Couple

What's Good for the Goose...

Wearing Cynthia Rowley

Niharika Nerurkar, femulating in India

Escaped

I used to be very closeted. I feared being read because of my size (6'2"), so my closet was bounded by the walls of halls and hotels where crossdressing meetings and events were being held. As FDR once said, “...the only thing we have to fear is...fear itself,” so once I overcame my fear of heights, the closet walls disappeared and now I go anywhere and everywhere en femme.

Question: How did I overcome the fear?

Answer: By mixing with civilians. 

Doing so, you quickly realize that no one cares or if they do, they are not going to do anything about it except maybe smirk or nudge a companion to check out the crossdresser.

Almost 20 years ago, I was so sick and tired of being stuck in the closet that I decided to do something about it. So I put on my big girl panties and visited a mall, which I assumed was a safe place to go to escape from my closet.

Why are malls safe?

Malls have security to provide a modicum of safety for its customers. Visiting a mall, I never required help from security, so I assume the previous statement is true.

The sales staff in mall stores are in it for the money, so they will welcome all shoppers while overlooking their faults. I have never encountered a salesperson who was not welcoming. Don’t know if they knew I was crossdressing, but I assume some figured me out because when it was time to settle up, my driver’s license revealed all... sometimes.

I cherish the times when I handed over my driver’s license while using a credit card and be asked, “Is this your husband’s driver’s license.” By the way, I use a Bank of America credit card that only has the initial S for my first name, so if the seller does not require a driver’s license when I use my credit card, I am home free.

Visit a mall when they just open to avoid civilian crowds that show up later in the day. Today, crowds don’t bother me, but if you are just beginning to escape from the closet, fewer civilians in the mall will add to your comfort. Sadly, many malls are “dying” these days, so you may not encounter crowds any time of day.

Go to Sephora, M·A·C, Ulta or other makeup emporium and get a makeover. My first mall visit, I went to Sephora (photo above) and asked for a consultation concerning issues I had with my makeup application.

The Sephora saleswoman made me feel at ease, taught me a few things about makeup and made suggestions on how to improve my presentation. And, yes, the she knew I was crossdressing because during the consultation, I mentioned that I had beard cover under my foundation. 

The saleswoman probably knew already that I was en femme. Working up close to a customer, the telltale signs of masculinity are harder to hide, so a pro will know. Despite all that, 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.”

I have lived by those words ever since.

Wearing Yumi Kim

New Sisters

Source: Rue La La

Reputed “feminized husband”