Bridesmaid

This young femulator was a bridesmaid for a womanless wedding fundraiser at his church.

Visit this page on Tumblr for more photos of the pretty young bridesmaid.

(I wish there were photos of the rest of the wedding party!)

Beneath It All

Circa 1963, my mother wore bras and girdles, so they were my foundation garments of choice when I began femulating. (I really had no choice; Mom wore bras and girdles, so that is what I borrowed when I femulated.)

When I mustered up enough courage to purchase my own foundation garments (in person at Frederick's of Hollywood and JCPenney), I stuck with bras and girdles (like mother, like son). However, since I was more Rubenesque than my mother, I bought longline bras and waist cinchers to supplement the girdles.

That combination of foundations suited me well for a very long time.

Then I discovered Spanx shapewear and its copycats. I packed away the girdles and waist cinchers and switched to a variety of Spanx-like shapewear, typically the Bali and Hanes brand knock-offs because Avon sells them and since I am an Avon rep, I can buy them at a discount.

In addition to losing the heavyweight girdles, I also packed away the longline bras because the Bali and Hanes shapewear permits me to wear regular bras like the cute, sexy bras sold by Victoria's Secret ("Hello, Bombshell").

Occasionally, I strap on my heavy-duty corset-like waist cincher if I think I will need a little extra curvature, but normally, Bali or Hanes and Vicky are all I need.

I'd love to hear what you all are wearing beneath it all. (Does anyone still wear a girdle or has everyone switched to Spanx?)

6.125 inches

Ten days ago, I asked "How high?" was the latest ShoeDazzle offering named "Privy."

ShoeDazzle claimed that the shoe's heel was 5.5 inches, but added "that "measurements are approximate and may vary by size."

I surmised that in my size, the heel would be about 7 inches high because larger sizes require higher heels.

I wrote that "I cannot imagine walking in shoes with a 7-inch heel, but I am tempted to order the shoe just to see how really high it is."

I gave into temptation because in addition to my curiosity about the heel's height, the lime-green color of the shoe was a perfect match to a lime-green / white polka dot dress that I own.

The shoes arrived last night and I measured the heel as soon as I opened the shoe box.

The heel is not quite 7 inches high, but pretty close: 6 and 1/8th inches.

After measuring the heel, I slipped on the shoes and I am happy to report that I am able to walk in shoes with a 6.125-inch heel! 

What’s in Storrs for Me on Friday

On Friday, I will be returning to my alma mater, the University of Connecticut, which is the site of the True Colors Conference this weekend.

The Conference focuses on the needs of LGBTQ youth and their allies and thousands of young people and adults from around the country will be in attendance.

I have conducted workshops in the past at the Conference, but I did not get my act together in time this year, so no workshop for me. However, I will be staffing the booth of the Connecticut Outreach Society (COS) throughout the day (that’s me in the photo at the booth in 2009).

If you are attending the Conference, please stop by the booth and say "Hello."

Five Million!

A few minutes ago, the hit counter passed the 5,000,000 mark here on the old Femulate blog.

Thank you all for your patronage!

Best Wishes,

Stana

Call Me Sissy

According to my recollection, the first negative word ever hurled at me was "sissy."

"Sissy" according to The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, Third Edition is "a boy or man regarded as effeminate."

To illuminate that definition, the dictionary defines "effeminate" as "having qualities or characteristics more often associated with women than men; characterized by weakness and excessive refinement."

Yes - that's me. The dictionary could print an image of me next to the printed words to illustrate the definition.

The thing is that the first time I was called a sissy, I had no idea that I was one. All I knew was that I was "me" and I was not intentionally emulating females.

But the name-calling continued. And then there was bullying.

So I figured something was wrong with me and when things really got bad, I eschewed anything feminine.

After things settled down, I went back to my old ways and was myself again comfortably picking and choosing what I liked from the masculine and feminine aisles in that big department store called "Life."

Older and wiser, I eventually ignored the taunting, learned to embrace my self, and became my own man or should I say "woman."

Actually, I am somewhere in between. Circumstances prevent me from being a woman all the time. Some of the time, I am a feminine man and some of the time, I am a feminine woman, so you can call me "sissy;" it's a good fit.

The Million Dollar Question

She's the Man

Like Father, Like Son

Aunty Marlena sent me two links (1 and 2) to the Misster Teen Redfield womanless pageant, which was held at Redfield Junior High School (RJHS) in Arizona.

Visiting the school’s Facebook page, I discovered two links (1 and 2) for the Misster Redfield womanless pageant (Warning: bearded femulators).

Seems that two womanless pageants are conducted on the same night: one for the male students at RJHS and one for the fathers of the students at RJHS.

The femulations were average, but my kudos go out to the student who won the teen division of the pageant. Instead of a wig, his own hair sported a female do and his makeup was perfect (see the accompanying photo).

Blog Minutia

E-mail Backlog

I had two big freelance editing projects to complete recently and in order to meet my deadlines, I had to throw something under the bus. That something was answering e-mails, so for the last ten days or so, e-mails have been piling up unanswered.

I apologize for not answering your e-mails, but something had to give.

The good news is that I buttoned up the last editing project last night and can begin catching up with my e-mails.

Off Thursday

To celebrate the completion of another orbit around the Sun, I am off Thursday, but will return to our normally scheduled programming on Friday.

Trans-Nazis and Trans-Harpies

I attended the IFGE convention in Philadelphia in 2004.

Previous to the convention, I did not get out much en femme. I attended my support group's monthly meetings and occasional outings and I attended First Event a few times.

Back then, my support group and First Event were more oriented towards crossdressers, rather than  transsexuals. Although my support group was a gateway for crossdressers who discovered they were transsexuals (who would then leave to join the local transsexual support group), most of the members were non-transsexual crossdressers. As a result, I did not encounter many transsexuals until I attended the IFGE convention.

The IFGE convention was more oriented towards transsexuals than crossdressers and that's when I encountered my first Trans-Nazi.

Except for the girl who carpooled to Philly with me, I knew nobody at the convention, so I tried to be outgoing and make new friends and acquaintances at the convention.

When I sat down at a random table for our first luncheon, I introduced myself to everyone at the table. Most of the girls responded in kind, but a couple gave me the cold shoulder; they were a couple of post-op transsexuals with bleached blond hair and lots of plastic surgery (they must have used the same plastic surgeon because they looked like twins, although they were not related). They ignored everyone else at the table and eventually, we gave up trying to be social with them and ignored them in kind.

They were the first, but not the last Trans-Nazis I encountered at the convention. "No respect for you," was their unspoken refrain.

I met a lot of nice friendly people at the IFGE convention, both transsexual and non-transsexual, but the attitude of the Trans-Nazis in attendance was a turn-off.

Did they think they were better women than me because they cut off their penises and ingested hormones?

The Trans-Nazi phenomena was an eye-opener. I always thought we were all sisters in the same boat and should help each other traveling through troubled waters, but some of our sisters would just as soon dump some of us off the side without a life preserver.

I encountered my first Trans-Harpy after this blog began attracting attention. A Trans-Harpy is a Trans-Nazi who writes a blog or comments on other people's blogs (usually anonymously).

The Trans-Harpies are worse than the Trans-Nazis; whereas a Trans-Nazi will just ignore non-post-op transgenders, the Trans-Harpy verbally abuses non-post-op transgenders with hateful words. 

Shame on them!

I try to live and let live. As long as you don't tread on me or my loved ones, live your life as you will and let me live mine.

Why Would Anyone Want To Be A Woman?

Reading "Why I Decided To Become A Woman" yesterday reminded me of an encounter I had with an old friend last May at the Dayton Hamvention.

At Dayton, I sought out old ham radio friends and acquaintances in order to come out to them.

One friend, who I had known for over 30 years was pleased to see me once he recognized me en femme.

He listened attentively to my story. Then he asked some questions, which I answered.

Finally he said to me, "Why would anyone want to be a woman?"

My jaw dropped. I felt like everything I had said to him had gone in one ear and out the other.

It was not a choice. I didn't decide one day that I needed a change of pace and would become a woman. I didn't decide to become transgender to spice up my life.

Life would be so much easier if I was not transgender... if I was not a woman who found herself in a male body.

Like Joy Ladin wrote, "There’s nothing so bad about being a man... as long as you’re a man.”

I'm certainly not a man. That explains why I feel uncomfortable when en homme, but at ease when en femme. 

And so it goes.  

Why I Decided To Become A Woman

And what’s so bad about being a man?

Good reading!

A Huffington Post excerpt from "Through the Door of Life: A Jewish Journey Between Genders" by Joy Ladin [University of Wisconsin Press, $26.95]

Time Flies

It seems like I just finished my Christmas shopping and here it is, March 5, with less than four weeks to go before the big T event of the year in this part of the world.

On the evening of Saturday, March 31, I will be attending the annual Connecticut Outreach Society (COS) banquet at the Four Points Sheraton in the Meriden, CT with about 75 other trans ladies and their guests.

I bought a new evening gown and pair of shoes for the event. I picked out the song I will perform during the entertainment portion of the banquet. And I mailed in my check to confirm my registration. So, I am all set and look forward to the gala gal affair.

I hope you will join me at the banquet; I guarantee that you will have a great time. For more information and a downloadable registration form, visit the COS website and click on the big red link.

I'd Order A "Pink Lady"

How High?!

Have you noticed how high heels are getting higher?

I am not one to shy away from high heels. Typically, 3 or 4-inch heels adorn my feet.

Last year, I joined ShoeDazzle, which is a book-of-the-month club for shoes. Since I joined, most of their heels have hovered around the 4-inch mark, but as spring approached, I noticed that their heels were getting higher.

On March 1st, I received an e-mail (like I do the first of every month) revealing my ShoeDazzle selections for March. I was taken aback by the heel height of some of the selections, particularly the shoe named "Privy" (see photo) with its 5.5-inch heel.

ShoeDazzle notes that "measurements are approximate and may vary by size." The larger the shoe size, the higher the heel, which means in my size (the largest that ShoeDazzle offers), Privy's heel is probably 7 inches or more!

I cannot imagine walking in shoes with a 7-inch heel, but I am tempted to order the shoe just to see how really high it is.

Shooting Yourself

I understand that some transgirls take photos of themselves when they are en femme!

Really! Did you ever hear of such a thing?*

Seriously, I take photos of myself en femme nearly every time I femulate. I do it for two reasons:

1. To feed this blog. (The blog is hungry for photos and it must be fed.)

2. To see if my femulation is good, bad, or in-between. (Photos are more revealing than a mirror.)

Self photography is an art. I probably discard half the self-photos I take because there is something technically wrong with them (usually related to focus, framing and/or lighting).

Having tinkered with self-photography for over 40 years, I could write forever on the topic, but why re-invent the wheel when somebody already invented it.

Jennine Jacob, founder of the Independent Fashion Bloggers, wrote How to Take Gorgeous Self Portraits. She uses the same cameras as I do, so I can attest to the truth of what she wrote. At the end of her post are links to other related posts that you can provide additional help.

Have Fun!

* Which reminds me of a joke: How many transgirls does it take to change a light bulb? The answer is three. One to climb the ladder to change the light bulb, one to steady the ladder, and one to take photos of the event.

Does it come in his size?

Andrej Pejic Offered Lead Role in French Film

Read all about it here.

The “Other” Man

Yesterday, I wrote about women who are comfortable (to one degree or another) with their men dressing like a woman.

Although it is rare to find a woman who is ok with a femulating partner, it is easy to find women who are ok with other men dressing like women (as long as the femulating men are not "their" men).

I run into this all the time. When I encounter a female stranger and she discovers that I am en femme, in the majority of cases, she is fine with it. Often, she is very interested and even enthusiastic about it. Seldom do I get a negative reaction.

Those who are positive about my femulation say something to the effect that what I am doing is "wonderful." Yes, I have actually heard the word "wonderful" more than once from such enthusiasts.

And I don't look a gift horse in the mouth and ask, "What do you mean by that?"

Instead, I just go with the flow.

I can understand why a woman would not want her man to femulate, but I don't understand why women are ok and even enthusiastic about other men being en femme. Not that there is anything wrong with it, but it's a mystery wrapped in a riddle inside an enigma!