Professional femulators George Logan and Patrick Fyffe portraying Dr. Evadne Hinge and Dame Hilda Bracket, better known as Hinge and Bracket. (Suggested by Aunty Marlena.)
Wearing DressBarn.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
Femulating Superheroine
Celeste alerted me about SheZow and wrote, “I find it jaw dropping that there is a cartoon program aimed at a younger audience that has the lead character crossdressed AND in subsequent episodes, learns to comfortable with it. While it does have the classic ‘guy in women's clothing’ humor and over-the-top stereotypical female gags, they ARE challenging the viewer if you can look past that. I honesty think the message is ‘it's okay to be transgender.’”
Excerpts from SheZow can be viewed on YouTube.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Friday, March 1, 2013
Having a Ballet
Thirty-five new online high school yearbook images illustrating a variety of femulations now grace our collection on flickr thanks to Starla.
I uploaded the new images to flickr and they are now ready for your viewing pleasure* including the four ballerinas pictured above, who donned tutus way back in 1949.
One of my first girly moments was related to the ballet. When I was 5-years-old, my mother enrolled my younger sister and I in a dancing school. My class had about 15 girls and one other boy. Once a week, we practiced tap and ballet for an hour under the tutelage of young female instructors.
I have no memory why my mother enrolled us at dancing school. I could understand enrolling my sister, but why did she immerse me, her only son, in that world of femininity? It certainly was not going to make a man out of me. Maybe she detected the girl in me and thought that I would enjoy participating in such a girly activity.
If that was her plan, she was correct. I enjoyed every minute of it!
I loved learning dance and being treated like the other girls. The young instructors became my role models. I even recall dreaming (both day dreaming and sleep dreaming) about dancing as a ballerina, wearing a pink leotard, tutu, ballet shoes, and makeup with my long blond hair put up in a pony-tail.
Due to tight family finances, we only took dance classes for one year, but that one year immersion in femininity left a life-long impression on this girl.
* To view the latest additions to the collection:
Method 1: Open one of the Yearbooks sets (A through Z) and you will find the newest uploads at the end/bottom of the set. (The oldest uploads appear at the beginning/top of the set.)
Method 2: Open my photostream and you will find the newest uploads at the top of page 1. The uploads get older as the page numbers get higher with the oldest uploads on the last page.
By the way, the contents of the Yearbook A through Z sets are organized according to school name, for example, the photos from Hard Knox High School would be in the Yearbooks H set.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Counseling and the Crossdresser
Paula Gaikowski penned another guest post for Femulate and this time, it is something a little different for this blog: it is about counseling.
Crossdressing is about expressing who you are deep inside; it should be a positive and enjoyable experience.
Many girls I speak with have no interest in counseling or therapy and in fact, I am surprised to find some downright hostile to the idea. I can say that seeing a therapist has helped me immensely. Counseling for me wasn’t about crossdressing, but was about the pain and torment it was causing me. Mind you, it took therapy for me to realize this.
Finding the right person is the key. You don’t have to stay with the first therapist you meet with. Do your homework. Therapists with transgender experience are more common these days. Call and ask questions; make sure they are familiar with the transgender community and their issues. Ask a friend --- that’s how I found my therapist.
Another roadblock for me was admitting I was going to a counselor. I didn’t want to tell my wife that I was going because of transgender issues. So I told her it was for anxiety. As a side note, after seeing a therapist for four years, I have no problem talking to my wife about my transgender issues. The appointments are covered under my medical insurance for treatment of depression and anxiety.
So what happens when you go to “the shrink?” I’d like to take the mystery out of a visit to the psychologist.
My doctor has a small office in a professional building that is located on the campus of the Boston University Medical Center. There’s a comfortable chair to sit in and the room is nicely decorated.
The first day I went to see him, I just spilled forth my story; 50 years of struggle and it all came out. The doctor asked questions to clarify subjects and ideas.
As our sessions progressed, we discussed more current events, feelings, and issues in my life as they related to being transgender. Nothing was too personal, my thoughts and fears, even sex and sexuality. The atmosphere was relaxed, open, and confidential.
Over the years we have developed a rapport and we have even had discussions that offered insights, conclusions, and solutions. The sessions last 50 minutes and go quickly. I often look at the clock hoping there’s more time left. I look forward to the appointments and leave feeling positive and upbeat.
In 2009, I was emerging from the darkness of yet another crossdressing purge. But as any transgender person knows purging doesn’t work. My need for feminine expression had returned with a vengeance. I had once again accumulated a wardrobe and on this particular day I had the opportunity to do a complete makeover. A feeling of relief and satisfaction came over me as I dressed in front of the mirror. There she was, alive, she existed, that part of me so long hidden; I smiled and felt a slight joy inside.
Then I heard a rumble, the sound of a truck coming up the driveway. Fear rose from the pit of my stomach, my God, oh no, it’s the UPS delivery man!
In an absolute panic I tore off the clothes, wig, and make-up. Desperate to eliminate any evidence of my perceived transgression, I was soon in sweatpants and without makeup in two minutes flat. By then the UPS man had dropped off the package and was on his way down the driveway.
I had reacted as if I was doing something horribly wrong, like a thief in the night, or a murderer frantic to escape. Society had conditioned me to see this as a problem; something that was very wrong. When in fact, all I was doing was wearing clothes!
I sat there stunned and then felt my two proverbial enemies enter the room, Shame and Guilt, like two thugs in a gangster movie they worked me over. Shame used all of his weapons; instead of punches he threw words like pervert, weak, inadequate, sissy, sinner, less of a man, disgusting, and repulsive. When he was done, Guilt took over and instead of bruises and broken bones, there was self-loathing, depression, fear, anxiety, deceit, and low self-esteem. And so the lifelong cycle began again and it eventually would have destroyed me both mentally and physically.
I knew I had to do something; I had to take steps to solve my problem. If I did nothing, then nothing would change. I found the name of a psychologist who had experience with transgendered people. I remember the day I called very well. I went to a seldom used section of my office building. I attempted to dial several times and kept losing my nerve, (remember fear?)
Finally, I let the call go through expecting an answering machine or a receptionist to answer, but to my surprise, the doctor answered the phone. I stepped to the metaphorical edge and jumped.
“Hello. I ‘m tr-tr-tr-tr-ansgendered and want help.”
Non-judgmental and reassuring, he put me at ease and we talked. For the first time in my life I was open and honest with a person about these feelings. We made an appointment and I instantly felt better.
I had tried to solve my problem myself for 50 years. I tried reading all the books and websites, wrote countless emails to peers and posted on all the forums.
Finding an objective and informed person you can discuss, share and solve your issues with was a key ingredient in my journey. I’ve grown a lot over the last four years. I no longer see my crossdressing as a problem to be solved. I am not doing anything wrong. I’ve cast off society’s condemnation of being transgender and realized that I am a good person and that part of my personality and character involves being transgender. Attributes I see missing in many men, such as nurturing, kindness, compassion, and cooperation are parts of my personality that I believe come from my feminine side.
Last week I went to my appointment dressed in a navy blue Austin Reed skirt suit. I dressed at home and drove into the city. Getting there early, I went to the café at the medical center, enjoyed breakfast, and then freshened up in the ladies room before my appointment.
As I walked the campus, I was just another woman in the crowd. I could not have even dreamed of doing something like that four years ago. But please listen closely, I want to stress that my ability to get to this comfort level of presenting female had little to do with me buying the correct clothes, shoes, makeup or wig. But it had everything to do with my attitude. Yes girl, attitude!
The first step was recognizing that I am transgender and giving myself permission to be transgender; some call this self-acceptance. Next was standing up for myself and realizing that I have rights and that I am not doing anything wrong and don’t need anyone’s consent to crossdress, shop for women’s clothes, or present publically as a woman. The final step was liberating my feminine side to grow, to take pleasure in it, revel in it and be proud of it.
As I left the doctor’s office that day, I went to the reception area to have my parking ticket validated and I waited in the hallway for an elevator. When the door finally opened, there to greet me was a UPS delivery woman. I smiled to myself at the coincidence and irony of the event. I hesitated for a second only because the elevator seemed crowded with packages.
She smiled in a friendly manner and said “I got you covered, girl, c’mon in. Ground floor?”
“Ground floor please,” I muttered.
Perky and bubbly, she chimed back, “No problem, ground floor coming up.”
Then she surprised me, “I love your shoes --- they’re so cute.”
Then she added quickly, “I miss dressing up for work!”
I answered unconsciously, “Thank you and I know what you mean. I didn’t always get the opportunity to dress up either and I do appreciate it.”
I remember thinking to myself, “Honey you have no idea how much I appreciate it!”
We chatted a bit more about fashion and then parted ways. I made my way out onto the bustling street and over to the crosswalk to wait for the light to change.
A few minutes later, I heard a familiar rumble… it was a UPS truck I smiled as my new woman friend roared by. This time instead of fear and panic rising up from the pit of my stomach, I felt joy.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Crossdressing at Work
A 20-something blonde, who works in Human Resources was crossdressed as a male. She wore a man's shirt (one like the field engineers here wear with the company logo on the breast pocket), black Docker's trousers, and black shoes (flats that looked like the black walkers I own). Her shirt and trousers were big and hid her feminine figure. She wore no makeup and had her shoulder-length hair pulled back so that her ears were completely revealed.
The first time I saw her, I thought it was a new male employee or a male employee visiting from another branch of our company. Only when she spoke did I recognize her.
Today, she was back in girl mode.
It must be nice to have the option to dress as a boy one day and to dress as a girl the next day!
(Originally posted March 29, 2007)
300 Days Left To Do Your Christmas Shopping
Femulator (left) after her makeover at Macy's.
Wearing Andrew Gn.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
Send Me Your Polaroids
As I mentioned here yesterday, I think it would be fun (as Mindy suggested) to share old Polaroids of our early femulating days. If you would like to share your old instant photos, please send them to me and I will post them here in the very near future.
Please limit your shares to clothed presentations. I sure don't want to see your private parts, so keep those photos to yourself.
Also, I am always happy to consider your femulation adventures for future blog posts. It is nice to read other girls' real world experiences like Carolyn's Ascot adventure. Write up your story and send it along with a photo or two and see your name at the top of this page real soon now!
Happy Birthday, George (of John, Paul, George and Ringo Fame)
Actor Caleb Goh femulating in the 1998 film That's the Way I Like It via Elaine Armen (thanks, Elaine).
Wearing Metrostyle.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
The Great Purge of 1983
Soon, I began building my own female wardrobe. Initially, I collected discarded clothing or sewed my own (simple A-line miniskirts) using remnants that my mother had in her sewing nook.
The first item of female clothing that I purchased were three pairs of nylon stockings. I went to the hosiery store downtown and told the saleswoman that I was buying stockings as a gift for my tall girlfriend. The saleswoman did not bat an eye and I scored my first purchase of female finery with ease.
After that successful shopping trip, I used my tall girlfriend excuse to expand my wardrobe. And whenever Halloween was on the horizon, I could use that holiday as an excuse to try on and buy wigs, dresses, shoes, and foundation garments.
In addition to building a wardrobe, I clipped femulation-related items from newspapers and magazines. I also had a couple of books including the eye-opening A Year Among the Girls by Darryl Radnor and a couple of issues of Drag magazine. And there was also my collection of Polaroids, which documented my progress on the Good Ship Lollipop.
I stored everything in boxes hidden behind boxes containing my American Flyer train set, all stored behind the false back panel of a built-in bookcase in my bedroom.
Due to that limited storage space, I occasionally whittled down my collection - out with the old to make room for the new - but I never purged everything while I was actively femulating. I loved being a girl, so there was no desire to purge.
Fast-forward to 1983.
I had been dating my future wife for over two years and during that time, I stopped femulating. I had no desire to femulate and I bought into the old wives'/husbands' tale that when a femulator got married, he stopped femulating.
Realize that there was little information available to vent that tale. There was no Internet as we know it today and the serious literature on the topic was minimal and hard to find in my neck of the woods.
So about two weeks before our wedding, I purged everything.
One month after our wedding, we were invited to a Halloween party. I femulated for the event (see photo) and bought a new dress, wig, pantyhose, bra, girdle, high heels, etc. for the occasion. I was back on the Good Ship Lollipop and never stopped femulating again.
In retrospect, I so regret the purge. I could replace the wardrobe (which I did), but I could never replace my Polaroids.
Speaking of Polaroids...
My Friday post about Polaroids moved sister Mindy to dig out some of her old Polaroids and send them to me.
Mindy recalls that Polaroids were the only way we could keep our remembrances. She suggested that other readers might have old Polaroids that they would like to share for viewing here.
Great idea! So if you would like to share, please send me your instant photographs and I will post them here in the very near future.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Say "Cheese"
As headlined here, yesterday was the 66th anniversary of Edwin Land demonstrating the first instant camera - the Polaroid Land Camera - an invention that was significant in the lives of many femulators in the second half of the 20th Century.
A joke: How many femulators does it take to change a light bulb?
Punch line: Three. One to climb the ladder to change the light bulb, one to hold the ladder, and one to take photos of the event.
Before Polaroid, in order to see the photos of the changing of the light bulb, you had to take the film somewhere to be developed, such as a camera store, drug store, etc. These establishments were just middle-men and sent the film out to a photo lab to be developed, but you had to wonder, did Mr. Gower take a peek at the photos when they arrived back from the lab? Did he see you and your "girlfriends" changing that light bulb in all your feminine glory?
You never knew and that lack of knowledge dissuaded many girls from taking photos of their femulations unless they had their own darkroom. (I know of one instance where a femulator built and equipped a darkroom just so she could avoid having her "pretty photos" developed by strangers.)
The Polaroid camera changed all that.
For example, the only photos of my earliest days of femulating were from my first Halloween outing en femme. I did not dare take any photos of my deep-in-the-closet femulations until I obtained a Polaroid SX-70 camera. The camera did not have a self-timer, so I rigged up a mechanical remote control in order to take "pretty pictures" of myself.
And despite their expense, I took a lot of pretty Polaroids. But sadly, many were lost in "The Great Purge of 1983."
And so it goes.
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