My Female Dominated Profession

By Stephanie Julianna

First, I would like to apologize to all the wonderful people who commented on my first regular post here, “Longevity” back on September 4th. I did not see the Comment area at the bottom until my next article. So thank you for your compliments and encouragement. I hope to bring you quality articles that will educate, entertain and just maybe, inspire some to live the life that they have always wished for.

I was basically raised by my older sisters and grandmother. Mom had done her duty as a good spouse and had eventually given Dad a boy four and a half years after the girls and then she was done having children. My oldest sister was 10 years older and my other two sisters were seven years older. One of those two, Lonnie, was actually not a biological sibling and was Chinese, but she became every bit a sister and I loved her dearly.

Whenever any of them were going out the door, my Mom would say, “Take your brother with you.”

By the fall of 1957, my oldest sister entered nursing school at St. Vincent's in NYC, arguably the best nursing school on the East Coast. For me, she became my idol and I wanted to be a nurse just like her. Lonnie entered nursing school in Mount Vernon in '61 and again I made my case for wanting to be a nurse. Needless to say, in those days this was as remote a possibility as ever. The rare men in nursing were usually in the military, but not often found out in the civilian world. Even my uncle, my namesake and a surgeon in Southampton, Long Island, told me I should go for a MD. “Boys don't become nurses.”

Being dragged around by my sisters exposed me to amazing summer days on the beach, as an 11 and 12-year-old surrounded by the sweetest bunch of nursing students you could imagine. Lonnie and I would go to movies or Chinatown in NYC and like my older sister, regaled me with tales from the OR and ER at her hospital. That’s when I knew that I wanted to be a nurse more than anything. Nurses worked directly with their patients and even at that young age, I knew that they were closer to the action than many MD’s. 

Fast-forward to 1991, I had worked my way up to a VP in a company and was feeling unaccomplished in my life except for my marriage and three incredible kids, all in their teens at the time. My wife had returned to college after the youngest started school and graduated summa cum laude with a degree in accounting. By 1991, her salary eclipsed mine by a lot and she was blossoming as a confident woman with a true feeling of self-worth. She always loved accounting and she was living her dream.

That August in ‘91, I was driving to meet a customer and spotted the local community college from the highway. I had already researched it and knew that their nursing program had a great reputation. I got off at the next exit and doubled back to find out more. 

That night I told my wife that I was not happy with where my career path had taken me and I wanted to make a change. I asked her what she thought and she was supportive. But she said this had to be the last career change (I did have a few. LOL), “so think long and hard.”

I asked her what she thought I should do. 

“I think you would make a great nurse.” 

I almost passed out since I had never told her about that dream, ever! With her emotional and financial support over the next three years, I passed the nursing boards and on August 4th, 1994, received my RN.

Little did I know that my career would also fill a huge whole in my trans personality. Now I was working in a profession that required me to tap into all those feminine emotions that I had tucked away for family and personal use. I’d like to say that it was those honest and sensitive feelings that made me a better nurse valued by my nursing partners and patients. 

I will admit that I would have liked to have done the job as my complete self and I did push that envelope to the limit. In the mid ’90’s, I did manipulate my co-workers to dare me to come to work for Halloween as a female nurse. I tried to play my skills down by messing up my wig and telling them that I had a friend in the theater who would help me with the look. But I do think that many smelled a rat. 

My co-worker nurse told me I looked like her friend named “Georgette” and proceeded to call me that for the entire shift. Staff gave me a name tag that said, “Miss Diagnosed, RN.” They had no idea how accurate they were. 

My costume was a hit and both staff and patients loved it. Of course, I also won the costume contest that was held and voted on by the residents on the long-term care side. I worked sub-acute. It was another dream come true, if only for a day to work the shift as my complete self. Sad that it was seen as a costume when I would have loved it to be my everyday wear. Pictures with the dark hair are from that day. 

I actually did crossdress for most of my career, always wearing women's pull up tapered cotton pants, women's scrub tops, white panties, cami’s and always ladies’ white nursing shoes. Actually, I could only get my shoes in the women’s department because I could not get my shoes in the men’s. I wear a men’s 6-1/2 and a women's 8-1/2. I am sure that a few nurses I worked with suspected, but none seemed to care nor judged me and appreciated my care and nursing skills. 

I'm retired now and miss them dearly. The last picture is in my uniform as described with only my scrub top switched out for a decidedly feminine one. Oh, and the hair and makeup. Surprisingly, our CEO made it a requirement for all nurses to wear the lab jacket you see when not doing direct care. They only had women’s cut jackets and the three male nurses were no exception to this rule. When she retired so did that rule.

I had a 25-year career that I am very proud of. I have to say that without my wife’s support it could never have happened. It was life changing and I do miss it even though I have to say that retirement has its pluses. LOL

The moral of the story, never let your dreams go. Dreams can become a reality if you tweak them just right (and work really hard).

As always, I welcome your thoughts and comments.

Wearing New York & Company

Santiago Segura femulated Raffaella Carrá on Argentine television’s Tu cara me suena.
You can view the femulation on YouTube.

Ten Ten of Twenty Twenty

Biden 3, Trump 0

We voted early. Absentee ballots arrived on Tuesday, we filled them out on Wednesday and I deposited them in the ballot box in front of the town hall on Thursday.

Friday, I received a phone call from a worker on the campaign to reelect our congresswoman. She was looking for volunteers to make phone calls urging people to get out and vote and to specifically vote for our House Representative Congresswoman Jahana Hayes.

I decided to put my money where my mouth is and volunteered to make phone calls starting Monday evening.

Bubble Bath

I caught a new Harry’s razor commercial on television last night. I was not sure what my eyes had seen, so I fast-reversed it and replayed it. And my eyes did see what I thought I saw: a naked femulator sitting in a bubble bath shaving outdoors. She has a towel wrapped around her head, wears full makeup and tassel pasties on each nipple of her flat chest. 

Now that’s something you don’t see every day on network televsion! (You can see the commercial on YouTube; the femulator appears briefly starting at the 18-second mark.) 

Researching the matter, I learned that Harry’s commercials are known for their diversity. Last year, they had a commercial showing a bare-chested transman shaving with visible scars on his chest (at the 37-second mark).

Wearing Jonathan Simkhai

Femulator shaving with a Harry’s razor

Secret Identity

 Gina's post about selecting a femme name prompted me to consider my femme name and my identity.

In the closet, I did not need a femme name. There was just me, dust and spiders – no one was going to address me by name, so why bother wasting time coming up with one.

Slinking out of the closet, I suddenly needed a femme name because all the guys on CompuServe’s Genderline went by girl names, not their guy names. I quickly came up with the name “Staci” because it was derivative of my male name (Stanley > Stanislaus > Anastacia > Staci).

Haste makes waste. Although I went by Staci for a long time, I was never happy with my name selection. And then I discovered the name “Stana,” quickly dropped Staci and began introducing Stana to the world. It was unique (I must have known a half-dozen girls like us named Staci/Stacy/Stacie) and its roots were Slavic, just like me.

Among the people in our community I look up are the folks who are public about their femulating, that is, femulators without secret identities. I am referring to the likes of Michael/Miqqi Gilbert and Grayson Perry, who are well-known in their respective fields as guys, but occasionally (or often) present as gals and damn the torpedoes. And Vincent McDoom and Vladimir Luxuria, who present as women full-time, but are open about the fact that their sex is male.

I wanted to be just like them when I grew up and I believe that I have had some success in that regard. Like the folks I look up to, I am open about being a femulator, I am well-known in my field and I often present as a gal.

I just regret not going by my male name full-time like the folks I look up to. Then again, maybe it makes no difference – Google my male name, Stan Horzepa, and see the first image that comes up in the results!

And so it goes.

Wearing ModCloth

Walter Dickerson and Manuel Blanc (left to right) femulating in the 2016 French film Where Horses Go to Die.
You can view the film’s trailer on YouTube.

The Game of the Name

By Gina V

Greetings to you all! Stana has kindly invited me to contribute towards her most excellent site and as such, I hope I can keep up the high standard.

In another recent guest feature, I noted that the author revealed that her femme name had been changed since her alter ego first surfaced. Which reminded me that I have pondered on occasion if given names are a chicken-and-egg thing, as we are all bestowed one for life when we have no say in the matter 

So do our names influence us as we gain self-consciousness? Would a girl called Angelina start acting and dressing more femininely than one called Ann? Or a Dave get more macho as he grew older than a Damien? Johnny Cash touched on that in his song “A Boy Named Sue,” but I don’t know if anyone has done more extensive research into this subject?

My mother was determined to give me a (male) birth name she considered a a rarity. And it was, to the point where I went through my childhood like Tigger (the only one!). Looking back, I am fairly sure it was a factor in how my personality developed: not only as a bit of a loner (as one teacher noted in a school report), but a secretly narcissistic one as well. And who knows – maybe even a reason I found myself attracted to wearing lady things at an early age?

Anyway, most ordinary Joes (and Josephines) accept their lot and spend their lives bearing the name that for better or worse, they inherited.Some pick up a nickname from others along the way and may then use that in preference to their given one. That seems more often the case with men than women, but a school peer of mine was dubbed “Wilma” by a teacher (something to do with the Flintstones, apparently) and as a res,ult she is still known to one and all as that even today. 

But only a small minority, who may resent the name their parents have lumbered them with, ever seem to do something about it formally. For example, I once greeted a work colleague of mine as “Julie” only to be informed that henceforth she be addressed as “Adele”! 

Her stance seemed rather bizarre to me and I even mocked her behind her back. However, eventually it became second nature for me to think of and refer to her as she wished. I can’t remember if she explained her reasons for what she did, but I suspect she felt her given name was somewhat common in more ways than one (especially, if shortened to “Jools”) and decided to distance herself from that accordingly.

Despite  “transvesting” for over a decade, it had never occurred to me to give my femme persona a name as I was still locked in my own bubble. However, once a transperson (finally) emerges into the public arena, unless they have been blessed with a unisex name such as “Lee” or “Kim,” they are not likely to use their male one. And thus, unlike those named at birth, have a unique opportunity to give themselves one of their own liking. 

Some have simply elected for the female equivalent of their male name (e.g., “Paul”/”Paula,” etc), whilst others have grabbed the chance like kids let loose in a sweet shop to select something far more fanciful even if it didn’t particularly suit them.

So in my case, I found myself making that decision on the same night I made my full-blown public debut! My given name had no female version to my knowledge, so I hastily considered what might be the next-best quick-fix option, which was an anagram (or as near as dammit) of a girls’ name that already existed. I also decided I wanted something that reflected my look and aspirations. Therefore, it was convenient that one of my icons was the ultra-femme Italian actress Gina Lollobrigida (thanks to her, I was never tempted to choose “Dolly” or “Joan”). So, in the heat of the moment plumped for that.

Then shortly after, I discovered that the first transperson I met and befriended (who I later lodged with for many years) had a sister of the same name! Despite him usually referring to her by a family “pet” name, I felt somewhat ill-at-ease with the one I had chosen. And would have picked another had I known. However, I decided that like the average football team supporter, it was not the thing to do to change one’s allegiance simply because things were not going to plan. So I stuck with it.

In the years since, then I have realised that although not an ideal choice, thanks to the above situation, it is a name that exudes style and class and thus, transcends trends. So overall, I am okay with it. 

Had I more time to think about it, I might have gone for the name that my mother had in mind for me were – Lois. But by then, it was too late. If I ever change my name officially, then I could adopt that as a middle name. 

Things could have been far worse. I am eternally grateful that I never decided on something that was the in vogue at the time, but has since become somewhat of an embarrassment, e.g., “Kayleigh” or “Kylie!”

Wearing Veronica Beard

Alexandre Styker femulating in the 2013 French film Belinda and Me.
Search YouTube for “Belinda et moi” to view clips from the film.

Virtual Fantasia Fair

We live in a virtual world thanks to the Trump Virus, so it comes as no surprise that Fantasia Fair will also be virtual in 2020. 

If you have always yearned to go to Fantasia Fair, this year you can go for free from the confines of your computer closet. The virtual Fantasia Fair will include a Fashion Show, an SO Group Session hosted by Maureen Osborne and the world-famous Follies.

The schedule is:

Fashion Show – Tuesday, October 20, 8 PM ET

SO Session – Wednesday, October 21, 7 PM ET

Follies – Friday, October 23, 8 PM ET

And everyone is invited to participate in the Fashion Show and Follies. 

Click here for details.

Every time I attended Fantasia Fair, I never missed the Fashion Show or the Follies. They are the highlights of the Fair, so I am glad we will be able to experience them again this year.

Wearing ModCloth

Femulating Miss Fame

My Admirer

By Stephanie Julianna

Stana's post on the 28th about “Old crossdressers never die, they just fade away” gave me pause, thinking hard about the many layered society that makes up our world. I had alluded to this topic in my article, “Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow” when I spoke of some of the amazing women and crossdressers in my life and how they contributed to my growth and development. A special few even changed our whole world with their tenacity, bravery, politics and legal battles.

But there is a small group that some of us are, or were privileged to have in our crossdressing lives. The stars were aligned the day that I went to Lee Brewster's Mardi Gras Boutique dressed in my feminine best dress, hair and makeup. I regularly stopped in on Mondays when I traveled to NYC on business back in the late ’70’s and into the ’80’s. Lee had mentioned more than once that he knew someone who would love to meet me. I can never say that Lee set it up for this guy to eventually be there when I showed up one Monday, but I suspect strongly that he had a part in it.

It was the early spring of 1980 when Lee introduced me to Sam. He said we shared a similar sense of humor and an obvious love of the crossdressing scene. Lee left us alone on the shop floor and we easily struck up a conversation. Sam complimented my presentation as a young woman and I ate it up. I had never had a man interested in me, nor had I even thought I would want one to be taken with me. 

I just loved dressing and being out and about with people responding to me as any other woman. I was not looking for anyone to be friends with other than crossdressers. I also had no idea that our world was populated with “crossdresser admirers.” I was a married person with three kids and a loving wife. I was not looking for anything else but to find some friends to dress with.

I won't bore you with the details, but in a short time, Sam and I became best friends. He had a garden apartment in a brownstone on West 90th off Columbus and this became my home away from home. I had a closet and two dresser drawers for my female persona. Sam took on the role of being my Svengali, helping me perfect my look and manners as a lady. We shared many adventures going to different drag venues around the city and many of Lee's different events around town, even as far as Provincetown, Massachusetts.

I was really struggling with my gender and even my sexuality in those years and Sam was there for me. I could not tell my wife any of this because that was always her biggest fear, that I wanted to transition. However, Sam listened and understood and I could tell him anything and he still loved me no matter how screwed up I seemed. 

We did talk about him and I becoming “us,” but we both knew that my love for my wife and kids would never allow that. He would remind me of that if I seemed to be thinking of throwing all that away. When he thought that maybe it was a possibility, it was my turn to remind him of who I was and my commitments as a husband and a father. We found a balance and simply enjoyed each other's company whenever I got to the city.

By the late ’90’s, he returned to Richmond, Virginia to take care of his Mom and I encouraged him to see others down there. He only wanted a trans girlfriend and had not found one. Over a few years, I would drive down there or he would come up for a weekend to be together. Then something special happened.

I was asked to be a model for a bridal shop at the fabulous First Event in Boston. Sam flew up from Virginia and I, as Stephanie, picked him up at Logan Airport. The banquet night of the three-day event always features a fashion show. There were a few models from the crossdressing community and I was lucky enough to walk the show in a few gowns. And I was the finale wearing an amazing wedding gown. I had bought all appropriate lingerie to go with the dress. I felt like a bride through and through. And Sam was in the audience clapping with everyone else.

Then something magical – Theresa, the bridal shop owner told me I could wear the gown for the evening if I let her take more pictures in the lobby of the hotel. What crossdresser could refuse that offer? Sam was already by my side and Theresa asked him if he would be willing to be in the photoshoot. What ensued was an amazing, once in a lifetime, experience, a crossdresser’s dream. 

The pictures shown here were taken in the garden part of the huge lobby of the hotel. Many guests, not First Event participants, stood around watching. Most were couples with the woman not wanting to leave. Eventually we finished and headed through the lobby toward the elevators. All the women and even a few men complimented my gown and congratulated us on our nuptials. 

Not one person questioned my gender or our being married. This is truly the one time I can say without reservation that I passed. And it was not just the gown, makeup and hair. It was because Sam was with me. For one evening, we looked like we both got our wish, if only for a few hours.

I only saw Sam a few times after that. I urged him to find that girl that was free just for him. He did find a trans girl after his Mom passed and they were very happy together until he passed away in 2005 from lung cancer. I had gotten him to quit smoking years earlier, but the damage was done. 

So to all those crossdresser admirers, you are appreciated, loved and missed by so many of us. And as long as I have breath in my lungs, you are never going to fade away. You saved me from myself and my family is better for it. I am better for having known and loved you as a friend.

Wearing Unique Vintage

Janek Traczyk’s boots are made for walking on Polish television’s Your Face Sounds Familiar.
You can few this femulation on YouTube.

Someday Funnies

 Three Variations of a Theme

Wearing Ann Taylor

Male bride and male bridesmaid

Your First Time Out

In my previous post, My First Time Out, I described my less than wonderful first time out en femme (not counting Halloween). That experience might have been better if I had some sage advice beforehand, but where was a poor girl to go to get that advice back in 1990? 

There was no how-to literature to read up on. I knew no other femulators to consult with. Online, all there were were bulletin boards, Compuserve and 110 baud (read: incredibly slow) modems. 

Can’t rememberers where online, but I did find a list of local support groups and finally got the nerve to phone the contact person for one of the groups and she gave me the time and place of the group’s meetings. I guess I could have asked her for advice, but it never crossed my mind and it was hard enough just making that call.

I don’t have to tell you that times have changed and today you can find loads of advice and how-to information on the blogs and websites that proliferate on the Internet... even here.  

With that in mind, I poked around the Internet to find advice for your first time out en femme and I believe I found a good article on the subject: “Crossdressing — Going out in public for the first time” by Fiona Dobson. Her suggestion about going to a drag club was something I actually tried successfully my first time out en femme in Dayton. 

If Fiona’s advice is not your cup of T, then Google “first time out crossdressed” to find something you are more comfortable with. Whatever advice you follow, just do it. Get out of the closet and experience life as a woman. I so regret hiding in the closet for so long and I don’t want you to wait until you are an old lady before you go out as a lady. Just do it!

Wearing Unique Vintage

James Charles

My First Time Out

My first time out

Not counting Halloween, my first time out en femme was to attend a support group meeting 30 years ago Wednesday. I dressed at home and drove 25 miles to the group’s meeting hall west of Hartford.

I was nervous driving en femme and stuck to the speed limits the whole 25 miles. I found the meeting hall, parked in the hall’s driveway and sat in my car trying to find the courage to get out of the car and go inside the hall.

Sitting in the car, I noticed a number of tall women entering the hall. They seemed innocent enough (no whips, chains or leather body suits), so I got out of the car and went inside.

There were about 20 attendees and I was the youngest. Most looked like men in dresses and were not fooling anybody; they did not even seem to be trying to fool anybody. One person came over, introduced herself and welcomed me to the group. The others did not engage me at all except to gawk at me.

I was still nervous and began sweating profusely. I looked around at the men in dresses and wondered if I looked like them. The thought disgusted me. 

“That’s not me,” I thought and after 30 minutes, I left and drove home.

It was not a very auspicious first time out, but I came back, kept coming back and became a cog in the support group’s machinery, editing the group’s newsletter and organizing its annual banquet among other things.

And so it goes.

Wearing Venus

Ed Wood femulating in the 1953 film Glen or Glenda.
You can view the film on YouTube.

On Main Street

On Main Street (actually on Commercial Street in Provincetown)

Until recently, this year has been typical as far as blog readership is concerned. For years now, I can count on at least 5,000 hits per day, usually more, but seldom less. And that’s the way it has been in 2020 until the past month or so during which 5,000 hits became 6,000 hits and yesterday, 7,000 hits!

Go figure! Nothing has changed here. Same old blog, same short hemlines, same old Stana. 

Maybe the pandemic has driven stay-at-home guys with time on their hands to explore their feminine side and those new femulators are just now discovering this blog.

Could be. I dunno. You tell me.

Anyway, femulating is certainly becoming more mainstream. We seem to be everywhere these days – on television, in films, on stage, in print media and even on Main Street.

Successful femulating on Main Street does not necessarily mean passing on Main Street. If you pass, great, but most of us do not pass most of the time. However, that does not mean we should not have pride in our presentation. Although it may work at home or at a support group meeting, the “man in a dress look” does not cut it on Main Street. 

I recently read an article titled “What Kind of Crossdressing Men are Popular on Crossdresser Dating Sites?” by hemrna mikier. Although the article is about achieving popularity on crossdressing dating websites, it is just as applicable for achieving success as a femulator on Main Street.

Confidence is mentioned more than once. Having the right attitude is also important. While proper grooming, mannerisms and speech are essential.

I urge you to read the article – it is short, but full of good stuff that may help you succeed.   

Wearing Venus
(I liked this dress so much that I ordered it for myself.)

Repeat womanless beauty pageant contestant