Is My Skirt Too Short?

I have lost count the number of times I have gone out en femme and wondered about the length of my skirt (or lack thereof).

I am tall. The selection and availability of skirts and dresses in “tall” sizes is limited; even more so if you prefer something that is fashionable.

I am a fashionista and I prefer fashionable over practical, so most of the skirts and dresses I buy are cut for females of average rather than tall height. As a result, a hem above the knee for a female of average height turns out to be way above the knee on me. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

I have shapely legs, or so I’ve been told. My mother often said I should have been a “girl” because I have such nice legs. The SO of a trans-friend of mine calls me “Leggy.” Countless other people claim that I have great legs. So, a short skirt on me is nothing to be ashamed of. And as they say, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

On the other hand, I don’t want to expose everything. So I go by the rule that my hemline should be no shorter than where the tips of my fingers reach down when standing upright . I will admit that at times, I have violated that rule, but most of the time, I try to be a good girl and follow it.

And so it goes.

Wearing Theory

Rose / Finn / F1NN5TER / Before / After

Someday Funnies

Wearing Zac Posen

Out and About in Brussels

Wayback Wednesday

This post from the past chronicles a wonderful day out en femme.

Sunday in New York and I dressed up for the day: my purple dress, jewelry, mid-heel Mary-Jane pumps, suntan pantyhose, etc.

My workshop ended about 2 PM and I returned to my hotel room to freshen up. After touching up my makeup, I went outdoors (the weather was perfect) and hailed a cab.

A cab stopped, I got in and told the driver to take me to Rockefeller Center.

The driver told me he could not take me there because the Puerto Rican Pride Parade on 5th Avenue blocked the path to the Rock. So, I got out of the cab and decided what to do.

I had fallen in love with a perfume sample that I received at Sephora, so I decided to walk the six blocks to their West 34th Street store to buy the perfume.

It was my first time out wearing the mid-heel Mary Janes I bought a few weeks ago. When I paid for the shoes, the cashier commented that the shoe was popular with dancers because they are very comfortable and I was discovering the same thing as I walked from my hotel to Sephora.

In Sephora, I walked around the store looking for the perfume. During my hunt, I passed an older gentleman and as I walked by him, he turned to me and said, “I want to give you a kiss” and then he blew me a kiss!

Flabbergasted, all I could do was whisper, “Thank-you.”

I found the perfume, paid for it and exited with my heels never touching the ground!

Since my new shoes were cooperating, I decided to walk a half-block to Herald Square and take a few photos. After taking a few shots, I saw an empty chair and sat down to take a break. While I sat, I took a few photos of myself. They turned out OK, but I could only stretch my arm so far and I wanted something better.

Seated next to me was a older gentleman with a camera case in his lap. I tapped him on the shoulder and with a big smile, I asked him to take my photo. He smiled, I handed him my camera and he took a photo of me.

After resting for five minutes, I decided to walk eight blocks up Broadway to Times Square. I took photos along the way and with no complaints coming from my feet, I decided to head east towards Rockefeller Center.

While waiting for the traffic light to give me the go-ahead to cross Broadway at West 45th Street, I took some more photos of Times Square. A trio of women joined me at the crosswalk and one asked me if I’d like her to take my photo. Of course I accepted her invitation.

Five more blocks and I was in the middle of Rockefeller Center. Foot traffic was light, so I thought it might be a good time to go to the Top of the Rock. I entered the RCA Building (you call it what you want, it will always be the “RCA Building” to me) and found the ticket counter for the Top of the Rock.

My timing was good; there were no lines and I was on my way. Before getting on the elevator to go to the top, I had to go through a the metal detector and I set it off. The guard looked at me, then waved me on with the words, “Must be your bracelets, hon’.”

That was a new one! I've been called “miss” and “ma’am” before, but never “hon’.” I smiled at the guard and got on the elevator.

Seventy stories later, I was on top of the RCA Building and the weather was perfect. Visibility was virtually infinite and the view was spectacular. To the south, the Jersey shore was visible, to the north, Catskill peaks poked over the horizon, to the northeast, I could see the Connecticut shoreline, and all around me was The City.

I spent about an hour atop, taking a lot of photos and taking it all in. I asked a couple of people to take photos of me and more than a couple of people asked me to do the same for them.

Next, I wanted to go to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, which is just across the street from Rockefeller Center. I took the elevator back down and walked to 5th Avenue. During this short walk, a young man cut me off and immediately apologized, “Excuse me, hon’.”

Second “hon’” in an hour. I started to wonder if “hon’” was a New York thing, but I didn’t care. A blown kiss and two hon’s meant I was passing, however, I was about to receive another term of endearment that would seal it.

As I walked up 5th Avenue toward Saint Pat’s, a small group of high school boys were heading towards me. As I passed through the group, I heard one of the boys say, “Dyke.”

Now I knew I was passing!

I crossed 5th Avenue and entered Saint Pat’s. There was a Mass in progress and the priest was just finishing the sermon.

This was a big deal for me. I was a Roman Catholic and my religion was the source of much needless guilt about crossdressing throughout my life. I overcame the guilt years ago and now I was entering the church for the first time en femme.

When I planned this visit, I thought it would be like spitting in the eye of the Church of Rome. “Take that for all the pain and suffering you brought down upon me for so long.”

But instead of feeling vengeful, I felt wonderful. The prodigal son has returned, but now he is your daughter!

I decided to attend the Mass. I remembered and recited all the prayers and when it was time for the Sign of Peace, I exchange handshakes and “peace be with you’s” with all the folks around me, or so I thought.

From behind me came an anxious voice, “Peace be with you, Ma’am. Peace be with you, Ma’am.”

I realized I missed someone, so I turned around and exchanged another handshake and “peace be with you” with a fellow two rows behind me.

During the Mass, I noticed a reproduction of the famous painting, the Black Madonna of Częstochowa in one of the side altars of the cathedral. Being a Pole, I checked it out and discovered that that side altar was dedicated to the saints of Poland. It included biographies, paintings and sculptures of all the saints. After saying a prayer for all my deceased relatives at the side altar, I exited the cathedral.

It was now 7 PM and the last meal I had was breakfast, so I was hungry and decided to treat myself by having dinner at the Rink Bar, the outdoor bar/restaurant that resides in the Rockefeller Center ice skating rink when it is too warm for ice skating. My table for one was immediately in front of the fountain, so I did not feel lonely eating solo because Prometheus was right by my side.

I had peach sangria, watercress salad, rissota crab cakes and coffee. They were all excellent and they were all only $50 and change!

After dinner, I hailed a cab and enjoyed the ride down 5th Avenue while reflecting on my wonderful day out en femme.

Vesna Prague, before and after

Someday Funnies

Wearing Nicholas

Tom Hulme, femulating member of the British Conservative Party
(Suggested by Penny from Edinburgh.)

Stuff 3

By J. J. Atwell

Yet Again

It’s JJ with more stuff. I’d like to think that there is no end to stuff. This is the third installment of “Stuff” and I’ve got more to come. I hope you’ll continue following along. 

Being Cautious

Women grow up hearing that they need to be careful when out in the world. Guys are taught how to take care of themselves. So guys develop a sense of confidence when out. Women have to be aware of their environment and their approach to certain situations is different. Things that women worry about wouldn’t even cross our minds as guys.

An interesting experience was JJ’s first time going to a restaurant. The group I joined was having a girls night out at a restaurant in a mall just before Christmas. She was nicely dressed in a pleated black skirt, a red top and black patent flats. Flats, because she wasn’t confident in her walk to chance heels on this outing.  

Arriving at the mall in daylight, I saw clusters of people standing outside the entrance. The lot was crowded, but I found a parking spot several rows back. The big moment was upon her. JJ took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. 

Wow!!! She was out in daylight in the middle of the general public!! What a rush! Then I realized that I would have to walk past those groups to get to the restaurant. Adopting my best girly walk, I made it to the restaurant without anybody noticing. At least if they did, I didn’t hear any comments.

All of that was good. The group had a nice meal in the restaurant with no indication that any of the other patrons noticed anything unusual. But at the end of the night, when it was time to leave, exiting the restaurant I saw that my car was in a dark area of the parking lot and I would be a lone “woman” walking over to it.  

Guys wouldn’t give this a second thought. Fortunately, nothing untoward happened, but I did learn a lesson from that experience. Next time I’ll be more conscious of my surroundings when JJ is out. I’ll also adopt habits that women do when out. Have my keys in my hand.  Have my bag slung tightly to my body. That’s some important stuff.

I’ll be back

Today’s blog is more cautionary than the previous two. That’s because although the world has become more accepting, there are still too many that don’t want “us” around. I really hope everybody will consider their environment when venturing out. I want you back, too.

As before, comments are welcome either here on the blog or by email to Jenn6nov at-sign gmail.com. JJ is always looking for more stuff!

Wearing London Times

He and She becomes She and She

Someday Funnies

(Suggested by Penny from Edinburgh)

Wearing Zac Posen

Leonard Smith dresses pretty on a 1952 episode of television’s Our Miss Brooks.

Someday Funnies

Wearing A.L.C.

Emil Stangenberg, early 20th Century German professional femulator

Bad News

My wife was transferred from the general hospital to the rehab hospital Friday afternoon. Friday evening, she attempted to stand and walk to the bathroom to get a drink of water. She is so weak after being in a bed for three weeks that she fell to the floor, hit her head, complained of neck pain and was taken to the ER at the general hospital. ER put a collar on her and will perform a CT scan ASAP. 

Needless to say, I am totally stressed out over my wife’s condition. Writing this blog is the only thing keeping me sane.

Please pray for my wife. She is an angel and does not deserve what has happened to her.

UPDATE: All the test results were negative and the hospital sent her back to rehab. So thank you all for your prayers.

Act Naturally

Man Carrying Purse

Elise wrote, “What are your thoughts on personality traits having gender associated with them? For example, why are some traits considered male or female, instead of just being a trait of a specific person regardless of their gender? 

My ex used to (mockingly) say that I was more of a woman than her because I am sensitive, compassionate, sentimental, etc, but I just see those as things that make me who I am. They don't mean there is something ‘wrong’ with me as a man, or that I should become a woman if I want to act that way. 

It just really bothers me when people are criticized for being their authentic selves and not meeting some societal standard of how a man or woman should act, instead of celebrated for being their authentic selves.”

I could be the poster boy/girl for ignoring society’s straitjackets for what makes a man or a woman.

Whenever I recount my trans biography, I usually mention that as a youngster, I participated in sports (baseball and football) and played “boy games” (cowboys, war, spacemen, etc.). I felt that I was a typical boy and I enjoyed doing “boy games,” unlike many of my trans sisters, who as children, hated “boy games” and preferred “girl games.”

I also mention that despite my participation and enjoyment of those boy things, other boys called me names like “sissy,” “fairy,” “faggot,” etc., which indicated to me that I was not necessarily all the boy I thought I was.

This was not just a case of bullies using random offensive names to raise my ire. Even a few of my friends told me that I was not acting like a boy at a 100% level and that I should do something about it.

I wondered if there was something in my mannerisms or speech that caused their reaction. I was not intentionally acting or speaking in an affected manner. Rather, I was speaking and acting in my natural manner, which I did not feel was feminine.

The fact that even friends told me that something was amiss indicated that something really was amiss, but I was clueless. I had no idea what I had to do differently to be more boy-like. So, I continued acting the same way I always acted and if someone called me a name, I hit them with my purse.

Even in high school, college and law school, I occasionally ran into guys, who commented on my particular flavor of masculinity, but I just shrugged them off and kept on truckin’. By then, I was crossdressing in secret and only coming out en femme for Halloween including an appearance in drag at a Halloween party in law school.

I will never forget a friend at that party telling me that he never realized how feminine my speech and mannerisms were until he saw me in drag. He indicated that my female costume was a perfect fit for my normal mannerisms and speech.

After mentioning this story at outreach one time, one of the students said that my mannerisms were feminine and that my friends and acquaintances had been in the ballpark in their estimation of me.

Yet, nothing has changed. I still do not affect a feminine persona. I still act naturally and no differently whether in boy mode or girl mode.

I admit that I do try to walk more like a woman when I am en femme and I talk more softly when I femulate (if I remember to do so), but most of what you get is the genuine me. And I am not changing a thing.

So to answer your question, Elise, I don’t put much stock in society’s standards regarding gender traits.

Source: Intermix

Someday Funnies

 

Wearing Boston Proper

Jessica, Before and After

’60’s Chick

Growing up as a crossdresser in the 1960’s was not a happy place to be. 

For starters, I had no idea what motivated me on that summer day in 1963 to go to my mother’s bedroom and try on a pair of her nylons and high heel shoes. That Pandora’s Box moment was the beginning of my 60-year love affair with crossdressing, but during those early days, it was a tumultuous affair.

I was very guilty about what I was doing. Heaven forbid that anyone found out that whenever I was home alone, I was exploring my mother’s and sister’s wardrobes. I was so closeted that when my best friend suggested that we dress up as girls for Halloween, I feigned complete disinterest, although in reality, I would have loved to have done it.

The closeting of my crossdressing was not as effective as I thought because in retrospect, all the evidence indicates that my parents knew what I was doing, but they never confronted me about it.

The closet was very stifling. After honing my crossdressing skills in private for almost half a decade, I had to let the girl out of the confines of the closet. So on Halloween 1969, I borrowed my sister’s purple mini-dress, black mid-heel pumps, black tights, wiglet and knit beige cap. I wore minimal makeup. Although I had been wearing my mother’s and sister’s foundation garments in secret for years, I skipped the bra and girdle because I did not think they would appreciate me wearing such personal items.

Mind you, I had no place to go. I was too old to trick-or-treat, I had not been invited to any Halloween parties and I was too young to go bar-hopping. So I drove around town visiting a few friends and relatives, who were amused by my costume. I don’t know if I passed (I’m sure I did not), but I did not care. I was having the time of my life! All I cared about was that I was out in public living a few hours as the young woman I had discovered and nourished for the past few years.

👠 👠 👠

While searching the Internet for an appropriate image to accompany today’s post, I came upon something completely different: Mantis Lady Vintage, a website that sells vintage woman’s clothing. The site is the creation of Edward V. Cantwell, who not only sells the vintage clothing, but models it, too!

Wearing Cynthia Rowley

Mark before, Jan after