Weather or Not

 

Wearing ModCloth

Moorish Stevens, 1960's professional femulator

Future "Men" of the House

Recommended Reading: The Gender Refugees

When the Andersons fled Iowa City in 2022, they joined a growing group of American families escaping states that have become hostile for transgender communities. Where do they go from here?

By Jess Swanson

Nora Anderson has left a lot of places. When administrators forgot to unlock the only unisex bathroom at her high school in Iowa City, Iowa, the transgender 15-year-old (who felt uncomfortable using the girls’ restroom) got picked up by her parents so she could use one at home or a nearby grocery store. After a classmate suggested starting an “anti-trans club,” she transferred out of the public school system and switched to homeschooling. Nora couldn’t even get a German pastry at the farmers market without a blonde middle-aged woman shouting, “Look! There’s a boy in a dress!” She left without buying anything. Then, in 2022, the governor of Iowa, Kim Reynolds, aired a campaign ad saying, “We still know right from wrong, boys from girls.” Nora and her family no longer felt welcome—or safe—in their home state. So they packed up and moved to Portland, Oregon. “It’s pretty sad having to leave all the time,” Nora says with a sigh.

Refugees flee war, violence, conflict, and persecution. They are displaced families who have lost their homes in battle. They are environmental migrants forced to escape famine due to historic droughts. They are not, as we traditionally think of them, American families driving SUVs cross-country. Though the Andersons didn’t flash their passports at the border or submit to questioning by immigration officers, leaving Iowa meant they joined a growing group of so-called gender refugees escaping states that have become increasingly hostile for the transgender community.

Click here to read the rest of the article on Elle.

Wearing Bebe 

Another "Man" of the House

Wearing Nine West

Vickie Jordan, professional femulator

"Man" of the House

 

Wearing Boston Proper

The Old Girls' Club

I recall a few years ago, when a group from my support group attended a presentation by Jennifer Finney Boylan, the author She’s Not There: A Life in Two Genders.

One of the members of the group, Deja, wrote about the experience for our support group’s newsletter. “After her presentation Ms. Boylan opened up the floor for questions. After several ‘easy’ questions… Jenny was hit with a rather uncomfortable question from a genetic woman in her early 50s. The woman was truly trying to work this thing called transgenderism out, but she took the mood of the whole night in a different direction with her barrage of questions and comments.

“The tone of her questions was searching, but antagonistic. She basically said that she didn’t get transgenderism and that how can Jenny, after living the life of a privileged upper class white male, now expect to be welcomed as a woman. She further pointed out that Jenny did not have to go through growing up as a female, being teased by boys, dealing with menstruation, dealing with childbirth, and facing everyday discrimination. The woman topped it off by saying ‘frankly, I don’t want you as a member of my club.’

“Jenny was clearly shocked as was most of the audience and was taken aback and put on the defensive. She paused to compose herself, thought, and delivered her answer. Jenny agreed that these were all fair questions but that she did not expect them and could not answer them all right now…”

True, Jenny (and I) “did not have to go through growing up as a female, being teased by boys, dealing with menstruation, dealing with childbirth, and facing everyday discrimination.” However, growing up as a white male, who had yearnings to be female, at least some of the time, I was teased by boys and faced discrimination.

As a boy, I was not considered “macho,” although that term did not even exist in the English language when I was growing up. Other boys called me “fairy,” “twinkie,” ”faggot” and “sissy.” I did not know why. I did not think that I acted effeminately. I did not think that I looked effeminate either; I was the biggest kid in my class (200 pounds by the 5th grade) and I was the first boy who had to shave (by the 8th grade). I loved playing baseball and football, but I was usually picked last when choosing up sides (I could hit the baseball a mile, but I threw “like a girl.”). I did very well in grammar school (salutatorian in my graduating class) and was often considered the “teacher’s pet.” Maybe that gave the other boys mixed messages.

Things were not much better in high school. Some of the jocks got on my case. On graduation day, I recall a jock asking why I was in line with the boy graduates instead of the girl graduates. I also remember my Spanish teacher wondering aloud if I would dress like a senorita for “Spanish Night.” (I threw her for a loop when I showed up dressed like Fidel Castro sporting a fake beard, cigar and fatigues.)

By the time I was in high school, I had been experimenting for years with my sister’s and mother’s wardrobe. I felt very guilty about it and was sure that I was destined to spend eternity in Hell.

Attending a Catholic high school did not help matters. Once a month, the nuns marched us to church next door to confess our sins. One time, I remember making up my mind to confess my crossdressing sins, but when I got in the confession booth, I froze up and could not get out the words describing my sins. The priest sensed something was wrong and said he would forgive any sin I was too embarrassed to recall to him. All I had to do was admit that I had sins(s) I was too embarrassed to enumerate.

Here was my chance to get off the hook, a free pass that would enable me to start anew with a clean slate, but I blew it. I could not admit that I was hiding something from the priest! I ended up saying two Hail Mary’s and two Our Father’s and berating myself for years over that flub!

College was no better, but by then, I was used to my status and made the best of it. Boys and now even some girls teased me. Try asking a girl for a date when that girl thinks you are a “fairy” or worse. How many times did I hear “you are a nice guy, but…” It hurt and I could not understand why I was being hurt. In my mind, I was not effeminate, so why was I being treated as if I was effeminate.

Today, I still don’t think I am effeminate; I act like I always acted and that is as my natural self; I am not faking it, I am not pretentious; I am not trying to fool anybody. But, now that I am older and a little wiser, I can put two and two together and realize that I have feminine traces in my male persona that other people recognize.

Sobeit. I try not to be concerned how others think about me. In my gut, I still care some of the time, but I try to convince myself that I shouldn’t care and maybe someday, I will be completely free of guilt.

And, in response to the woman who said she did not want Jennifer Boylan as a member of her club, I say “That’s ok,” because, as Marx once said, “I do not care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members.”

Wearing Matches

Marek Kaliszuk femulating Ariana Grande on Polish television's Twoja Twarz Brzmi Znajomo (Your Face Sounds Familiar).
You can view this amazing femulation on YouTube.

The Ham Radio Funny

Wearing Kay Unger

Maeghii: Brother and sister (in one person)

Close Encounters of the Male Kind

I don't come out anymore. I just show up en femme, take it or leave it.

I didn't always have such a laissez faire attitude about coming out. Revisiting a post I wrote 14 years ago, reminded me that it was very scary way back when. Yet, FDR’s “only thing we have to fear is fear itself” proved true again and the following episode probably was a big turning point for my attitude regarding coming out. So crank the wayback machine 14 years back and enjoy the following story. 

One of my friends, who I have known for over 15 years, lives 2500 miles away. Except for one or two face-to-face encounters at conferences each year, all our communications are by e-mail. The next conference I attend will be en femme and I wanted to alert him beforehand.

In anticipation of coming out, I had composed a 500-word letter of explanation weeks ago. Yesterday at high noon, I copied the words into a blank e-mail, made a few changes, then I stared at the Send button for a few hours. I did not actually stare at the Send button all that time, but I did consider whether or not to send the e-mail for three hours.

It was a tough decision. In the past, I have come out to friends and acquaintances who have known me for a long or short time, but all of them were women. I find it very easy to come out to women. I guess because I am telling them that I am on their team.

Men are not so easy. Just encountering men when I am en femme gives me pause; coming out to a man is unthinkable. My friend would be the first male friend or acquaintance I would be coming out to.

I finally realized that I had to tell him, so I hit the Send button and girded myself for his reply.

I was so worried about his response that I did not check my e-mails the rest of the afternoon. Finally, after dinner, I looked for his reply, found it, and opened it. He wrote, “Thank you for the e-mail. I am sure it was hard to send. But rest assured, you have my respect and support. I think it is best that a person be true to themselves, and you are doing just that. You go girl!”

He floored me with “You go girl!”

Now, that’s a real friend!

Wearing StyleWe

Maxwell Jameson and his mother

Follow the Leader

Wearing Ann Taylor

Tad Hilgenbrink femulating in the 2006 film The Curiosity of Chance.
Click here to view the film on YouTube.

Gloria Mardi Gras, Blackpool

Gloria, in blue

By Gloria

Before I proceed, I would like to proclaim that I deem myself a transvestite or TV, for short, the classic, original epithet being more to my liking than crossdresser or CD, for short. More modern terminology would describe my very early leanings as nuclear. I simply think of my undoubted feminine side as nature’s trick.

Resident in Blackpool, in what is described, rightly or wrongly, as the Gay Capital Of The North, my TV life hitherto had always been confined either to my own four walls or a safe, controlled environment and Gloria’s very existence known only to a handful of people. However, I had long strained at the leash for a public stage of some sort and it came to pass in late middle age, that I finally procured the position of resident TV at Mardi Gras Hotel on Lord Street in the heart of the Gay Village. 

Up to that stage, I had never been on the gay scene, nor am I on it now, the wheel having turned full circle. However, for the tenure of my role at the hotel, the said scene became de rigeur.

And so it came to pass that from the summer of 2009 until the summer of 2018, when the place was put on the market, Gloria was an integral and regular member of staff. She brought business in and she brought it back. 

Mardi Gras was a double-fronted, gay-owned, but straight-friendly establishment. The mix of gays and straights was probably 50/50. Nothing untoward of a sexual nature took place while I was there – mainly Saturday afternoon into the early evening and the occasional Friday and/or Sunday. It wasn’t that sort of a business. It was simply good, clean fun all the way. 

The owners took me on initially as meeter and greeter and the adrenalin of going to the front door never left me, especially to welcome first-time visitors, to whom I was a novelty. Much to the delight of both myself and the owners, Gloria’s popularity took off and meet and greet soon blossomed into social hostess.

There was a good-sized and well-stocked bar, lounge and small dance-floor, complete with disco equipment and flashing lights. The owners wanted me to keep the punters in the bar and though I say it myself, I reckon I was pretty good at it or I wouldn’t have lasted so long! 

A year or so in, the lads were offered another, smaller hotel a hundred yards or so along the street on a five-year lease. Formerly known as Northern Star, it became Mardi Gras 2. Business was certainly booming and though Mardi Gras 1 was to remain favorite for me, I operated at No. 2 when required. So there was some tripping about to do, involving crossing a busy junction. I stopped the traffic on more than one occasion to mince across!

I was primarily in situ for the straight people. While there are exceptions to every rule, the gays male and female took little notice of me. Besides this genre, we took in as guests parties of women, whether hens or those just out for a fun time, and mature couples, but no stags or minors. In my everyday life, I was expected to look professional and smart and for Gloria, it was exactly the same, fulfilling as she was a PR role for the hotel. I invariably wore a dress, brightly-colored or floral, never leggings and very occasionally, a pink leather skirt and top. My outfits and wigs were rotated, but my makeup style and routine never altered.

The owners installed me on Facebook as Gloria Mardi Gras and when photos were taken, I exhorted the guests to post them thereon. Countless images were indeed produced and though the site is now deleted as of no further use, I downloaded most of the better ones to take me back to the days when the going was good. 

As with many TVs, my everyday life as a man was largely kept separate, only the long-established regulars were allowed into my inner sanctum to observe the other half of my body. One such couple, man and wife, remarked tentatively one day that they were of the opinion that I looked better in a frock than I did as a fella and asked, was I insulted? Certainly not, I regarded this as a compliment. To me it meant I was doing my job to the best of my ability. There were times, privately, when I thought this myself.

When I began at Mardi Gras, the owners were three years into a ten-year plan, after which they intended to open a bar of the same name in Gran Canaria and this they have done. I shall be eternally grateful to them for giving me the opportunity to both exercise, and exorcise, this part of my personality. I have been there and done it, a little late in life perhaps, and have got, if not the T-shirt, but the frock! 

The new owners did not invite me back and indeed are running the establishment in a different way, so I do not consider that I am missing anything. I often walk past the place now with a complete air of detachment, incognito and unrecognized by the punters on the terrace.

Happy days, I look back on it with pride and the satisfaction of a job well done for the benefit of all concerned. Though the years may disappear, now going on six, the memories certainly do not. And I still have the photos to remind me of who I once was: Gloria Mardi Gras, Blackpool! 

Wearing RE/DONE

Jim Bailey femulating on a 1985 episode of television’s Night Court.

Who Wouldn't!

Wearing Ann Taylor

Deja Brooks, in white pumps, was selected Queen of the 2022 St. Patrick's Day Parade in Lawrence, Kansas. You can read all about it by clicking here.