Pants for Everyone!

 

V Day

Wearing Shein

Larry Fine, Moe Howard and Curly Howard femulating in the 1940 film Nutty But Nice.

Reunion

By Monika Kowalska

I come from a small provincial town, a lovely place to live, as long as you have a job. Without one, moving to a bigger city was the obvious choice for me. I completed my college education there, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when my mother, still living in our small town, told me she’d received an invitation for me to attend the school reunion. 

My first instinct was to ignore it. I never really enjoyed my school years. I was a short, reserved boy, constantly struggling with my identity, knowing deep down that I wasn’t meant to be a boy. I had few friends, I was effeminate, and I had no interest in the things the boys were into. And on top of all that, I knew my current appearance would turn heads, not just among my former classmates, but in the entire town. I might be the first transgender woman they had ever encountered in real life. It was daunting, but something inside me told me to go. So I did.

Here’s the thing. I had to give the organizers a heads-up before the event. You see, our name tags had senior class pictures on them, and the last thing I wanted was for some poor soul to do a double-take when they saw “Steve” instead of “Monika” on my tag. So, to avoid any confusion or wild rumors about a 'new' classmate, I casually informed them about my transition. No big deal, right? Well… that might’ve been a bit of a stretch.

So there I was, standing at the entrance of my school reunion, ready to face a night filled with stares, awkward small talk, and the inevitable “OMG, is that really you?” moment. For most of my classmates, this was their first time meeting the new me. For some, the transformation was no surprise. A few had kept in touch with me over the years, and, well, they already knew the scoop. But for others, I immediately became the center of attention. 

Now, let me tell you: being the center of attention is both thrilling and awkward in equal measure. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so scrutinized. There’s this strange energy when you’re the object of curiosity instead of just blending in with the crowd. I noticed one guy, let’s call him Brad, whispering to his buddy, “Is that really Steve?” with the same skepticism you’d reserve for seeing a unicorn in a Starbucks.

The evening was a mix of awkward moments and unexpected fun. Dinner was a highlight, especially when the conversation turned to those school memories no one dares mention, except, of course, at a reunion, where everything becomes fair game. A friend I’ll call Lisa (not her real name, but she knows who she is) decided to tell the table about that time she "accidentally" spread a rumor about me. Apparently, I was the subject of some “legendary” gossip back in the day, mostly because no one really knew what to make of me.

“And, like,” she said, “We used to wonder what was really going on with you, Monika, but I’m so glad you’re living your truth now. You always were a little mysterious.”

She gave me a knowing look, and I just laughed. Mysterious? Yeah, I guess that's one way to put it. I mean, sure, there were plenty of times when I struggled to act like a guy properly. But mysterious? I always thought I was just confused and slightly (totally) lost in my own skin. Still, I'll take it. It’s the type of compliment that doesn’t need to make sense to be flattering.

Now, let me tell you about the outfit dilemma. I wanted to look nice, but I didn’t want to be too flashy. I’m a medium-level girl in terms of attractiveness, nothing too eye-catching, but I do attract occasional stares (at least I want to believe in it). So, I went with a simple, elegant dress. But the shoes? High heels. As the night wore on, those heels were starting to feel like a distant memory of comfort. I was starting to feel the fatigue from all the dancing. And trust me, with so many guys wanting to dance and offering free drinks, it was hard to keep up. 

Don’t get me wrong, it was flattering, but with every song (and drink), my feet started to cry out in protest. I kept trying to enjoy it, but after a while, the constant tug on my feet became a bit too much. Still, I kept dancing because, honestly, there’s something about being the center of attention that makes it worth it, even if my feet were begging for mercy.

As the evening wore on, the group of girls and I continued talking about everything. Now, I was finally able to chat with them, and it was like I had unlocked a whole new world. I was enjoying every second of it, finally being included in the girl talk, asking about relationships, careers, and yes, the occasional “How’s your family?” But eventually, the conversation shifted to kids, husbands, and families. And that’s when I started to feel a little out of place. I mean, I can’t exactly join in on the whole 'mom life' conversation when I don’t even have a pet, let alone a toddler.

But then, I found my people. You know the ones, those fabulous ladies who had gotten divorced quickly, no kids, and still knew how to live it up. We bonded over the shared experience of being free (okay, maybe lonely), fabulous (in our own minds), and perfectly content with our own company (for the most part). Suddenly, it felt like I had a new group of friends who understood the joys of not having to worry about anyone else’s problems for a change. Or maybe I was lying to myself?

I couldn’t help but notice how much everyone else had changed too. The male classmates, oh boy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many bald spots in one room. Don’t get me wrong, they were still looking good (in their own way), but it was a far cry from the jocks I remembered back in the day.

As for the ladies, they were an interesting mix. Some still looked as good as ever, elegant and sharp, while others... well, let’s just say the years had been kinder to me than to them. So, my school reunion turned into more than just a night of awkwardness and self-reflection, it became a reminder that life is all about change. Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes it’s emotional, but the real beauty lies in the connections we make along the way. Plus, if nothing else, at least I walked out with a few free drinks, no complaints here.

Monika has been interviewing trans people in her blog, The Heroines of My Life, since 2013. Click here to see who she has interviewed lately.

Wearing Bebe

Bruce Payne, Denis Quilley and Joe Melia femulating in the British film Privates On Parade.

Choices

We make choices everyday.

(Boxers, briefs or panties? Yogurt or bagel? Bra or bra-less? Regular or decaf?)

Some choices are more important than others and some have long-term ramifications.

(Should I be a doctor, a lawyer or a fire chief? Should I marry her, him or it?)

Sometimes our choices backfire. Sometimes our choices are just plain wrong and we suffer the consequences, but we are still free to choose whatever we want.

So why can’t we choose our gender?

Despite all the scientific evidence to the contrary, the anti-transgender crowd claims that transgender folks choose to be transgender just like the anti-gay crowd claims that gay folks choose to be gay. And according to those crowds, making those choices is wrong.

I am naturally feminine. My feminine speech and mannerisms are a bad fit in boy mode, but in girl mode, they are a perfect fit.

I could man up and never wear a dress again, but I chose not to impersonate a male. So, yes, I made a choice to live authentically and not fit in with the boys.

But what if I was not transgender?

What if I was a guy with no gender issues, who carefully weighed all the options and decided that living my life as a woman was preferable to living my life as a man. And as a result, chose to live life as a woman.

What's wrong with that?

I say, “Absolutely nothing.”

It is just another choice. Admittedly, it is a big choice with a lot of long-term ramifications, but humans make important choices everyday. That’s why God gave us intelligence and free will ― so that we can make choices ― like choosing our gender.

Wearing Bebe

Patrick Walshe McBride femulating on British television’s Shakespeare & Hathaway: Private Investigators.

Passable Vs. Presentable

I like to think that I pass. Just today, I received an e-mail from a dear friend who wrote, “You pass so well.”

But who am I kidding?

I am six feet tall (or a more dainty five feet, 12) and I always wear heels of some height when I am out en femme. There are not too many women out there who are six-feet tall. So, when I am out en femme, my height is my biggest giveaway.

I can hear some of you saying to yourself, “Well, Girl, don’t wear heels, then you will be shorter.”

My response to that is even without heels, my height is still my biggest giveaway and adding three or four inches will not make much difference.

Last Friday at the mall, I passed some of the time.

While I was walking through the mall, I passed a few women walking in the opposite direction, who looked me in the eye and smiled. Of course, I returned the smile. When a woman smiles at another woman, it may be a sign of camaraderie, so when a woman smiles at you when you are out en femme, it may be a sign that they have accepted you into the club.

On the other hand, I have also passed women in the mall, whose smiles indicate that they have read me as a male. Their smiles (or smirks) indicate that they are mildly amused by my attempt to pass. Go out en femme for awhile and you will begin to recognize the difference between smirks and genuine smiles.

At the mall last Friday, there were times when I did not pass.

For example, the saleswoman at Sephora referred to me as “he,” then quickly corrected herself and referred to me as “she.” I was not offended. When you are up close in another person’s face, as when you are dealing with a salesperson, it is more difficult to pass because they are concentrating on you and therefore, are more likely to pick up telltale signs that you are male.

I have gone out en femme enough to resign myself to the fact that sometimes I pass and sometimes I don’t. There is not much I can do about my ability to pass because I believe I have pushed the envelope about as far as I can to emulate a woman without undergoing surgery.

Admittedly, my ultimate goal is to be passable, but since that is not always possible, I always try to make myself look presentable. If I present as the best woman I can be, then I will be less likely to attract attention and will blend in with the real women out there.

On the other hand, if I go to the mall wearing my highest heels, shortest skirt, largest breasts, biggest hair and thickest makeup, I am going to attract a lot of attention. Dressed so, more people will check me out and thus increase the chances that people will figure me out. So, I try to present myself as a real woman would present herself in a similar situation.

While I was at Sephora perched on the makeover seat at the front of the store, I did attract the attention of people passing by, but none of them gave any indication that they recognized me as a male. All they saw was a woman getting a makeover, so they gave me an interested passing glance and went on their way.

It probably helped that I was seated, so that my height was hidden, but I think more important was the fact that I looked presentable in that situation. I really looked like a woman who had been shopping in the mall and stopped at Sephora for a makeover.

One more thing: if you are presentable, other people are more likely to respect you and treat you like a lady even if they know you are not really a lady. If I dress like a teen queen, I am not going to get much respect, but if I dress like a middle-aged woman (with impeccable taste, by the way), I have found that I get respect because I am trying to be a female clone, not a clown.

So, the bottom line is that, of course, you want to be passable, but before you can be passable, you must be presentable. And once you hone your presentation, you may or may not pass, but at least you know you did your best come what may.

Wearing Movado Bold watch, Nanette Lepore jacket, top, clutch and skirt,
Giuseppe Zanotti pumps and Vita Fede jewelry.

Mr. Jimmy Slater, professional femulator, circa 1920

Stuff 58: The CD Wears Prada

Or do they?

By J.J. Atwell

You remember the movie The Devil Wears Prada? It came out in 2006 and was a fun romp through the world of high fashion. With many funny scenes, it implied that wearing big name fashion was a must for the women of the day. 

I’m guessing that big name fashion is still a high priority for today’s women. In today’s musings I’ll use “Prada” as shorthand for any of the big name fashion lines. So feel free to mentally substitute Louis Vuitton, Armani, Hermes, Louboutin, etc. as you read on.

Not the Devil

I don’t wear Prada, but if I were the devil, I might. It seems to me that there is a huge difference between how we CDs view high fashion and how GGs view it. For those that can afford Prada, there may be good reasons to spend the money for a quality product. A product that the GG will likely use regularly and get their money’s worth. 

For those of us who are occasional CDs though, it can be hard to justify spending the money on high-end goods when you can get by just fine with more ordinary versions. Especially if you are trying to build a feminine wardrobe on a shoe string budget. 

Prada on a Shoestring?

Surprisingly (at least to me) you can actually find Prada on a shoestring budget if you’re willing to shop in the used market. I’ve gone to several thrift stores and found high-end goods there, some still with the original tags.

A couple of my GG friends, Alicia and Gigi, speak highly about the Poshmark website. That led me to take a look at their website and I’m sure I’ll be buying some things from there in the future.

I’ll Be Back

I’ll be writing more Stuff, possibly while wearing Prada. As always, comments are welcome either here on the blog or by email to Jenn6nov at-sign gmail dot com. JJ is always looking for more stuff so if there is something you would like to read about please let me know!

Wearing Rebecca Taylor

J. Conrad Frank femulating on stage in The Matinee – A Collection of Short Comedy Plays.

Someday Funnies

 

Trump keeps escalating his anti-trans policies. Right-wing media still want more

“It was never about ‘protecting children.’ It was always about eliminating trans people from public life.”

By Ari Drennen

In 2016, Donald Trump didn’t seem particularly invested in attacking trans people. He dismissed concerns about bathroom access, stating that Caitlyn Jenner was welcome to use the women’s restroom at Trump Tower. 

This stance contrasts sharply with the draconian executive orders President Trump has so far issued in 2025, including severe restrictions on gender-affirming care for minors, a ban on sex marker changes on passports, and rollbacks of protections for transgender military service members and prisoners. But these policies did not emerge in a vacuum — they were the result of a yearslong campaign by right-wing media and Trump’s political rivals to push him further and further to the right on trans issues.

And now, it still isn’t enough. Right-wing media figures like Michael Knowles are demanding that Trump go even further by banning gender-affirming care for all adults nationwide. This escalation reveals the truth: It was never about ‘protecting children.’ It was always about eliminating trans people from public life.

Click here to read the rest of the story.

In the Cards

One of my relatives reads tarot cards. She is very proficient and makes a very good living at it.

I have never had an opportunity to take her up on her kind offers to read my cards gratis… until recently. I have never had my cards read by anyone, so it was all new to me.

My relative was using a “past lives” deck of tarot cards, so her reading would be related to my past lives. She knows that I have trans issues, yet she was shocked that the first card I drew out of the tarot deck was the Male-Female card.

According to the book that accompanies the deck of cards she was using, the Male-Female card “signifies that you’ve lived most of your lives as a different gender, than the one you embody in this life. For example, you may now be living as a female, while in most of your previous lifetimes, you were a male.

“In such cases, gender confusion and even health issues are often related to this change of gender over lifetimes. Because for most of your lifetimes you lived as the other sex, you may not feel comfortable in your own skin. If this is your first lifetime as a woman, you may develop gynecological issues or even experience infertility. If this is your first lifetime as a man, you may not relate to traditional masculine roles.

“This card asks you to have compassion for yourself, and trust that our soul is doing the best it can. Remember that your soul is the result of all of your past experiences.”

Wow!

As a young child, I had many dreams that in retrospect, indicated to me that I had at least one previous life and that I was a woman in that life. 

Being a more scientific person and not so much a spiritual person, believing that I had past lives was a leap of faith. But it all added up considering my gender issues in my current life as a “man.”

As I mentioned above, I never had an opportunity to take my relative up on her kind offers to read tarot cards for me. Actually, I avoided the opportunities because I thought that a reading would reveal things that might be embarrassing, specifically transgender things, even though my relative was well aware of my trans issues.

My reading affirmed my guess about what the reading would reveal, that I was a woman in my past lives and as a result, transgender in my present life!

My wife and sister were sitting beside me during the reading and they just shook their heads in agreement with what the cards revealed.

You may or may not believe in past lives, tarot cards, etc., but I have seen how accurate my relative’s readings of other people have been and now I have seen it first hand as it relates to me. I definitely think there is something to it.

And I just want to emphasize something regarding the reading. The description of what the Male-Female card signified was not the reader’s interpretation of the card manipulated to fit what she already knew about me. Rather, as quoted above, it was the printed word right out of the book that accompanied the tarot cards!

And so it goes!

Wearing Yumi Kim

Deepak Subramanya femulating in the Indian film Mr. Rani.

My First Bra

By Monika Kowalska

I will never forget the day I bought my first bra. For a transgender woman, it was more than just a shopping trip – it was a rite of passage, a moment of validation. My breasts had just started to bud and the itchiness and tenderness were undeniable. 

At the time, I was still living a dual life: a man at work and a woman after hours. I was already on hormones, but the growth was painfully slow despite my high expectations. Both my mother and sister are beautifully endowed and there is a  theory among trans girls that a transgender daughter is typically a bra cup size smaller than her mother. I would have been more than happy with that, but my body didn’t seem to know it yet.

On the other hand, the slow growth had one advantage: I could still keep my job while presenting as a man. I desperately needed the money and coming out was simply not an option as my employer did not support the LGBT+ community. Because of that, wearing a bra never even crossed my mind. Besides, I still felt completely flat, as if there was nothing to support anyway, which, in reality, wasn’t true.

But one day, my sister – always perceptive and supportive – took one look at me and declared, “Monika, we need to get you a proper bra!” Of course, this wasn’t my first experience with bras. Before that day, I had secretly borrowed from my mother’s and sister’s drawers, slipping them on in front of the mirror and dreaming of the day they would fit. But those stolen moments always ended in disappointment with the cups sagging against my flat chest, the straps slipping off my shoulders. This time was different. This was real. This was my own bra, one I would wear regularly, one that would truly belong to me.

My sister, ever extravagant in her taste, insisted that we go to a posh boutique, one that carried luxurious lingerie from a famous brand whose name started with a T. The moment we stepped inside, I was overwhelmed. Racks upon racks of delicate lace, satin and silk surrounded me, each piece more intricate and feminine than the last. It felt like a secret world, one I had longed to be a part of, but never dared to enter.

The shop assistant noticed us immediately. Her sharp gaze flickered over me, assessing, scrutinizing. I could almost feel her eyes dissecting my barely-there buds beneath my top. My heart pounded. I was sure she had clocked me instantly. If my sister hadn't been there, I would have bolted out of the store without looking back. But she must have sensed my fear because she took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Is this for you?” the shop assistant asked my sister, her tone polite but inquisitive.

“For her, for my sister,” my sister answered without hesitation. “And we need something special. It’s her first bra.”

My stomach plummeted. She had given me away! I wanted to protest, to deny it, to run, but there was no time. The shop assistant had already shifted into professional mode. Though I could see the flicker of realization in her eyes – my being trans now confirmed – she remained composed, asking about my band and cup size as if this were just another ordinary fitting.

I was still frozen, unable to find my voice, so my sister took charge, answering on my behalf. She had always been my protector and now she was guiding me through this daunting yet beautiful moment.

The shop assistant nodded and led us toward a section filled with soft, lightly padded bras. “For a first bra, comfort is key,” she said. “Something gentle yet supportive.” As she spoke, she guided us through the options, explaining the different types.

“When it comes to construction, bras can be padded, non-padded, wired or non-wired,” she continued. “Coverage-wise, there are demi-cup bras and those that offer full coverage. And in terms of neckline shapes, we have sweetheart, plunge or balconette styles.”

She spoke with such ease, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. I felt overwhelmed trying to absorb the details while standing there feeling completely out of place. But she wasn’t done yet.

“Once you know your size, experiment with different styles – demi, push-up, contour – to find what suits your shape. Size matters, but shape matters more, so focus on what feels comfortable and supportive rather than squeezing into a specific trend. When trying on bras, use your hands to adjust your breasts into the cups. The edges should lay flat and your bust should sit midway between your shoulders and elbows. If the cups gape, the bra is too big; if they create a “double bubble” effect, you need a larger cup size.”

I nodded, as if I understood completely, but my mind was spinning.

“Straps shouldn’t be doing all the work; 90% of the support should come from the band. It should fit snugly, but not dig in. Always start on the loosest hook, since elastic stretches over time, allowing you to tighten as needed.”

It was a lot of information to take in all at once and I was still trying to process it when my sister, decisive as ever, plucked a delicate, lace-trimmed bra in a soft blush pink from the rack. She held it up with a grin.

“This one,” she said. “It’s perfect for you.”

As I held the bra in my hands, I felt a strange mix of emotions, excitement, nervousness and an undeniable sense of euphoria. This was happening. This was real. For the first time I wasn’t pretending. I wasn’t “borrowing” someone else’s femininity. I was embracing my own.

Trying on that first bra was a moment I will cherish forever. It wasn’t just about fabric and fit. It was about stepping into my identity with confidence. And as I walked out of the boutique with my first-ever bra in a beautifully wrapped bag, I felt one step closer to the woman I was always meant to be.

Monika has been interviewing trans people in her blog, The Heroines of My Life, since 2013. Click here to see who she has interviewed lately.

Wearing Ann Klein

 

Volker Spengler femulating in the West German film In a Year of 13 Moons.

Eighteen

The blog is legal! Femulate.org is 18-years-old today!

Are You a Femulator (or a man in a dress)?

By Brenda

A femulator is someone who presents as a woman, often with the goal of emulating female appearance and mannerisms as authentically as possible. Unlike crossdressers who may dress for fun, comfort or fetish reasons, a femulator typically seeks to blend in or pass as a woman. I

If you’re wondering whether you align with the concept of femulation, here are ten signs that might indicate you are a femulator.

1. You Aim for Realism in Your Presentation

You don’t just put on a dress; you carefully select clothing, makeup and accessories that align with how a real woman of your age and environment would present herself. You strive to perfect the details, from hair to mannerisms.

2. You Study Female Mannerisms and Speech

You pay attention to how women walk, talk and express themselves. You may even practice adjusting your voice, posture and gestures to be more feminine and natural.

3. You Feel More Comfortable When Fully Dressed as a Woman

It’s not just about putting on a single feminine item; you feel most at ease when you are fully transformed including outfit, wig (if needed), makeup and accessories all in place.

4. You Prefer Going Out in Public Rather Than Staying Private

Rather than dressing at home in secret, you enjoy or aspire to venture out into the world as your female persona, interacting with others as a woman.

5. You See It as More than Just a Hobby or Fetish

Femulation is not about sexual excitement or occasional experimentation. It’s something deeper. You feel a genuine connection to your female presentation and it may even be a core part of your identity.

6. You Have an Eye for Feminine Fashion and Trends

You find yourself naturally interested in women’s fashion, makeup, hairstyles and even things like skincare. You might follow fashion blogs, watch tutorials or take an active interest in perfecting your look.

7. You Feel Disappointed When You Must Revert to Male Mode

After spending time as your femulated self, you feel a sense of loss when you have to return to your male appearance, as if something essential is being set aside.

8. You Receive Compliments or Are Mistaken for a Woman

You have been told you look convincing as a woman or perhaps, you’ve even been addressed as “ma’am” when out in public. Positive recognition reinforces your efforts.

9. You Imagine Living as a Woman Full-Time (Even If You Don’t Plan To)

You might fantasize about what it would be like to live as a woman permanently, even if you have no immediate plans to transition. The thought is intriguing and feels natural to you.

10. You Feel a Sense of Euphoria or Authenticity When Femulating

Dressing as a woman doesn’t just make you happy, it gives you a deep sense of fulfillment, peace or euphoria. It feels right, as if it aligns with something essential inside you.

If you’ve just spent the last hour online looking up makeup tips, researching new shoe styles, figuring out which dresses suit your body type and are now trying to buy that blue sundress in size 16/18 that you saw a woman wearing, yes, you’re a femulator.

If you’re thoughtful about your jewelry choices and even wear an ankle bracelet, congratulations, you’re a femulator.

If you own more than four pairs of woman’s shoes, especially high heels, then yes, you are clearly obsessed with footwear as a femulator.

If you’re buying your products from the local Avon rep (who might also be a femulator), then once again, you are indeed a femulator.

I’ve also noticed that every time I go to a public restroom in boy mode, I instinctively head toward the women’s door and have to remind myself, “No, boy, you need to use the men’s restroom." But when I sit down instead of standing, well, let’s just say it’s a little moment of self-revelation: You’ve revealed yourself as a femulator.

Wearing L’Agence

Adam Graber femulating Rose Nylund on stage in Golden Girls: The Laughs Continue.