Dear Mike

Writing this blog, I receive a lot of letters, but I never received one like the following from Emily... a letter she wrote to her young self.

Dear Mike,

I hope this letter was delivered to you the moment you stepped off the stage at Lakeland Day Camp. Right now, you feel alone, miserable, humiliated and so ashamed of yourself that you don’t know how you’re going to face your family and friends. At the age of seven, you just endured what feels like the most awful moment of your life. You’ll wonder for a long time why it happened and why it happened to you. 

I know this because when I was seven, I had the exact same experience because you are the little boy who grew up to be me. My name is Michael, but when I was your age, I was Mike. 

I know that we never chose to appear in that day camp’s show dressed up as a little girl. I remember the horror and embarrassment we felt when camp director Rick announced that, along with several other boys, we had to be one of the girls in his show. We were too ashamed to tell Mom and Dad about our part. The first Mom knew of it was a few minutes ago when we walked onto that stage.

I never forgot that lady who made us put on a petticoat, a pink dress and a hat that had blonde curls attached. She applied makeup onto our faces. We didn’t want her to do that. When she was finished, Rick offered us lemonade. We recoiled when we discovered that our lips left a lipstick imprint on our Dixie cup. We set it down and told Rick that we didn’t want it. That’s when Rick reached under our costume and touched us. 

I know that you think the reason he touched you was to shame you for being a boy in a dress. You were embarrassed and felt helpless. However, I know the real reason Rick touched us that way. He was a bad man who hurt children. That kind of touch isn’t anything any adult should do to a child, ever. In fact, it’s against the law. He should have been punished.

You blame yourself, but eventually, you’ll realize that you did not cause any of that to happen. It’s not fair, but Rick chose you and me to be one of his victims because he liked that sort of thing. He had no concern for what we wanted. All he cared about was what he wanted. 

If it’s any comfort, you’ll never see Rick again. Tonight you’ll tell our parents that you’re refusing to return to Lakeland Day Camp and you won’t. 

I didn’t.

In a few moments, you’re going to take off that dress and try to wipe off the makeup, but no matter what you do, some boys will tease you about today. They’ll claim that you wanted to do it and they’ll say that you turned into a girl. Some boys are going to call you “Cecelia.” That’ll hurt and you’ll deny that you were in the show. It won’t help. They’ll tease you more. However, in a few weeks, it’ll stop. 

You’ll be Mike again. 

And, I’m afraid that in a few minutes, when you’re back in your own clothes, Mom is going to ask you if you wanted to play a girl in the show and she’ll ask if you had fun. 

I didn’t like it when she asked me that. I didn’t handle it well. I screamed at her to shut up and pitifully denied I was in the show. I have no idea what she thought occurred, but I wouldn’t talk about it to her or to anyone else. Not talking was a mistake on my part. Neither of our parents ever raised the topic again. 

They should have.

I suggest that instead of yelling at Mom as I did, tell her that Rick made us dress up and tell her that he touched us. However, I know that you believe Mom and Dad can’t imagine how or why you, their son, allowed himself to be in any show dressed like that; and you’re positive that they’re deeply ashamed of you.

In fact, you’re going to believe for a long time that anyone who saw us on the stage this afternoon or who knew what happened will never again see you as Mike the boy they know. You’re convinced that all they’ll see is a little sissy who this afternoon wanted to be Cecelia.

At the age of seven, you don’t realize how much our parents, our brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins love and adore us. Mom and Dad love you more than you can imagine and while they messed up today, their love for us never wavered.

My lifelong friends, some of whom you already know, either never knew of or don’t remember, what happened this afternoon. Even if they did, our friends would still love and respect us for who we are and wouldn’t judge us because this afternoon Rick wanted to feel up a little boy. 

Someday you’ll meet a woman who won’t care that any of this happened today. She will love us for our whole lives.

It’ll take awhile for you to realize it, but what happened on and off that stage today will be forgotten by everyone in the world except for you and me. 

Yet, you’re blaming yourself. I know you are. 

Rick did not ruin you. His actions do not define you. He might have hurt you, but you are still you and I am still me. A person shouldn’t have to forgive himself for being a victim, but please don’t shoulder that blame. It took me too long to figure all that out, but I have forgiven myself. 

Please forgive yourself too. 

One day you’re going to want to dress up as a girl again. You won’t understand why, but when that happens, you don’t have to worry about that. It’s OK to do that. It’s just who you are. You don’t need to forgive yourself for that either.

Love,

Mike

Wearing Zimmermann

Schafer, a professional femulator, circa 1900

Stuff 68: I Get Letters

By J.J. Atwell

…well emails really

Long time Stuff followers know that I include a request for comments at the bottom of each installment. I’ve had several suggestions from readers as to topics to write about. I’ll try to tackle some of them in today’s Stuff.

Sensations

In Stuff #63, I wrote about sensations when dressed which appeared here on March 17. That prompted Lily to offer her thoughts. Her comments are in italics below, I’ve added my comments after them.

Pretty toes after a pedicure in a local beauty salon – Lily

JJ gets a manicure every two weeks with a pedicure added every other visit. She loves the experience, but she sticks with clear polish because I’m in guy mode 99.9% of the time.

Managing an errant bra strap – Lily

JJ says, “Oh so feminine.” Love that subtle sweep of the finger under your collar to lift the strap back in place. Something that guys just never notice. 

Stockings with suspenders – Lily

JJ actually doesn’t do stockings with or without suspenders. Living in the south, I almost never see women wearing hose, be it nylons or pantyhose. 

Summer, bare legs or the sheerest tights – Lily

JJ doesn’t just keep her legs clear in the summer. It’s year round here because legs are almost always on display in the south.

Pretty sandals – Lily 

JJ loves some sandals. But frankly, can’t stand the “Birkenstock styles.” Give me a nice strappy sandal, perhaps with a cork wedge heel and I’m good to go.

Swimsuits  – Lily

JJ doesn’t have a swimsuit, but I’m sure I would love the feeling of wearing one. Assuming, that is, I could manage the “fall out” potential. Never really had the need for a swimsuit even though I’ve got a backyard pool. I guess I’m afraid of tan lines and the chance that neighbors would see me. Frankly, when I get in the pool, I don’t want to have to do hair and makeup to be presentable. 

It’s not just us

My friend Gigi emailed me about Stuff #65, which Stana published on March 31, where I wrote about insecurities. She said that we are not alone and that GGs also worry about those exact same things... except for the passing part. Of course, GGs have had longer to consider them and adapt. But apparently CDs have more in common with women than just the clothes. 

OGM

Some folks think OGM is just OMG with the letters mixed up. I’ll often use OGM as short for “Oh Goodness Me.” Yes, it pretty much means the same thing. It’s just one of those odd things I do. Kind of like me picking out girls clothes to wear. What kind of odd things do you do? 

I’ll be back

I’ll be back with more Stuff for sure. 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 let me know what you would like to read about.

Wearing Shein

George O'Hanlon in housewife drag in the 1956 film So Your Wife Wants to Work.

Happy Easter!

Variations on a Theme

Wearing Lulus

George Hamilton femulating in the 1981 film Zorro: The Gay Blade.

What Beauty Costs Us

By Monika Kowalska

Some mornings, I stare into the mirror like it’s a judgmental aunt at a family wedding, silently assessing, slightly disappointed and definitely wondering why I didn’t try harder. Other mornings, it’s worse, I am that aunt.

Welcome to the relentless pressure of unrealistic beauty standards. A world where even the slightest imperfection is considered unacceptable, where every flaw is magnified and where a woman’s worth is often measured by her appearance. It feels as though we are constantly competing with an ideal that is unattainable and the most frustrating part is that beauty is not a finish line. It’s a moving target. The moment you get close, the rules change. Now it’s fuller lips. Now it’s a tiny nose. Now it’s not just your weight but the ratio of your waist to your hips. Now it’s “natural beauty,” but only if it looks like the perfectly curated, no-makeup-makeup look that still requires a team of professionals and 90 minutes of effort.

It’s exhausting.

And here’s the part no one tells you: this fear doesn’t discriminate. It affects women across the spectrum, whether cisgender, transgender or crossdresser. That quiet, gnawing anxiety about not being “enough” is a language too many of us speak fluently. It unites us in our secret rituals of camouflage and comparison, in our longing to be accepted just as we are.

But something beautiful happens when you start looking around instead of just into the mirror. Let me tell you about my friends.

My best cis girlfriend is curvy. Yes, too curvy… and utterly fabulous. She couldn’t care less about dieting, calorie-counting or hiding her body under layers of shame. She wears bright colors, dramatic eyeliner and leopard print like she’s the main character in a glam rock musical, because she is. She loves her body as it is and watching her glow with confidence has been like a masterclass in self-acceptance.

Then there's another cis friend of mine. She could be a very cute lady, she has kind eyes, a lovely smile, a natural elegance about her. But she’s given up. Somewhere along the way, the beauty race wore her down. She no longer bothers with clothes or makeup or even a comb most days. Not because she’s lazy, but because the pressure crushed the joy out of it. And that’s just as heartbreaking. When beauty becomes a battlefield, sometimes people just stop fighting.

And then there’s my trans sister-in-arms. She never tires of trying. She’ll spend hours perfecting her eyeliner, researching skincare routines, curating a wardrobe that sings with elegance and color. She tries, not because someone told her to, but because it brings her joy, because beauty is her rebellion, her poetry, her triumph. Her reflection is not just a face, it’s a victory.

So what’s the common thread? It’s not body type, age, money or hormones. It’s the mind. That’s the secret no mirror can show you.

Because the truth is, beauty is a choice, not in the sense of foundation or fashion, but in how we choose to see ourselves. Whether you’re painting your eyelids with glitter, marching in sweatpants or dancing in a dress that hugs your every curve, beauty starts with believing that you are worthy of it. Let’s look in the mirror, not for faults, but for proof of life, courage and resilience. Because beauty isn’t about looking a certain way. It’s about seeing yourself clearly and still choosing to love what you see.

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 Boston Proper

Ronnie Corbett and Ronnie Barker on British television’s The Two Ronnies  

Stuff 66: Shopping*

By J.J. Atwell

How do you shop?

Today, I’d like to write about shopping. 

Shopping for girl things is one of my favorite pastimes. Being retired, I have a lot of time available to shop online. So I do that pretty frequently. 

I also enjoy shopping in person but I fear that the retailers are buying for a much different customer than JJ. Or even a GG of my generation. I often see things on the racks that are just plain ugly to my eyes. It makes me wonder just who is the target audience. 

What to look for?

When you shop, do you just browse looking for anything that strikes your fancy? Or do you go shopping looking for a specific item? Perhaps a skirt to go with that nice top? Shoes to give the right touch to the outfit? Or at least, fit well enough to wear all night? Maybe you saw a woman wearing an outfit you thought would look cute on you?

When I shop, I usually have a thought in my mind about what I need to complement a particular item in my wardrobe. But I also keep an eye out for things that simply attract my attention. It can be difficult to find the right piece to complement something you already have. I try to have a picture of the piece I’m trying to pair with since I often have difficulty judging if the color or pattern will go with. It’s also important to be able to return the item. Otherwise, you will be shopping for another item to match the one that didn’t work. Things like that make it harder to jam more stuff into your closet, which is maybe not a bad thing. 

No AI

Just a comment that has nothing to do with the overall topic of this edition of Stuff. I’m usually an early adopter of new technology, but I do not use AI when writing Stuff. Yes, I’ve experimented with it but I’ve never been happy with the results. I’ve always felt that my own words are the best way to convey my thoughts. So what you are reading here is straight from my mind to the keyboard. I offer no excuses.

I’ll be back

Yes, I’ll be shopping but in the mean time the real me will also be finding more Stuff to write about. I welcome comments and suggestions here on Stana’s page or by email at Jenn6nov at-sign gmail dot com.

* Editor’s Note: I erred last week and posted Stuff 67 ahead of today’s post, Stuff 66. Sorry about that.

Wearing Elágia

Paco León femulating on Mexican television’s La Casa de las Flores.

It's a little secret, just the Robinsons' affair

 

Wearing Boston Proper

 George O'Hanlon, Jr. femulating in television’s The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries.

Going to the Prom

It is prom season, a time when many a young femulator’s heart is all a flutter thinking about the pretty prom gowns he won’t be able to wear to his high school’s spring formal.

In high school, I did not date much. I interacted easily with girls on a day-to-day basis, but when it came to dating, I did not interact successfully.

Looking back, I realize that interacting with girls was easy because I was feminine. However, dating girls was difficult because I had to act like a male and that was so foreign to me that I was lousy at it.

When I attended my high school’s prom, my sister had to set me up with her best friend as my date. That date went fine because I already knew my sister’s friend well; it was as if we were two girls out on a date. The only problem was that one girl had to dress like a boy. I wore a white tux and that was probably a good thing because back then, I was about 50 pounds heavier than I am now. Squeezing into a prom gown would not have been a pretty sight, but I am sure my mother would have sewn me something dreamy to wear and would have had me fitted with the proper foundation garments so that I would be voluptuous in her creation. Of course, it did not happen, but I dreamed about it nonetheless.

Times have changed. As Ray Davies once sang, “Boys will be girls and girls will be boys” and today, at some of the more progressive schools in our nation, girls do wear tuxedos to proms and boys do wear gowns.

Lucky kids!

Richard Gibson (left) femulating in British television’s 'Allo 'Allo! 

My Favorite Things Come in Pairs

The first item of women's clothing I ever wore were a pair of my mother's nylon stockings. I recall looking in the floor-length mirror mounted on the inside of her closet door and admiring my pre-puberty hairless legs believing that they looked just like women's legs!

With my mother's closet door wide open, I noticed the stack of shoe boxes on the closet floor and I suddenly felt motivated to try on a pair of her high heel pumps. I opened a random box and found a pair in a floral fabric with a 3-inch heel. I slipped on the heels and they fit perfectly.

I looked in the mirror and the combination of nylons and high heels was exhilarating! Not only did my legs look like women's legs, but now they looked shapely and sexy, too!

I have been a big fan of high heels ever since. When en femme, I seldom wear anything else on my feet. Unless the occasion absolutely screams for flats, I wear heels.

Once upon a time, I thought that at 6-feet-2, wearing heels would make it more difficult to pass. But I came to the realization that if I can pass at 6-foot-2 wearing flats, then I can pass at 6-foot-6 wearing 4-inch heels.

I love wearing heels. They make my legs look more shapely and more importantly, I feel more feminine, more lady-like wearing heels. I know it’s my late-1950s/early-1960s socialization that makes me feel this way, but that's me and I'm not changing shoe styles at this late date.

Genetic females often compliment me about my proficiency in walking in heels and ask if it was difficult learning how. Truth is that I took to heels like Daisy Duck took to heels.

As a child, my mother often mentioned that I walked on my tiptoes. I assumed that walking on my tiptoes was not the way a male was supposed to walk, but nobody ever taught me the “correct” way to walk. So I took the path of least resistance and continued to walk on my tiptoes.

I believe that my penchant for walking on my tiptoes made walking in high heels a natural thing to do. True or not, from day one, I never had a problem walking in heels.

Heels hurt. I have high heels that begin hurting as soon as I slipped them on and I have heels that I can wear all day with little or no pain. I discovered that the height of the heel is not critical as far as pain is concerned. Some of my most comfortable shoes have 4-inch stiletto heels. Go figure!

Wearing heels makes my femulation complete. Despite the pain, I will never give up wearing heels; you will have to remove my high heels from my cold, dead feet.

Wearing Ann Taylor

Jeremy Lloyd descends the staircase in the fabulous drag ball scene from the 1971 British film Lady Chatterly Versus Fanny Hill also known as The Games Lovers Play.

Power Suit

“Power Suit”

It is so much easier to shop for things when in girl mode.
You have your shapewear strategically in place, so you know how the item will fit when you try it on and you are in makeup and wearing a do, so you know how the item will look on madam.

Yes, shopping in girl mode is so much easier… even if you are not shopping for girly things! Like the time I visited a Lowe’s home improvement store in girl mode to get a replacement part for a piece of plumbing that failed. I had no trepidation about going to Lowe’s in my “power suit” and I found my trip very revealing.

My “power suit” is not a jacket and matching pencil skirt. My power suit consists of any skirt or dress with a hem above the knee (“Stana Short”) and high heel pumps with a three-inch or higher heel.)

Whenever I go to Lowe’s or Home Depot in boy mode, I have to find and ask a store employee when I need help. In my power suit, I had a male Lowe’s employee practically at my beck and call without asking. 

When he saw me looking lost in the plumbing department, he asked what I needed and directed me to the exact location where the part was displayed. After I found what I needed, he came over and compared it to the old part I had brought along to make sure I got the right part.

That's the power of a short skirt and high heels!

In addition to wielding the power of wearing a short skirt and high heels in a home improvement store, I discovered that combination works in other places, too. When I spent a long weekend in Manhattan, a short hemline and heels sure came in handy when hailing a taxi cab. I never failed to nab the first cab I hailed when I was wearing my power suit.

My power suit is more than adequate to gain the upper hand over the male sex. Dressed so, I can wrap a male around my little finger. Even males who are aware of my birth gender have fallen under my power. It is so easy! I don’t even have to think about unleashing the power because males usually succumb to it automatically.

Women are the stronger sex, but we play along that we are the fairer sex because along with our uniforms, it is part of our strategy to have our way with the real weaker sex.

Wearing Shein

Eva Cado AKA Antoni Porowski