There are things you find in newspapers until you don't.
When I was a kid, a New York Times article where sixty-nine people died in an air accident had the headline Nearly 70 Die because they didn't want to put 69 in big bold print. I remember at one point noticing that there were far fewer "assaults" in the newspaper, but this new crime I was unfamiliar with called "rape" appeared.
Stories would lead with "two men robbed a bank in midtown today" or "two black men robbed a bank in midtown today." Replace "black" with whatever the correct term was, but they felt compelled to mention the race if they weren't white. I never say "two blonde men...". Then people called them out and that tapered off. They did fight: there were editorials supporting the practice as helping to identify the criminals but they couldn't justify not giving more details and gave up the battle.
Of course, I don't have those bits of papyrus any longer.
There was a story a couple of days ago about a man who left a foster infant in a car. He apparently should never have been allowed to watch kids under any circumstances ~ he was watching a Game of Thrones marathon and smoking weed. When a baby cried on the show, he remembered he left his baby.
In days past the headline would have read Gay Foster Parent Leaves Baby to Die in Hot Car but instead the article focused on the baby reminding him he had left the child, and there was only a reference to "his husband" part way down the article. The previous headline would generate reams of letters about how this is why gay couples should not have children (ignoring the number of straight criminal idiots there are who caused the same tragedy). The latter made it an aside. I'm sure there will still be letters, but not the same volume and vitriol.
So interestingly, there was an article about a guy who would drive his Range Rover in neighborhoods where there were lots of bars and lots of drunk young adults staggering about. He'd go to a drive-through ATM and ask for their card and PIN "to pay for the ride." You can guess how it ends. Rolling drunks is nothing new.
The headline was Driver took drunk people home, and took their credit cards. He thought it through though ~ he'd use a card until the owner cancelled it then he'd return it to another victim who thought it was his card. Most victims were too drunk to remember what happened or how they got home.
And he also had a twist: way down in paragraph 6:
When police searched Mitchell’s home in Clinton, Md., in November, they found more than 200 credit cards in a shoe box.
Police also found a wig that Mitchell wore in bank surveillance videos.
In interviews that are recounted in court documents, many of the victims say they do not remember how they got home, or they recall getting into the car of a woman while intoxicated. William Miller, a spokesman for the U.S. Attorney’s Office in D.C., said that victims may have felt more comfortable getting into Mitchell’s car because he appeared to be a woman, with the wig and padded breasts.
Other passengers said they were aware that Mitchell was a man in a wig. Jason Kalafat, Mitchell’s defense attorney, said that Mitchell’s dress was “more of a lifestyle issue” [emphasis mine] and not meant to trick victims into a false sense of security.
I'm interested in what the real story behind the dressup is, but I think making it incidental is better than an article I came across recently about a crook where the headline screamed about his being a "transvestite."
We've come a long way. We have a long way to go. And sometimes it's a battle that can't be won. I still regularly see letters from women saying "why do you have to mention a woman's age? You don't mention a man's age!" or "why was it important to say what she was wearing? You don't say what he's wearing!"
Let's see what the next decade brings.
Showing posts with label crossdressers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crossdressers. Show all posts
Friday, August 8, 2014
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Simple Pleasure ~ Technology Update
Once upon a time, we were called transvestites (TVs). Then both our vocabulary and technology evolved and we became crossdressers (CDs).
Now, people are steering away from TVs; my son doesn't even have one at his apartment. And no-one uses CDs anymore.
It's time to update our label. I propose Dynamically Variable Dressers (DVDs).
Now, people are steering away from TVs; my son doesn't even have one at his apartment. And no-one uses CDs anymore.
It's time to update our label. I propose Dynamically Variable Dressers (DVDs).
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Another "One of Us?"
I'm suspicious.
I can imagine the girl on the left saying "I'm so proud of you, going out dressed for the first time!" as she pats her on the back!
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Expect the Unexpected II
My wife is a therapist. I tell friends that I'm her greatest challenge. She's never figured out that that implies I'm her greatest failure. :D
She often tells me about clients, without naming names or giving any identifying information.
She's told he that she has had a couple of crossdresser clients, but that's not why they're seeing her so they don't really talk about it. Not long ago, we had a discussion about one of her gay clients. She urged him to come out to his friends. I asked if that meant I should come out to my friends. She was passionately against that, but couldn't (or wouldn't) explain how that was not hypocritical, or at the very least, extremely insulting to me.
Anyway.
The other night she told me about an female client who got stuck in a job she doesn't want, doing something she doesn't like. She discussed what she does and does well, and they brainstormed about ways she could maybe turn something into a career, or at least a way to make some money doing what she likes. One skill, my wife suggested a few ways she could turn that into a career. She also mentioned that she had some cosmetics training and thought she was quite good at it. My wife suggested she might find a niche, such as "doing makeovers for men who like to dress up." That's how she expressed it to me; I don't know what wording she used with her client, or how she reacted. When we have some time alone, I'll follow up and see if I can find out exactly what she said.
An aside: right before posting this, I checked freecycle and found WANTED: Dresser. I am so tempted to reply! "I may not be exactly what you're looking for but...."
She often tells me about clients, without naming names or giving any identifying information.
She's told he that she has had a couple of crossdresser clients, but that's not why they're seeing her so they don't really talk about it. Not long ago, we had a discussion about one of her gay clients. She urged him to come out to his friends. I asked if that meant I should come out to my friends. She was passionately against that, but couldn't (or wouldn't) explain how that was not hypocritical, or at the very least, extremely insulting to me.
Anyway.
The other night she told me about an female client who got stuck in a job she doesn't want, doing something she doesn't like. She discussed what she does and does well, and they brainstormed about ways she could maybe turn something into a career, or at least a way to make some money doing what she likes. One skill, my wife suggested a few ways she could turn that into a career. She also mentioned that she had some cosmetics training and thought she was quite good at it. My wife suggested she might find a niche, such as "doing makeovers for men who like to dress up." That's how she expressed it to me; I don't know what wording she used with her client, or how she reacted. When we have some time alone, I'll follow up and see if I can find out exactly what she said.
An aside: right before posting this, I checked freecycle and found WANTED: Dresser. I am so tempted to reply! "I may not be exactly what you're looking for but...."
Friday, September 16, 2011
One of Us?
I wish I had a better, larger picture.
It seems they're both women. The one on the right is holding a bag, and the pants look like women's capris, not men's shorts.
But the woman on the left....
She's clearly overdressed for the day (and for her companion). Her legs seem a little muscular, her arm a bit long (although, I admit, feminine), her hips a bit lacking. And she has her hand on her companion's shoulder. Watch a man and woman, or two women walking like that. Hands almost always go around the waist, not the shoulder.
GG or TG, she looks good from here! I love those shoes, and I'd be happy to wear a dress like hers!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Fringe Benefits
Please take this week's poll. Read the introductory post first, and please take your time! The post is long, but it may give you some insight and it will explain a couple of the options.
Before I get to the main topic
A week or so ago, a man in a wedding dress ran onto the field during a Nationals game. Picture to the right.
Last weekend, we were in DC to see the Fringe Festival.
I did not know, until a friend from New York told me, that there are Fringe Festivals around the world.
For the uninitiated, the Fringe consists of a great many local shows. Music, comedy, drama, dance, one person, troupe, offbeat stuff, you name it, it's there. Here, there are shows with names like Tales of Courage and Poultry, Cecily and Gwendolyn's Fantastical Capital Balloon Ride, Who Killed Captain Kirk and Fat Men in Skirts. You can sort shows by a small handful of categories, including Jewish and LGBT.
I dropped my son off near DC mid-afternoon and we went in, with time to see two or three shows. Most are in the same area; most are between 60 and 90 minutes.
The first show was a one-man show. He spoke about odd events in his life, and focussed a bit on agay black friend he had when going to college in the midwest. Being either gay or black made him an oddity in this town and this school. His friend invited him to a hidden, unlabelled club, told him if anyone wants to mess with him that he only dates black men, and then disappeared. Yes, he reappeared in drag as the star of the show.
OK, the show wasn't very good. But this was an odd coincidence.
The second show was an ensemble play, six or so characters including one tall young black man who showed up about half-way through. In a dress and heels. His claim was that he was protesting the treatment of women and would dress like this 24x7 until women were treated as equals in every way.
OK. I'm two for two. I'll be going back today or tomorrow.
The second show was a mile or so from the rest so we drove there and walked to a restaurant before the show. Walking a bit, we saw what seemed to be shops, walked past a steakhouse to an Italian restaurant in Dupont Circle.
There were about a dozen people in the place, staff and guests, and most were watching the world cup final match. He sat us at a table near the window. My wife took a seat looking in, so I had a nice view of the street. The waiter asked if we wanted to sit where we could see the game. He put his hand on my back as he asked, which I thought was... noticeable.
As soon as the waiter walked away, my wife said "this is a gay place." I hadn't noticed. Those of you who know DC might have figured it out when I mentioned Dupont Circle. I didn't know, but my wife informed me, that it is a very gay area of DC. She was the only woman in the place until the end of the meal. I spent the meal people-watching out the window. Many women walked by. Many of them were wearing dresses; I saw a fair number of LBDs. The men mostly travelled in pairs. After dinner I said "I want to walk," mostly because I like to walk and it wasn't unbearably hot outside. More men in pairs.
I think this might be a good place for Meg to dine if she goes to DC in a couple of weeks.
Before I get to the main topicA week or so ago, a man in a wedding dress ran onto the field during a Nationals game. Picture to the right.
The main topic
Last weekend, we were in DC to see the Fringe Festival.
I did not know, until a friend from New York told me, that there are Fringe Festivals around the world.
For the uninitiated, the Fringe consists of a great many local shows. Music, comedy, drama, dance, one person, troupe, offbeat stuff, you name it, it's there. Here, there are shows with names like Tales of Courage and Poultry, Cecily and Gwendolyn's Fantastical Capital Balloon Ride, Who Killed Captain Kirk and Fat Men in Skirts. You can sort shows by a small handful of categories, including Jewish and LGBT.
I dropped my son off near DC mid-afternoon and we went in, with time to see two or three shows. Most are in the same area; most are between 60 and 90 minutes.
The first show was a one-man show. He spoke about odd events in his life, and focussed a bit on agay black friend he had when going to college in the midwest. Being either gay or black made him an oddity in this town and this school. His friend invited him to a hidden, unlabelled club, told him if anyone wants to mess with him that he only dates black men, and then disappeared. Yes, he reappeared in drag as the star of the show.
OK, the show wasn't very good. But this was an odd coincidence.
The second show was an ensemble play, six or so characters including one tall young black man who showed up about half-way through. In a dress and heels. His claim was that he was protesting the treatment of women and would dress like this 24x7 until women were treated as equals in every way.
OK. I'm two for two. I'll be going back today or tomorrow.
The second show was a mile or so from the rest so we drove there and walked to a restaurant before the show. Walking a bit, we saw what seemed to be shops, walked past a steakhouse to an Italian restaurant in Dupont Circle.
There were about a dozen people in the place, staff and guests, and most were watching the world cup final match. He sat us at a table near the window. My wife took a seat looking in, so I had a nice view of the street. The waiter asked if we wanted to sit where we could see the game. He put his hand on my back as he asked, which I thought was... noticeable.
As soon as the waiter walked away, my wife said "this is a gay place." I hadn't noticed. Those of you who know DC might have figured it out when I mentioned Dupont Circle. I didn't know, but my wife informed me, that it is a very gay area of DC. She was the only woman in the place until the end of the meal. I spent the meal people-watching out the window. Many women walked by. Many of them were wearing dresses; I saw a fair number of LBDs. The men mostly travelled in pairs. After dinner I said "I want to walk," mostly because I like to walk and it wasn't unbearably hot outside. More men in pairs.
I think this might be a good place for Meg to dine if she goes to DC in a couple of weeks.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Civilians ~ An Introduction
I don't know how women's minds work. I can probably play a woman on-line for a while if I was chatting with a guy, but I doubt I'd fool another woman.
But I don't know how the mind of a non-crossdressing male (what I call a civilian) works either.
I've heard women say they "dress for other women" ~ is that true? I don't know. I know I'll think "wow!" when I see a woman in a nice outfit (and by that I mean "one I'd like to wear") even when she's too far away for me to see her face, or if she has her back to me. So whether she knows it or not, she's dressing for me.
Here's a situation that makes me think I don't understand civilians. There's a woman in a pretty flowered dress. A guy will compliment her on it. Why? I admire the way it fits, and the way she looks, and wonder how it would look on me. What's the civilian thinking when he compliments her dress? I might think a particular dress or colour is pretty. Is that what a civilian is thinking? I have no idea.
The only way to get into the mind of a cilivian is to ask a question before I ask the question I want to ask.
"Are you a crossdresser?"
I'm sure I'll get a no. If someone asked me, most likely I'd answer 'no'.
According to studies I've read, 5-10 percent of those answers will be lies.
But maybe the studies are wrong. Suppose 10 percent of males have no interest in crossdressing, 20 percent have a casual interest (maybe they've tried on panties or other items and liked it, or use women's clothes when they "practice" lovemaking, by themselves), and 70 percent are serious transgenders. I freely admit that I'm in the last category. I'm just picking numbers out of a hat.
How many other guys will admit to ANYONE that they're in anything but the first category?
We'd never know the real story.
When I was young, there was no such thing as rape. Newspapers reported a woman was "assaulted". People never spoke about cancer. They whispered the word.
Maybe that's where we are.
Maybe I want to find out how guys think, I should ask that first question as
"I'm a crossdresser. Are you?"
Not understanding groups you're not a part of is normal and expected. But I don't understand my own group and that is... disturbing.
I "get" rich people not understanding the poor.
I get me not understanding civil war re-enactors or hunters or women or people who are devoutly religious or rabid sports fans.
I get civilians (and women) not understanding why I'd rather wear a dress and heels than jeans and sneakers.
I get all that. But this is akin to not understanding people who have thumbs. I have thumbs. I should understand them and, oddly enough, I do.
The fact that I don't understand my own group is a recent epiphany. I may expand on it as I try to make sense of it. If anyone has any insights, please share! I'll acknowledge you in my book. :)
But I don't know how the mind of a non-crossdressing male (what I call a civilian) works either.
I've heard women say they "dress for other women" ~ is that true? I don't know. I know I'll think "wow!" when I see a woman in a nice outfit (and by that I mean "one I'd like to wear") even when she's too far away for me to see her face, or if she has her back to me. So whether she knows it or not, she's dressing for me.
Here's a situation that makes me think I don't understand civilians. There's a woman in a pretty flowered dress. A guy will compliment her on it. Why? I admire the way it fits, and the way she looks, and wonder how it would look on me. What's the civilian thinking when he compliments her dress? I might think a particular dress or colour is pretty. Is that what a civilian is thinking? I have no idea.
The only way to get into the mind of a cilivian is to ask a question before I ask the question I want to ask.
"Are you a crossdresser?"
I'm sure I'll get a no. If someone asked me, most likely I'd answer 'no'.
According to studies I've read, 5-10 percent of those answers will be lies.
But maybe the studies are wrong. Suppose 10 percent of males have no interest in crossdressing, 20 percent have a casual interest (maybe they've tried on panties or other items and liked it, or use women's clothes when they "practice" lovemaking, by themselves), and 70 percent are serious transgenders. I freely admit that I'm in the last category. I'm just picking numbers out of a hat.
How many other guys will admit to ANYONE that they're in anything but the first category?
We'd never know the real story.
When I was young, there was no such thing as rape. Newspapers reported a woman was "assaulted". People never spoke about cancer. They whispered the word.
Maybe that's where we are.
Maybe I want to find out how guys think, I should ask that first question as
"I'm a crossdresser. Are you?"
Not understanding groups you're not a part of is normal and expected. But I don't understand my own group and that is... disturbing.
I "get" rich people not understanding the poor.
I get me not understanding civil war re-enactors or hunters or women or people who are devoutly religious or rabid sports fans.
I get civilians (and women) not understanding why I'd rather wear a dress and heels than jeans and sneakers.
I get all that. But this is akin to not understanding people who have thumbs. I have thumbs. I should understand them and, oddly enough, I do.
The fact that I don't understand my own group is a recent epiphany. I may expand on it as I try to make sense of it. If anyone has any insights, please share! I'll acknowledge you in my book. :)
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
You Can Call Me Cautious
If you're not up to reading a long boring post at least skip down to the line of ~~~~~~~~~~~ near the bottom.
I'd like to start by saying I am not paranoid. I don't see conspiracies lurking everywhere and people are not out to get me (except for the ones that are, and I'm keeping a close eye on them. And a journal. One copy will go to the newspapers if anything happens to me; the other goes to the police). OK, that last part was an attempt at humour.
In advance, I'm going to beg pardon for my generalisations.
Like most of us (crossdressers, not paranoiacs), I keep my girl-self hidden from most people. Like the child who sleeps with the light on, we have a variety of reasons. Like the child, they're pretty much all fear-based. I'm guessing most common is fear of rejection of those around us. Fear of hostility is probably high on the list, as is fear of humiliation or being laughed at. We don't want our children teased because "your daddy is a sissy".
Whatever the reason, most gurls who are out regularly still separate their two identities. Their neighbors probably don't know, their extended family probably don't know, their immediate family may not know.
So the flying bit raised my paranoia level (can I just call it caution level?) from it's usual low Meg 3 to about 9.
When Meg is shopping, she can pay cash ~ anonymous. She hopes the neighbors don't see a woman driving away or home, and she hopes no-one recognises her vanity plate and comes over to see, um, non-Meg.
See, some of you know both Meg and her male self; the vast majority do not. This is the only thing I have in common with Superman. :)
The fact that someone may figure out that "that was no lady that was...." is what keeps the level up to 3. That, and the fact that someone might look right through Meg and not just see a guy in a dress but a particular guy in a dress. When I'm not dressed, my level is a healthy 2.7.
So what kept me up to a 9? I took a cab to the mall in drab. Walking through the mall with a suitcase and laptop bag was odd, but not a problem. Walking through the mall or the airport dressed was no different than shopping.
In the past, that was it. Not this time.
The taxi dispatcher has my phone number. The cabbie knows and can make a connection.
The airline knows everything about me ~ name, address, phone, everything.
Ditto the TSA. Ditto the rental car place. The flight crew could find out who the "lady" in 6c was.
The hotel is the worst ~ I'm still here.
Dinner was cash and anonymous.
I didn't tell anyone who knew Meg is flying where I was going.
There might be some Glenn-Beck-type clod who could pick up the details and (paranoia alert!) be waiting at the airport with signs and a bullhorn denouncing what he considers a pervert.
The odds? About 0.001%.
Or the readers from crossdressers.com or the Classy DC Sisters group or Stana's blog might say "hey, we're local. Let's put on our best and give Meg a fantastic sendoff!"
The odds? About 0.001%.
Although one would be horrid (but not trip-ending) and one would be fantastic (but embarrassing), both are above my paranoia level of a probability of 0.0009%. So here's what I didn't say (note the marker I mentioned earlier):
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I flew from Washington Dulles airport, about 30 miles from DC, to Kansas City. From there, I drove to Topeka where I'm working right across the street from the capitol building. I'm staying in the hotel close to the West Ridge Mall. I won't say what agency not because of my caution but because I'm not supposed to. I'll be flying back (not as Meg) Friday evening.
By the way, I slept like a baby last night ~ I woke up wet and crying every couple of hours. No, I slept through the night for the first time in a few weeks. But every sleepless minute and elevated heartbeat was worth it.
Tomorrow, work permitting, I'll start writing about the trip. I feel like it's anti-climactic though.
I'd like to start by saying I am not paranoid. I don't see conspiracies lurking everywhere and people are not out to get me (except for the ones that are, and I'm keeping a close eye on them. And a journal. One copy will go to the newspapers if anything happens to me; the other goes to the police). OK, that last part was an attempt at humour.
In advance, I'm going to beg pardon for my generalisations.
Like most of us (crossdressers, not paranoiacs), I keep my girl-self hidden from most people. Like the child who sleeps with the light on, we have a variety of reasons. Like the child, they're pretty much all fear-based. I'm guessing most common is fear of rejection of those around us. Fear of hostility is probably high on the list, as is fear of humiliation or being laughed at. We don't want our children teased because "your daddy is a sissy".
Whatever the reason, most gurls who are out regularly still separate their two identities. Their neighbors probably don't know, their extended family probably don't know, their immediate family may not know.
So the flying bit raised my paranoia level (can I just call it caution level?) from it's usual low Meg 3 to about 9.
When Meg is shopping, she can pay cash ~ anonymous. She hopes the neighbors don't see a woman driving away or home, and she hopes no-one recognises her vanity plate and comes over to see, um, non-Meg.
See, some of you know both Meg and her male self; the vast majority do not. This is the only thing I have in common with Superman. :)
The fact that someone may figure out that "that was no lady that was...." is what keeps the level up to 3. That, and the fact that someone might look right through Meg and not just see a guy in a dress but a particular guy in a dress. When I'm not dressed, my level is a healthy 2.7.
So what kept me up to a 9? I took a cab to the mall in drab. Walking through the mall with a suitcase and laptop bag was odd, but not a problem. Walking through the mall or the airport dressed was no different than shopping.
In the past, that was it. Not this time.
The taxi dispatcher has my phone number. The cabbie knows and can make a connection.
The airline knows everything about me ~ name, address, phone, everything.
Ditto the TSA. Ditto the rental car place. The flight crew could find out who the "lady" in 6c was.
The hotel is the worst ~ I'm still here.
Dinner was cash and anonymous.
I didn't tell anyone who knew Meg is flying where I was going.
There might be some Glenn-Beck-type clod who could pick up the details and (paranoia alert!) be waiting at the airport with signs and a bullhorn denouncing what he considers a pervert.
The odds? About 0.001%.
Or the readers from crossdressers.com or the Classy DC Sisters group or Stana's blog might say "hey, we're local. Let's put on our best and give Meg a fantastic sendoff!"
The odds? About 0.001%.
Although one would be horrid (but not trip-ending) and one would be fantastic (but embarrassing), both are above my paranoia level of a probability of 0.0009%. So here's what I didn't say (note the marker I mentioned earlier):
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I flew from Washington Dulles airport, about 30 miles from DC, to Kansas City. From there, I drove to Topeka where I'm working right across the street from the capitol building. I'm staying in the hotel close to the West Ridge Mall. I won't say what agency not because of my caution but because I'm not supposed to. I'll be flying back (not as Meg) Friday evening.
By the way, I slept like a baby last night ~ I woke up wet and crying every couple of hours. No, I slept through the night for the first time in a few weeks. But every sleepless minute and elevated heartbeat was worth it.
Tomorrow, work permitting, I'll start writing about the trip. I feel like it's anti-climactic though.
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