In Touch

It started, as these things often do, with something small and entirely deniable.

“Just curiosity,” said Frank, holding up a tube of tinted lip balm in the pharmacy aisle like it was evidence in a trial. “Practical, really. Winter dryness.”

His wife, Carol, didn’t even look up from comparing two brands of moisturizer. “Of course. Hydration is important.”

That was a Tuesday.

By Friday, Frank had “accidentally” discovered that Carol’s cardigan was “surprisingly comfortable.” By Sunday, he had opinions about fabric drape. And by the following week, he was standing in front of the bedroom mirror, turning slightly to the left and then the right, asking a question no man in his bowling league had ever asked out loud:

“Does this color wash me out?”

Carol, to her credit, adapted quickly. Some spouses resist change. Carol organized it.

“Well,” she said, arms folded, evaluating him with the same calm authority she once used to choose kitchen appliances, “if you’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly.”

That was how Frank found himself booked for a “consultation.”

---

The salon had a name that suggested both luxury and inevitability: Refinement.

Inside, a row of men, formerly known as guys, sat in plush chairs, each at a different stage of what could only be described as… progress.

One was having his eyebrows shaped with the solemn intensity of a sculptor restoring a Renaissance statue. Another was being fitted for something that involved boning, lacing, and a level of commitment Frank had not anticipated.

Frank swallowed. “I thought maybe we’d start with… a scarf.”

Carol smiled. “We are starting with a scarf.”

Two hours later, Frank emerged with a softly layered haircut, a light application of makeup, and a scarf tied in a way that suggested he had opinions about art galleries.

He looked… good.

Annoyingly good.

---

The shift spread faster than anyone expected.

At the office, it began with small changes. A bit of moisturizer here. A neater haircut there. Then came the cardigans. Then the shoes.

Within a month, Casual Friday had been replaced by what HR cautiously called “Expressive Presentation Day.”

Frank, now frequently referred to by Carol as “Frances, when he’s making an effort,” found himself mentoring younger men.

“You’re rushing it,” he told Kevin from accounting, who had shown up in a dress that clearly had not been chosen with his proportions in mind. “You need structure. And better shoes. Those are… optimistic.”

Kevin nodded solemnly. “I thought the heels were the point.”

“They are,” Frank said. “But not like that.”

---

Meanwhile, the women adapted in their own way.

Carol bought three new pantsuits. Not because she needed them, but because she enjoyed the symbolism.

At social gatherings, the dynamic had shifted so completely that no one even mentioned it anymore.

Wives stood in small, confident clusters, discussing careers, investments, and travel plans.

Their husbands, now softer, neater, more… considered, stood nearby, comparing fabrics, adjusting accessories, and occasionally asking each other, in hushed but earnest tones:

“Be honest. Is this too much?”

---

The real turning point came at a neighborhood party.

Frank arrived in a tailored skirt suit, understated but precise, with a small brooch Carol had insisted on.

As he stepped into the room, there was a brief pause… the kind that used to happen when someone broke a social rule.

But now?

A nod.

A smile.

A quiet, collective acknowledgment: Yes. That works.

Carol slipped her arm through his. “You clean up well.”

Frank exhaled, just slightly. “I was going for… put together.”

“You succeeded.”

Across the room, Kevin from accounting was explaining pleats to someone who looked deeply overwhelmed.

Progress.

---

Later that evening, as they walked home, Frank adjusted his scarf against the cool air.

“You know,” he said, “I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

“Like what?”

He thought for a moment.

“Like I’ve been underdressed my whole life.”

Carol laughed, not unkindly. “Most of you were.”

He glanced at her. “And you’re okay with all this?”

She considered the question, then gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Oh, I’m more than okay with it,” she said. “I’ve been waiting years for you all to catch up.”

Frank looked down at his high heels, good shoes, he now knew, and then back up the street, where a few other couples walked ahead, the silhouettes just slightly different than they used to be.

“Funny,” he said. “All it took was getting in touch with our feminine side.”

Carol squeezed his arm.

“And a little guidance,” she said.

Wearing Boston Proper

John Hansen (center) femulating in the 1970 film The Christine Jorgensen Story.