Passing Is Nice, But Living Is Better

When I first began going out en femme, passing seemed like the most important thing in the world.

I studied every person who looked in my direction. Did that woman stare a second too long? Were those teenagers laughing at me? Did the sales associate call me “Ma’am” because she saw a woman or was she simply being polite?

Every glance became a reading on my imaginary passing meter.

The trouble is that the passing meter is notoriously unreliable. Unless someone tells you what they think—and people occasionally have told me that I pass—you really do not know how they see you. A smile may be approval, recognition or nothing more than a friendly smile. A laugh across the room probably has nothing to do with you, although an anxious crossdresser can easily assume otherwise.

So we do the best we can. We work on our makeup, clothing, hair, voice and mannerisms. We learn what flatters us and what should remain on the store rack. We practice walking in heels until it no longer resembles a circus act.

Practice, practice, practice.

All that effort is worthwhile. Looking our best gives us confidence and confidence can do more for our presentation than the most expensive dress in the closet. But eventually, something else begins to happen: we stop thinking so much about passing and start thinking about living.

Instead of wondering whether the waitress read us, we enjoy the meal.

Instead of studying the other shoppers for signs of suspicion, we browse the racks.

Instead of worrying about how we look walking through the mall, we notice a handbag in a store window that would be perfect with our new shoes.

That is when femulating becomes fun.

I still want to look as feminine as possible. I have not abandoned my standards and I certainly have not thrown away my makeup mirror. I enjoy putting together an outfit, applying my makeup and seeing the woman in the mirror emerge. Being called “Ma’am” or, better yet, “Miss” still puts a smile on my face.

But I no longer need every stranger to confirm that I belong there.

The real victory is not convincing every person we meet that we were born female. The real victory is becoming comfortable enough to go where we want, do what we want and enjoy the experience without constantly imagining that we are under examination.

Most civilians are occupied with their own lives. They are thinking about what to make for dinner, where they parked the car or why the checkout line is moving so slowly. We may feel as if a spotlight follows us everywhere, but usually we are only another person going about our business.

And if someone does recognize that we are crossdressing? The world usually keeps turning.

Passing is nice. Compliments are wonderful. Being accepted and treated as a woman can make an outing especially rewarding. But none of those things should be requirements for enjoying life en femme.

There comes a time to stop checking the passing meter, put it back in your handbag and simply enjoy being yourself.

After all, we did not leave the closet merely to find another place to hide.

Wearing Ann Taylor

Stephen Dorff femulating in the 1996 film I Shot Andy Warhol.