Aftermath

Company Christms Party

Going to work on Halloween dressed convincingly as a woman was exciting, nerve-racking and liberating. But the part I was curious about most was not Halloween itself. It was what would happen afterward.

Halloween gave me permission to walk into the office en femme. November 1 did not give my coworkers permission to forget what they had seen.

Would they tease me? Would they treat me differently? Would someone decide that I had looked a little too convincing? After all, this was not a last-minute costume assembled from a borrowed dress and a crooked wig. I had arrived wearing a complete office-girl ensemble, including shapewear, hosiery, heels, jewelry, makeup, an auburn wig and a handbag. I looked as if I belonged in the secretarial pool—and that was exactly what I intended.

The next workday, I returned in my usual male clothing and braced myself for the aftermath.

There were a few smiles, a little friendly ribbing and plenty of compliments. Some coworkers mentioned how convincing I had looked. Others wanted to know how I managed to walk so comfortably in heels or apply makeup so well. A few women seemed especially amused that I had paid more attention to the details than some women did.

But the most significant reaction was the one that never occurred.

Nobody shunned me. Nobody questioned my ability to do my job. Nobody summoned me to Human Resources for an uncomfortable conversation. Once the excitement wore off, everyone returned to work and life went on.

Naturally, some coworkers probably wondered whether Halloween had merely provided an excuse for me to do something I already enjoyed. They would have been correct, but nobody pressed the issue. Perhaps they respected my privacy. Perhaps they simply did not care. Or perhaps my convincing presentation answered the question without anyone needing to ask it.

The experience taught me something important: we often imagine an aftermath far worse than the one that actually occurs. Before going out en femme, we picture ridicule, rejection and endless gossip. In reality, most people react briefly and then return to worrying about their own lives.

My coworkers had reports to write, meetings to attend, circuits to design and deadlines to meet. My appearance on Halloween may have been the talk of the office for a day or two, but it did not become the defining event of my career.

In fact, the aftermath was so uneventful that I did it again the following Halloween. I won the costume contest during each of its first two years. When the company stopped holding the contest, I continued dressing en femme on Halloween anyway. The prize had never been my motivation. Going to work as a woman was the prize.

Eventually, I went to work en femme for seven Halloweens (and two post-retirement Christmas parties). Each appearance made the next one easier because my coworkers already knew what to expect. What had seemed daring the first year gradually became an office tradition.

“Here comes Stana. It must be Halloween.”

Years later, former coworkers indicated that they had not been particularly surprised by my feminine appearances. Evidently, I had not concealed my feminine side as successfully as I once believed.

Looking back, Halloween did more than allow me to wear a dress to work. It showed me that being seen as a woman—even by people who knew me as a man—did not cause the sky to fall.

The morning after Halloween, I was still employed, still respected and still the same person I had been before.

Except I was a little braver.

Wearing Shein

Contestant Dylan (center) femulating on television’s Lets Make A Deal.