Out of the Closet Fun

Ladylike Laughs

Friday!

On Thursday, Robin Arźon was a guest on ABC television's Good Morning America and her outfit caught my eye. What was she wearing? Was any kind of skirt part of her outfit? They never showed her full-length from a different angle, so it was hard to tell, but whatever it was, it was definitely Stana Short.

UPDATE: Joanne informed me that Robin was wearing Alice + Olivia Campbell Linen Blazer and Conry Shorts, both in dark cherry.

My Sissy Life

According to my recollection, the first negative word ever hurled at me was “sissy.”

“Sissy,” according to The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, Third Edition, is “a boy or man regarded as effeminate.”

To illuminate that definition, the dictionary defines “effeminate” as “having qualities or characteristics more often associated with women than men; characterized by weakness and excessive refinement.”

Yes – that’s me. The dictionary could print an image of me next to the printed words to illustrate the definition.

The thing is that the first time I was called a sissy, I had no idea that I was one. All I knew was that I was “me” and I was not intentionally emulating females. I did not go out of my way to be a sissy, rather I was just acting naturally. My personality directed me to do things a certain way. The problem was that that way often did not meet the expectations of how a “man” would do those things.

When I realized that something was amiss (yeah, me), I began forcing myself to do things the way a “man” does things in order to be accepted in society and not be shunned for being effeminate.

Often, I felt uncomfortable when I forced myself to be a “man.” As time passed, I learned that being accepted in society as a “man” was not worth the effort. So as I grew older and wiser, I forced myself less often and let my personality act naturally more often.

I also began crossdressing more publicly at that time in my life* and my open crossdressing went hand-in-hand with my decision to stop forcing myself to act like a “man.”

I enjoyed dressing as a woman and my normal personality did not conflict with the way I dressed, i.e., I was not a “man in a dress.” Again, this is not an assumption on my part; I have been told more than once that when I crossdress, my personality is a natural fit for the way I am dressed.

I realized that the natural way for me was often the the feminine way, but so what? Why was I forcing myself to be something that I was not? So, I stopped acting like a “man” and instead, acted like “me,” picking and choosing what I liked from the masculine and feminine aisles in that big department store called “Life.”

But the name-calling continued. But I eventually ignored the taunting, learned to embrace my self, and became my own man or should I say “woman.”

Actually, I am somewhere in between. Circumstances prevent me from being a woman all the time. Some of the time, I am a feminine man and some of the time, I am a feminine woman, so you can call me “sissy” – it’s a good fit.

* FYI, I began crossdressing regularly in my early teens, but I had a keen interest in crossdressing much earlier and probably crossdressed for the first time when I was about 8 years old. I crossdressed in public (Halloween) for the first time in my late teens and I crossdressed in public (not Halloween) for the first time in my mid-30s.

Beware – This post is a rerun!

Wearing BGL

Confessions of a Bikini-Wary Beachgoer

By Monika Kowalska

I just returned from a fabulous vacation, one of those blissful escapes where the sand sticks to your sun-screened legs in all the right ways and the ocean sparkles like it’s auditioning for a perfume commercial. 

I was spending this glorious time with my sister, who, as always, managed to turn even a simple beach stroll into a full-on fashion commentary session. I was also with my mother, who is rather conservative and not exactly thrilled by my choice of swimsuit, let alone my sister’s even braver, more daring bikini. Watching her raise an eyebrow or mutter under her breath as we strutted past sunbathers added an extra layer of amusement and a little healthy embarrassment to our beach days.While laying on the beach, soaking up the sun and quietly judging all the swimsuits parading by, I realized something – inspiration comes in many forms and for me, it came in the shape of triangles and strings. Yes, I’m talking about the humble bikini.

Now, let’s take a little historical detour. While two-piece swimsuits have been splashing around since the 1930s, the bikini as we know it today made its debut in 1946. French engineer Louis Réard probably inspired by the atomic bomb tests at the Bikini Atoll, unveiled his daring creation, modeled by Micheline Bernardini. The reaction? French women clapped, the Catholic Church gasped and the world collectively tilted its head and whispered, “Scandalous!” 

Over the years, bikinis became the darlings of beach culture, boosted by stars like Brigitte Bardot, Ursula Andress and Raquel Welch – basically every woman who could make a splash in Hollywood and well, history. By the 2000s, bikinis weren’t just beachwear, they were big business raking in millions and even encouraging sunbathers to schedule waxing appointments with military precision.

Of course, wearing a bikini isn’t all glamour and sun-kissed Instagram posts. There’s an entire universe of challenges lurking in the world of swimwear. Straps that dig into your shoulders like tiny medieval torture devices, bottoms that droop or ride up at the worst possible moment and suits with cutouts that somehow turn your tan lines into a complex geometry problem. These are just the tip of the iceberg. 

High-waisted bottoms can make you feel like you’re wearing diapers, while low-cut ones can leave you doing constant wardrobe adjustments worthy of an Olympic sport. Even trying on suits in stores can be exhausting as fitting room fatigue sets in and makes you question your life choices while clutching a string bikini that looks suspiciously like it was designed by a mischievous child.

Then there’s the emotional gymnastics of actually putting the bikini on. You start with excitement, move quickly into self-consciousness and somewhere between adjusting straps and holding in that slight post-lunch bloat, you wonder if the sand will ever forgive your human form. Legs that feel too short, tops that feel unsupportive and stomachs that mysteriously appear larger in reflective water, all of these conspire to make even the sunniest day a lesson in patience and self-love. But here’s the secret: the right suit, whether it’s a halter top with a little extra coverage, a high-cut bottom for lengthened legs or a midkini for modesty, can transform the experience from awkward to empowering, proving that every problem has a solution… and every swimsuit a chance to strut like you own the beach.

Still, even armed with history, glamour and a PhD in internet swimsuit research, I find myself hesitating. Wearing a bikini isn’t exactly a confidence-free endeavor. I tug at strings, smooth down wrinkles and brace for men’s glances that seem calibrated to make me hyper-aware of every “imperfection.” It’s a delicate balance between owning your body and wishing for a strategically placed beach umbrella. Yet, stepping onto the sand, I remind myself that confidence isn’t about flawless curves; it’s about claiming your space under the sun, imperfections and all.

And let’s be real, bikinis are often more trouble than they’re worth. Finding one that actually covers what you want without constantly slipping or riding up can feel like training for a full-time job. Even “safe” options have a sneaky way of turning into a thong the moment you step in the water and suddenly your relaxing beach day becomes a game of tug-and-pray. Then there’s the whole depilation issue because nothing says “summer freedom” like feeling pressured to be smooth and beach-ready. Bikinis may look cute on Instagram, but in real life, they demand constant attention, adjustment, and patience, proving that comfort and confidence don’t always come in two small triangles of fabric.

After all, as the bikini proves, small packages really can pack a punch and a little string can hold a lot of confidence.

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 Leau

Glen James

Stuff 86: A Beauty Pageant

By J.J. Atwell

Part 1 - The Setup

Welcome to what will be a three part series about a crossdresser beauty pageant. 

Have you ever participated in one? I have and it was a lot of fun! Our local CD group, FEM Florida, has a yearly pageant. Well, yearly at least for the past two years, with number three coming up in November. 

I think competing in a beauty pageant is probably on every CD’s dream list. I unfortunately had to miss the first year it was held, but was able to enter last year. It was really a fun, but nervous, experience. As I write this, I am in the middle of planning for this year’s contest. But for now, let me tell you more about last year’s event. 

Here’s How It Worked

The “competition” was judged by five people and was conducted in four parts: interview with the judges, Sunday best, beach wear and talent. Those roughly correspond with the standard female beauty contest categories with Sunday best being more equivalent to formal wear and beach wear being substituted for swimsuits. That latter change was because the organizers didn’t want to worry about “fall out” as none of the contestants really have the body to pull off a typical skimpy female suit since we lack real boobs and have to hide that nasty bulge at the crotch. 

The panel of judges comprised three men and two women. They individually rated each contestant as they did each part. At the end, the judges compiled their scores and announced the results. I’ll cover that more in part three. 

So the call was put out to the membership with the date being set for a Saturday night in November at our secure clubhouse location. It turned out that we had six contestants, one of which was last year’s winner. 

Each contestant came with their own sash, most with imaginative names. We had names like Miss Understood, Miss Steak and Miss Lead. As an aside, I write a column in my group’s monthly newsletter entitled “Nothing,” which is similar to what I write about here in Stuff. With that background, I decided to participate under the name of Miss Nothing. 

In keeping with that concept, I purposely did not wear a sash. Instead, I gestured to the nonexistent sash every time my stage name was mentioned. Dumb? Well maybe so, but I thought it was a touch of humor. More on that later. 

I’ll Be Back

More about the beauty contest is coming up in part two next week. The picture at the top of this page is me in my Sunday Best. In the meantime, I welcome comments either here on the blog or by email to Jenn6nov at-sign gmail dot com.

Wearing Rebecca Taylor

Marty Thomas femulating on stage in Pageant: The Musical.

Long Weekends Are Made For Femulating, Part 2

Long Weekends Are Made For Femulating, Part 1

CROSSDRESSING IS WINNING!!!

CROSSDRESSERS — STRONG, CONFIDENT, BEAUTIFUL!!! NOBODY WALKS IN HEELS BETTER. BELIEVE ME!! THE FAKE NEWS WON'T ADMIT IT, BUT CROSSDRESSERS HAVE STYLE, CLASS, AND COURAGE. AMERICA LOVES THEM!!! CROSSDRESSERS ARE DOING INCREDIBLE WORK — TRULY FABULOUS. PEOPLE ARE SAYING IT, AND THEY'RE RIGHT! HIGH HEELS, BEAUTIFUL DRESSES, HANDBAGS,  — THE BEST LOOKS. SO MANY AMAZING MEN IN DRESSES — LOOKING BETTER THAN HOLLYWOOD! THEY TURN HEADS ON FIFTH AVENUW! TREMENDOUS CONFIDENCE. EVERYBODY LOVES IT. CROSSDRESSING IS WINNING!!! WE SUPPORT FREEDOM — AND IF FREEDOM MEANS WEARING A SKIRT WITH THE BEST LEGS IN TOWN, THEN WE LOVE FREEDOM! NO ONE WEARS IT BETTER. HEELS HIGH, SKIRTS SHORT — LOOKING GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY. MAKE FASHION GREAT AGAIN!!! THANK YOU FOR YOUR ATTENTION TO THIS MATTER. — SJH

Wearing Joseph Ribkoff

Jonny Beauchamp femulating on television’s Katy Keene.

Flight of the Phoenix

By Norah Blucher

When we last parted I had set out to fly en femme, only to be grounded by delays after making it through security and waiting for hours. As I awoke the next morning to try it all again, I half thought of just not bothering to fly en femme, and just get home. It had been a long trip already and I doubt anyone would blame me.

But something told me no. I had overcome a lot in my life to get to this point and could not turn back now. Not everything in life works as we would like and I had no excuse to not give it another go, so just as the phoenix rises from the ashes, I too would conquer this yet and make it home... en femme! (And yes, I love the movie The Flight of the Phoenix with Jimmy Stewart and no, I’ve not seen the new version, LOL).

I did not know it at the time, but this would also mark a profound shift in my thinking and life in general. A shift in which much of my life, barring any true barriers, would be as female.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Returning the rental car and checking in went smoothly as before and I then proceeded to TSA security and as I got in line with all of one person ahead of me, I noted someone different running the ID checks that day.

I smiled and handed her my passport, she looked at my passport and then looked at me. Then at my passport again and then again at me. She did this several times, squinting, holding the passport to the side and so on and the whole thing reminded me of some standoff in an old western movie.

I truly did not know what to think. Part of me was nervous that this was going to be a big deal, but I just continued to look at her and smile, cocking my head a bit as if to say “is there a problem?” As dramatic as it all sounds, the whole ordeal took but 15 or 20 seconds, but seemed like an eternity before she closed my passport and handed it back stating “the eyes match.” I smiled and said “I look a right bit different today, don’t I?” to which I got no reaction. Oh well.

In actuality, I was thrilled over the moon with all this. I mean really, if someone trained in facial recognition had trouble discerning my ID photo from what they saw, how likely was it I would ever be recognized when out and about?

Moving over to the conveyor belt, the same chap as yesterday began telling me to take electronics from my bag and then looked at me and noted “didn’t you come through here yesterday?” I said that indeed I had, but things didn’t work out so I decided to spend another night. He then asked if I was on that delayed flight and said I had made the right choice, as it never came in until around midnight. I said I had a feeling as such and the last thing I ever want to do when dealing with a screwy flight schedule is go further from home.

Walking through the scanner, I set something off again and once more a female agent approached me and checked my wrists and asked me to hold my hair up as she patted around my neck. It was all quick and easy, my bags were awaiting me on the other side of the belt and once again I was in!

Up, Up and Away!

I always find flying to be a crap shoot of sorts and always make a habit of ensuring I have food, drinks and eat a good meal before starting out. Delays, waiting on a runway forever, diverting and so forth are all real possibilities, so I made sure to get prepared as I awaited my flight. This time around everything went as it should though, and without too long a wait, I was boarding the plane.

It was actually an enjoyable flight I must say. I had no seatmate next to me, the weather was fab and views were great. I ate the biscuits they were handing out, the flight attendant was friendly, I listened to some music and as far as I could tell, no one was paying the least it of attention to me.

Before I knew it we were landing in Washington, DC, but most of my flights are not direct, and involve a stop and a plane change somewhere. In not unexpected fashion, the night had just begun.

The Layover

Reagan International Airport or DCA in airport code, is a place I’m at often enough and all in all, it is not a bad place to be and with a few hours to kill, I had plenty of time to look around.

I’d had my heart set on looking at some clothes at the Brooks Brothers’ store and perhaps try some things on, only to find the store had closed. To be right honest, with the way 99% of people dress at an airport, I’m not surprised a store like that failed in an airport. No worries though as I had plenty to browse in the book stores.

I think the highlight, however, was the Smithsonian store. I had always admired the interesting jewelry they sell and had always looked, but today was different. On this day, I actually had them get a few things out for me to try on! I actually came close to buying a necklace, but decided against it. I have to say it was still fun though.

I planned for my final stop to be a meal at Legal Seafood, a place I often enjoy at DCA. It was not horribly busy on a Sunday evening and I had a rather quiet but enjoyable meal and also enjoyed my favorite drink that they make, The Moulin Rouge.

I began to head over to my gate when I checked the flight board and noted I had just been delayed. Here we go again.

If you’ve never seen it, the Tom Hanks movie The Terminal is quite good and the main character, played by Hanks, get stranded at an airport in New York due to a coup in his home country and he is forced to live at the airport. Now I know myself or anyone I know, has ever been faced with that, but some times it feels that way and you just wonder if you will ever get home.

Are We Ever Getting Home?

Flight delays are unfortunately common in my flying travel, so I wandered over to a section of DCA that has some comfortable lounge chairs and footrests to settle in. I was enjoying my time en femme, felt in no particular hurry and pulled out the tablet to watch some shows.

And the delays kept mounting. I had started out with a few episodes of Gilmore Girls before tiring of them and moving on to Absolutely Fabulous. By the time I had digressed to YouTube videos of Essex girl jokes, it was after 10 PM and I just wanted to get the bloody hell home and was not in a particularly comical mood. I checked the flight tracker and noted my incoming plane had not even taken off yet and I truly began to fear I’d be spending another night in a hotel to try again the next day.

Wandering over to the airline service desk I politely inquired if there was an issue and a real possibility the flight was just going to be cancelled. The lady behind the counter looked at me horrified and in a sickeningly saccharine tone asked why I would think such a thing? “I don’t know?” I thought, “perhaps the fact that this particular airline seems to like ditching me has something to do with it?”

None of that was her fault though and I was very polite to her and said I was just checking. I have to say though, when you are in one of the country’s busiest airports and three tracking boards are blank and you are waiting on one of the four remaining incoming flights, it is rather disheartening. Are you starting to see why Norah drives everywhere perhaps?

I was so knackered at this point, I cannot even tell you what I watched on the tablet. I just wanted to doze off, but in these situations they can switch gates on you, find another plane and tell you to board right away or any number of things, so I did not dare doze and wandered into a nearby bathroom to touch up my makeup so as not to scare the other passengers if we did get on a plane.

A female traveler at the airport in Atlanta once told me a great tip about flying to small airports as I often do. She advised booking the last flight out as 1. when flights are cancelled or delayed throughout the day, people keep getting shifted to later flights and it eventually fills up, with priority going to those who booked it originally. And 2. barring some sort of mechanical failures, the last flight is rarely cancelled as they often need the plane for the first flight the next morning. It may get horrendously delayed, but it will usually get you home.

I must say her advice has served me well before and I hoped it would do so again.

Boarding Call

Finally, somewhere around midnight or so I think, a plane arrived and we began to board. I’m not one to get excited until we actually get airborne and thankfully on this night we had no further delays.

I was so knackered at this point I really do not recall much of the flight and think I dozed on and off. I did have a seatmate this time though and there really was not much for interaction between us.

I was so relieved when we finally landed and though I still had a long drive home, at least I knew I was getting home this night. It had been a long ordeal for sure, but it was still elating to know I had finally done it. I had crossed a barrier many of us do not get to and came out unscathed. 

Frequent Flyer Miles?

As thrilling as it was, I must say flying en femme has not exactly become the norm for me. Long days, complex schedules and sometimes meeting workmates on the day of travel, does not always allow for it. I’ve flown a few more time since then en femme, but in many ways, flying was not the most profound.

No, I think overcoming this hurdle though gave me the confidence to do other things. Things which I found more challenging in the end, but which I could not have done without taking a few more steps up the ladder of my own journey.

So loves, though nothing terribly exciting happened in my flying adventure, I hope it did not disappoint. The glamourous days of flying may be in the past, but if you are going to spend a day at the airport, it is a right bit more fun en femme!

Wearing Paige

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