Monday, 25 February 2013

Scratching the tranny itch

    "Q: Why do transvestites move to the Manchester area? A: All they want is a Wigan address! ". They don't make jokes like they used to, do they.
    As a deeply closeted youngster my tastes in female clothing sometimes ran into the world of costume fantasy. I had no wardrobe of my own, but that didn't stop me lusting after the clothing I saw on TV in films and costume dramas. I guess like teenagers everywhere the things I wanted had to have the maximum of bells and whistles. 
    Perhaps fortunately, rural England in the 1980s was rather short on flamboyant historical costume. I'm guessing many closeted trans youngsters experience something similar, and probably like me such thoughts recede for them as they grow up. I mean, I'm sure it'd be fun to swish around in a Victorian ballgown once in a while, but you wouldn't wear it to Tesco, would you.
    But it's important not to be ashamed of such thoughts if you've had them. Guilt and shame are the things that imprison us in the closet, and just as it's important to cast them off it's important to realise that natal women feel no shame in their costume fantasies. A while back I visited the historical costume museum in Bath with a friend. I found myself feeling the familiar slight shame as I viewed the lavish gowns on display, before realising that I was sharing the gallery with about thirty natal women who were having exactly the same thoughts as me. There's no shame in that.
    Recently I had the opportunity to exorcise a clothing desire from my adult closeted years. One you might wear to Tesco, but not one that suits someone my shape so I'll draw a veil over the specifics. The sartorially sensitive might be reading, after all.
    So there I was in the mirror, a facsimile of the smart and professional woman I'd wished I could have been years before.  No shame or guilt, very comfortable except for the shoes, but that's always the way. But nothing special, just me looking back at myself. An old itch scratched, and finding it ceased to be an itch long ago. Which is the point really, one of becoming comfortable with myself and no longer needing the desperate crutches of clothing obsession I once had.

4 comments:

  1. What are clothes anyway save to cover self? I'm glad the real me isn't confined to what I wear. I know what you are saying though and I am certain, like yourself, that we've all had similar feelings in the past. There are some though that just cannot break the habit.

    Shirley Anne x

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  2. It would seem to me that the occasional scratching of that itch might just obviate the need for more drastic, tumultuous actions leading nowhere but to naught.

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  3. I agree with you, But it is fun to dress up once in a while. For me it's the Traditional Southern Hoop Gown seen in so many period movies and museums.

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  4. In a way I envy those who can keep all this at bay simply by slipping into something frilly, maybe they're the lucky ones :) If only I could just scratch an itch.

    But I prefer something I can wear to Tesco.

    The "Southern Belle" (Wasn't that also a locomotive?) look, now there's definitely an object of secret desire! Not convinced it'd go down well in rainy England though...

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