Winning a Million

Although I haven't been very active on this blog for a while, I was astonished to find that my hit counter is approaching a million hits. This makes it, by far, the most popular thing I have ever written.

(If you come across this blog somewhere and wonder if it's still active, it is. You can comment on any post, no matter how old, and I will respond. I think some of my previous posts need a little bit of a revisit though).

I had to write a post to commemorate this astonishing outcome. When I started this blog (in 2011!), it was because Vivienne was trapped. I couldn't dress openly; I had never been out dressed; I had never met other trans people. My makeup and dress sense were awful. I was aching to be free, and I was frustrated and miserable. My only outlet for my feminine feelings and identity was the Internet, which is where I really began to understand how many, many other trans people are out there.

One divorce later, and I began to take my first steps as Vivienne in the real world. With the help and support of my partner (who has chosen the name Missy for this blog), I began to try different looks, and to experiment with makeup. I had my first few (terrifying) outings in public. Although I was expecting uncomfortable confrontations, I have literally had not a single problem ever, and this has boosted my confidence enormously.

One in a million: selfie

The other thing which has boosted my confidence has been meeting the lovely people from the local Pride group, and going along to their many social events. I've met a wonderful, funny, quirky, accepting, group of people, and now I have friends who have literally never seen me dressed as a man! I even met Richard O'Brien!

The Look

One of the things which is most important to work on is obviously the look. Coincidentally, one million is approximately the number of selfies I have taken. It certainly feels like that, anyway!

I love to smile in selfies. First, because I'm naturally a smily person. Second, because I think smiling is attractive. I don't always smile, but my attempts to look thoughtful, emotive, alluring, or just deep and meaningful, don't usually turn out well!

I don't use filters on my selfies, although I do use the Portrait mode on my iPhone, which subtly alters the colour balance in the photographs to make the image more flattering (and blurs the background).

And of course, I never used to post actual selfies on this blog; only ones which were incredibly blurry and therefore unrecognisable, such as on this page.

Milestones

This week, apart from my hit count, I have been reflecting on how many milestones I have achieved since I first spread my wings. A few short years ago, many of these experiences would have seemed impossible, and yet every one, both great and small, is precious.

Coming Out. I literally used to keep a spreadsheet of people who knew about Vivienne. It had three columns: knew my real name/job, had seen a picture of me, had met me in real life. This was my way of keeping track (at the insistence of my ex-wife) of the people who knew, so that a tight lid could be kept on everything.

While I'm still wary of coming completely out at work, friends have suggested (semi-jokingly) that I should just turn up for work one day dressed as Vivienne and have fun with everyone's reactions. I'm not there yet, folks! But I do comfortably admit to people that I'm a doctor (something I previously kept concealed) because I was terrified of being outed and the unwelcome consequences this might bring. I'm part of my hospital's Rainbow Network, and I'm a member of Pride in Medicine and PATHA. There are now lots of people at work who know about my double life--and I theirs!

I've even been on the stage as Vivienne, talking about my experiences as a junior doctor.

I'm very nearly at the stage where I would be comfortable encountering someone in a public place who doesn't know. I've already had a couple of near-misses, and my fem social life is frequent enough that it seems inevitable that this will occur. If it does, I will be sure to let you know how it goes!

Clothing. At first, all my clothing was bought at charity shops, or online. It was a bit of a lottery about what would look good and what wouldn't. Obviously I do worry, because my underlying chassis is (let's be honest) a dad body, complete with paunch, and I need flowing, flattering clothes to try to hide it. I don't have any sleeveless dresses. But I do have some trans-specific shapewear to help make my silhouette more convincing.

Now, not only do I have a really lovely wardrobe with lots of options (casual, cosy, glam), but I'm completely comfortable buying Vivienne clothes and shoes (God, I love shoes!) in stores, either dressed or not. And along with clothing, I have actual jewellery; not plastic costume jewellery, but rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings which I have chosen just for me! Getting my ears pierced was a big step here: I felt incredibly vulnerable going into work with my new, very subtle studs, but at weekends I can finally wear beautiful dangly earrings and enjoy the feeling!

Makeup and Hair. Again, makeup was a journey, and it's one I'm not finished. I have a daytime look which works, and an evening look which works, but I'd like to be able to be more versatile with makeup. I still find my skin gets oily, despite the use of primer, foundation, setting powder and then setting spray. There must be a solution out there!

I've had a couple of makeovers, and I've made a couple of appointments with a makeup artist, who has been really good at helping with specifics like eye liner and rouge. That (plus a lot of practice) has made a huge difference. After many appointments with the lovely woman who waxes my legs, she was keen that I should turn up dressed for an appointment, and so I did, and it was lovely.

I know this might sound a bit strange, but one of the things I noticed about dressing much more often is running out of cosmetics. Previously I dressed so rarely that cosmetics basically never ran out. Only in the last week I've had to buy more lip liner and an eyebrow pencil, because the ones I used have run out. I'm not quite going through a bottle a week of liquid foundation, but it's pretty close!

Along with makeup, I've also been to a wig specialist, who helped me choose a lovely wig (in the pictures) which is a good colour match for me, and is a lovely, feminine and flattering style. I now have a small collection of wigs.

Social Life. This year we had Pride Month, as usual. I went along to the local Pride Pub Quiz, but unfortunately I was late to sign up, so I didn't have a team. I hoped to join in with some other people who I knew, but the organisers were strict that it was only six people to a team. Not to worry, they said: there are other people who haven't got a team, so we'll stick you in a group together.

It was five women and me; we had never met before, but we got on like a house on fire and they treated me like one of the girls. We've had several social events (one just this week) for catchups, dinner and drinkies and general girly gossip. I can't tell you how incredibly affirming this is. At this week's dinner I got chatting to a woman at a neighbouring table, and she just chatted away as if I was just another woman. Pink fog!

This lovely group comes on top of all the other social events, with Pride, Queer Women, and all the rest. Someone hold me back!

Blog Statistics

But enough about me--how is the blog doing? In previous posts I have tried to give information about my popular posts. Let's take another look at the statistics that Blogger provides. It's clear that the global picture of trans awareness and acceptance has changed considerably since this blog was started. It has made general acceptance much easier; trans people are out, and we're not going back in, as the huge Pride events in major cities around the world have shown. On the other hand, the haters and deniers are still there, and they're gaining purchase in some places.

The ten most popular countries viewing this blog, in order, are:

• The USA, with 367K views. No surprises there.
• The UK, the country of my birth, with 125K hits.
• Russia, with 77.7K views. I'm not sure how restricted the access to the internet is in Russia, but I take these hits as good news. Despite what Mr. Putin is trying to do, there are doubtless many, many LGBTQI+ people in Russia keeping their heads down and trying to get through. To all of you I say: Будьте сильны и знайте, что вы не одиноки.
• Germany, with 40.7K votes. Viel Spaß mit Ihrem Lippenstift, meine Damen!
• France, with 34.1K votes. Cherchez la femme!
• Canada, with 33.9K votes. This is beginning to feel like Eurovision. La Norvège? Nul points!
• Singapore, a surprise entry for such a small country, with 27.1K votes. Hello Singapore! You've done a lot better than my own country, New Zealand, with only 3.11K votes!
• Hong Kong, with 21.6K votes.
• Australia, with 14.5K votes. Kylie, I still think you're gorgeous.
• And bringing up the rear we have Brazil, with 11.6K votes. Is it true that you've all got to do that thing? You know, down below? Is it the law?

The ten most popular pages, in order, are these. It's curious that so many of these very popular posts are among my older work (in fact, none of them are newer than 10 years!!). This possibly represents the fact that the rate of hits (and posts!) is gradually declining (with the occasional uptick), which is my fault because I don't post often enough to keep people coming back!

Feel free to check out these popular posts, although I have to say that I think some of my less well-trodden posts are definitely worthy of your attention too!

1. Women Who Crossdress, with 19.4K hits. It's interesting that this post should be so high up the popularity charts. Back in 2016 it was only in 4th place. Clearly this is a subject which keeps people interested!
2. Emma Ballantyne, with 17.5K hits, and if we add the other post, Emma Ballantyne Speaks, with 7.72K hits, we would have 27K hits, making Emma the absolute winner. This is no surprise; I'm sure her popular YouTube channel (still active, still amazing) has admirers looking on the web for more info about her. Emma is up from 7th position last time.
3. Men With Long Nails, with 15.7K hits. Another long-time favourite, up from 6th position.
4. Jan Hamilton, with 14.1K hits. Now known as Abigail Austen, she was my previous Number One post.
5. Jaye Davidson, with 13.2K hits. Jaye's beautiful androgynous appearance (beautiful as a woman or a man) fascinated audiences, but his disappearance from the public eye seems only to have intensified interest in him.
6. Men in Skirts. 12.6K people are interested in why men would wear skirts.
7. Leah True, with 11.6K hits. She remains perennially popular (number 5, back in 2016), and I would love to do an interview with her. If anyone knows her, please ask her to get in touch!
8. Female Bodybuilding is still popular. In 3rd position last time, it's still going strong (!) with 10.1K hits.
9. Pete Burns, is a new entry with 8.64K hits.
10. This would also have been Emma Ballantyne, but instead I'm giving this place to my interview with the extraordinary Helen Boyd, with 5.88K hits.

If you fancied trying something which isn't in the Top 10, my personal recommendations would be my series on JK Rowling (not even in the Top 20!), Galileo's Middle Finger (trust me), Sex and Gender in Sports, or Rachel Dolezal. But I'm hopeful that you'll find all of my posts to have something interesting to say, and I plan to continue to discuss trans issues in a balanced and scholarly way.

Meanwhile, if you're a regular visitor or an occasional browser, thank you for making you contribution toward my million hits, and let's hope we can manage to get to two million in due course!

Love, Vivienne. XX

What a year!

While it's still my intention with this blog to write articles exploring aspects of gender, I still want to write about my personal experiences in 2022, which seems to have been a watershed in my life as Vivienne.

Let me take us back to 2012, when I posted this article, which was about trying to evaluate the place of crossdressing in my life. At that time I was married, closeted, and dreadfully miserable. The article contains this paragraph:

Another symptom of need is that crossdressing haunts my dreams. These are frequent; at least once per week, and for the Freudians among you they are simple, straightforward, wish-fulfilment dreams. I am in some situation where crossdressing is OK: out with my friends, speaking in public, in a job interview, meeting new people. In each case, I am lavishly and wonderfully dressed: I draw compliments and warmth and enthusiasm. People find it interesting and cool. And then I wake up, and that lovely warm rosy glow fades pretty sharply in the face of the alarm.

Fast-forward a few years, and things got a lot better. I started to go out dressed; to interact with people in shops and restaurants, and to express my gender more openly. I started to tell people I'm a doctor rather than hide behind the term "academic", and to blog about medical issues.

Selfie Queen

But things were still a bit slow on the Vivienne front. Dressing was unusual. I know exactly how many times I've dressed, because I take a million selfies every time I do. I'm a complete selfie queen--and now I've become quite the expert on the various photo edits I can do on my phone, my tablet and my laptop, to make the images as flattering as possible.

About 0.00001% of my selfie collection

Part of the selfie thing is to try out various looks and see what works: and there's a lot to think about if you're trying to take a male chassis and turn it into a womanly body! Part of the selfie thing is a long-standing habit: I would use my selfies during those long periods of dressing drought, to soothe my yearnings and remind myself that lovely fem times would reappear. And part of the selfie thing is that I really, really like to look pretty, and seeing nice pictures of myself gives me a real burst of euphoria. (And for the record, while I do adjust the colour balance for the most flattering look, none of my pictures have been enhanced with any image filters, such as FaceApp).

So I know that the number of times I actually dressed enough to take selfies over the last few years is about 4 or 5 times--a year. Part of the problem was that I never quite felt like I had the look together properly. I had to have a huge lead-up to getting dressed: just getting the body hair under control was a mission. And then I didn't feel like my wardrobe was up to much, so I never quite felt the outfit worked. I had one or two go-to outfits, and a whole lot of other garments which just weren't quite right.

Another part of the problem was (and is) that we have busy lives. We both work long hours, including night shifts, and we have a cartload of kids and animals to take care of. So opportunities were quite few.

And what I wanted, most of all, was a social life. I tried to make contact with some trans people, but for various reasons I didn't really get any momentum. The turning point was making contact with the local Pride network.

Out for Coffee

I'd already had the experience of experience of going to a party at a friend's house as Vivienne, and meeting people there. But everyone there was a friend of a friend--this was a bunch of complete strangers I would be meeting.

A car selfie!

The event was called Out for Coffee, and it was a simple enough idea: turn up to a local coffee shop, meet a bunch of Pride people, and make new friends. Although I have been Vivienne my whole adult life, it's a very unusual experience to introduce yourself to someone by your fem name. At first, it felt really powerful and meaningful--I knew this was something new. Vivienne's identity was becoming more real.

On this first occasion, I brought not just Missy but my stepkids, one of whom is quite rainbow themself. It was a family-friendly event (as many Pride events are). At first I was quite nervous and we all just sat and ate together. But after we'd had breakfast, I started to mingle--and everyone was fantastically lovely.

One woman said I should join the local Queer Women group. I was delighted by the invitation--but also cautious. Would they be OK with members like me? I asked. I know that not all women's groups are welcoming to trans people, and I would hate to make anyone else feel uncomfortable--or even encounter hostility.

So I messaged one of the moderators of the Queer Women group expressing my concerns, and this is her response:

Thanks so much for reaching out with your concerns. You will be most definitely welcome in our group and if anyone makes you feel otherwise please let myself or (other moderator) know, we would hate for you to feel unwelcome or uncomfortable. Our group is about diversity and acceptance for all queer women whether you express this full time or not, it doesn't matter to us. If it makes you feel more at ease, we do have other M2F people in the group who regularly come to our events too. I hope we get to meet you at an event soon 😀 PS: that's a great photo! 

Vivienne becomes a Person

And so I started going along to social events with the Queer Women. The moderator was right: everyone is absolutely lovely, and totally welcoming and inclusive. Vivienne's identity has become completely real: I've been to so many events that I get recognised by the regulars, and I now have friends who have literally never seen me dressed as a man. That is an extraordinarily powerful feeling.

I need all the help I can get!

There have been coffee meetups, board game meetups, meals out, drinks out, social events at people's homes, book club, you name it. There have also been some outdoor things I haven't gone along to: walking trips and boating trips and cycling trips. For me, it's unbearably hot just wearing my wig and shapewear, even before there's any exercise involved!

There is a fantastic mix of women in the group--including a few M2F transwomen. There are women of all ages and backgrounds. The thing they (and I) have in common is an enjoyment of good company, and having fun. To be accepted without question and treated just like one of them is extremely affirming. Some of them even work at my hospital!

Meanwhile, as my wardrobe has expanded, and my makeup skills have improved (practice, practice!), getting dressed has become a lot easier. It still takes an hour from a standing start--but it used to take half a day! And having makeup and clothing just there on the shelf or in the drawer makes the access much easier.

I've also come out to lots of other people, including my hairdresser (who has helped with hair) and my lovely beautician. I get a full leg wax every few weeks, and of course I have been telling my beautician about Vivienne from the first day. She's always wanted to meet Vivienne, and this week we finally made it happen! She introduced me to the other staff members as Vivienne, and of course it was lovely to get pampered in a beauty salon. Another bucket list item ticked off!

Up on the Stage

One of the Queer Women events involved an open-mike evening in a local rainbow-friendly venue, where audience members would get up on stage and read some of their own writing. I decided that I had to get up and give that a go.

Is this thing on?

This time, the audience wasn't just Queer Women, but members of the public, although clearly everyone knew what the themes were going to be. I was struck by the material from the other writers. There were agonising coming-out stories. There were unrequited love stories. There was poetry, and prose. It was raw; it was real. And then there was me!

I've written quite a lot of medical stuff under my male name, and this includes a few anecdotes about inspiring patients I've met on the journey. I chose three: an inspiring one, a moral dilemma, and a funny one. They seemed to go down really well, and afterwards lots of people came up to talk to me.

So let's come back to the wording of that first paragraph:

I am in some situation where crossdressing is OK...: check.

...out with my friends...: check.

...speaking in public...: check.

...in a job interview...: we'll let that one slide!

...meeting new people: check.

In each case, I am lavishly and wonderfully dressed: I draw compliments and warmth and enthusiasm. People find it interesting and cool. Check check CHECK!

It was astonishing when I reviewed that article to discover that so many things, which were once completely unthinkable, have not only happened, but have happened joyfully, triumphantly, and there's every likelihood they will continue to happen! It goes without saying that I could never have achieved that without the love and support of the wonderful Missy.

I've already started off this year with more of the same: four outings so far, including the waxing. Who knows what will happen next?!

Prohibition Party!

It’s one of my favourite things to get an invitation where the person says “Vivienne is welcome too”. A few weeks ago I got an invitation to a friend’s birthday party. It was to be fancy dress, with a Prohibition theme. While I could use this article as an opportunity to show more pictures of myself (and I will!), there are actually other aspects to it which I’ve been reflecting on since.

How do I look?

As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t normally enjoy “dressing up”. It feels like pretending to be something I’m not, while dressing as Vivienne feels like doing something that I am. But this was an opportunity to do the latter while pretending to do the former—I don’t know if that makes any sense at all!

There were several obvious problems. I don’t possess the elegant willowy figure of the 1920’s flapper—or the gangster’s moll. But secondly I had no idea where I would come up with any sort of costume to wear.

Missy’s mum came to the rescue and had very nearly everything. She’s extremely fond of rummaging in flea markets, op shops and charity shops, and has a huge collection of all sorts of amazing stuff. She provided the dress, the wig, the fascinator, the feather boa, the pearls and rings and necklace. Even a vintage black clutch bag (foreground).

The white gloves and choker came from a dress-up shop, and the tights and shoes (which you can’t see) were model’s own. I had to take the gloves off for the mirror selfie because my phone screen wouldn’t register my touch when I had them on!

I spent ages getting ready. Among other things, I had never worn stick-on false eyelashes before. I took an hour to put them on in any sort of reasonable position, and I had to take them off and reposition them several times!

Meanwhile Missy decided to go as the gangster: the fedora, the black shirt and white tie, and a plastic gun from the dress-up shop. It was a great outfit and she looked fantastic. In fact, everyone did; it was like walking around in a scene from Bugsy Malone.

Flapper girl in a Gatsby world.

As we walked in, I realised, for the first time, that aside from a few people that we know, most people would be strangers--and not necessarily expecting to see me turn up in a frock. There were a couple of dozen people there, including teenagers, and everyone seemed to react positively. One or two of the men looked slightly taken aback when I introduced myself, but after that nobody showed the slightest discomfort. One of the women asked me where I got my tights, and I asked her where she got her corset. (Interestingly, two of the women were also dressed in male gangster gear, and looked fantastic).

The house had been done up beautifully as a speakeasy with darkened windows, decorations and soft lighting. There was a very well-stocked drinks table, and plenty of nibbles. There was even someone "on the door" and we had to pretend to give the password. But the most impressive feature was a full-on gambling den, with a full-sized roulette wheel, a blackjack table, and a professional croupier to run the whole thing. No money was won or lost--we played only for chips, though there were prizes for the biggest winners.

The croupier kept referring to me as "the gentleman with the green chips". I wasn't in the least bothered about this; I really just found it funny. In fact I joked with him: "What have I got to do here to get treated like a lady?!"

The chat and the company were outstanding. We mingled and met some lovely new people. We played roulette and blackjack. We enjoyed the nibbles and drinks. I felt wonderful. From time to time, I was suddenly struck by the realisation--all over again!--that I was out, dressed, and feeling fabulous.

Baby needs a new pair of shoes!

Looking back on this splendid evening, my first impression is how far I have come. An evening like this one--glamorously dressed and having a wonderful time with a group of lovely people--would have been pie in the sky only a few short years ago. Every time I've looked back on it, it's given me a little emotional boost.

My second reflection is that, perhaps in some sense I was also being an ambassador for trans people in company. Perhaps the people at the party hadn't come across someone like me before, and perhaps having a laugh and a chat with me might make them feel more comfortable encountering other trans people in their lives.

But the third boost it gave me is that I had told quite a lot of people, including people at work, that I was going to be going to a party "in drag". And naturally they wanted to see the photos afterward. And so I've had the experience of showing people who don't know about Vivienne some photos of Vivienne! I've had nothing but positive comments from them; many of them said they thought they were looking at a woman in the photos, although they obviously recognised it was me.

All of this makes me feel just that little more confident in myself, a little more confident about coming out to more people (slowly does it!), and a little less nervous of future encounters. How can any of this be a bad thing?

Now, let's blouse. I gotta go iron my shoelaces. Don't take any wooden nickels!

Vivienne at large!

In the last few weeks my desire to express Vivienne has risen enormously, culminating in a series of public outings over the last couple of weeks, which have been unbelievably successful and affirming.

Having Vivienne time isn't easy. We both have full-time jobs, and between us we have a bunch of kids that have all sorts of things on: school, sports, music, social lives, you name it. However, there has been a series of days where I have managed to get some completely free time. It was time--it was past time--for Vivienne to get out and about.

My partner Missy could see that I had been getting cranky because I was feeling increasingly feminine, but had no opportunities to express it. So she asked me what I wanted to do. The top item on the bucket list was to go dressed to the cinema, so that's what we did.

Please turn your phone to silent.

There were a few matinees which I wanted to see. Normally I like thrilling action-adventure blockbusters--but as Vivienne, I feel much more comfortable to watch more emotional, dramatic or historical films, and in my town there is a cinema which specialises in arty-type films. We settled on a historical costume drama, which had no lightsabres or giant robots to be seen anywhere.

Missy helped me to pick out an outfit which would work. My tendency is to do more. More makeup! More nails! More shoes! She suggested that I tone it down to an outfit which a woman would actually wear, and she had a really good point. I've pointed out before how I tend to become voracious when dressing after a drought.

I am naturally aiming for a compromise with both my outfit and makeup. In one direction, there is too much, and I look like a clown, or a bad drag queen, or a caricature of a woman. In the other direction, there is too little, and I look like a man. Somewhere in the middle is a sweet spot, where I can look, if not exactly like a woman, at least like someone who is trying to make a go of looking like one. Previously I only had my own frame of reference to guide my choices; now I have Missy's sensible viewpoint.

Day One

I felt completely comfortable until we got to the mall and I got out of the car. Suddenly I was aware that everyone's eyes would be on me. This wasn't a frightening sensation, but probably the sensation that the meerkat has when out on the Kalahari desert. We walked into the cinema. Missy ordered the tickets, and I stood behind. The attendant (a woman) spotted my nails, and said they were lovely. I was taken aback by this sudden compliment, having been out for a total of about ten minutes. "Thank you!" I responded. Then she looked at me, having not really looked at me at all. She must have clocked my man-voice, and I braced myself for some sign of discomfort, but there was none. (Missy chided me jokingly for my deep manly voice, but I don't have a fem voice, and I was totally unprepared!)

We made our way into the cinema, which of course was dark and quiet. We got the luxury seats and watched the film. I couldn't believe how lovely it felt. I wanted to pinch myself. None of the other people paid us the slightest attention, though I felt as if I had a huge flashing neon sign above my head.

I came out of the cinema floating on air. This is the sensation some people call the pink fog; others gender euphoria. I drank it all in. I wanted to absorb as much of it as I possibly could.

Still getting used to the handbag thing.

Missy had an appointment for about an hour. I could retreat home, or I could go to a cafe and wait for her. Cafe of course! This meant two new things: going somewhere on my own (already!) and also visiting the ladies' room. But I felt pretty comfortable and pretty confident, and I walked into the cafe. The ladies' room was near the entrance, so I went straight in. It was empty, so I just used a stall, straightened up my clothing, checked my makeup, and came out. I took a table, ordered a drink, and sat looking out of the window, unable to believe this was actually happening. My interactions with the wait staff (male and female) were pleasant and ordinary; again they must have clocked me instantly, but they seemed completely comfortable with me for a customer. When Missy came back to pick me up I was still happy and floaty, and this feeling lasted for the rest of the day and into the evening.

Day Two

The following day, Missy was at work. I had the option to dress again--or I could do ordinary stuff (as if!). I decided to dress and go out on my own. I wore the same outfit as I had before, and I went back to the same mall. It was much more crowded than the day before!

I was so nervous at first that I decided to just stroll around. I was extremely self-conscious! There were so many things to remember, including a whole new way to walk and carry myself. I had, of course, been practising, but it's one thing to practise when there is nobody looking, and it's a different kettle of fish if you feel like everyone is looking at you!

At first I jumped at every noise. As I passed a sports store, I heard a burst of male laughter from within. At the time I was sure it was directed at me, but in retrospect, there is no reason at all to think it was. I began to look up and take notice of the people around me more. A woman coming the other way caught my eye, and smiled. I smiled back. Was it because she clocked me, and was being reassuring? Or was it because women sometimes smile at one another when they make brief eye contact in the mall? I was especially fearful of large, muscular men. I fear that, of all people, they are the ones who would express their discomfort most vocally.

I braced myself for strange looks; for weird expressions; for expressions of distaste. Nothing. Nothing at all. Nobody seemed to pay me the slightest notice. Was that, I wonder now, because they were silently sniggering and pointing behind my back? Maybe. Or maybe I just didn't stand out enough for people to notice me (and I am sure most people are wrapped in their own business, so that if you mostly blend in, you become effectively invisible). Or maybe (and here's the kicker) they did actually notice, and clock me, but were not bothered in the slightest?

Hot as any Hottentot?

My self-imposed task was to buy sunglasses for Vivienne. The weather has been bright and sunny lately. I could hardly buy sunglasses for Vivienne in male mode ("Do you think these would look good on me if I was wearing a wig and a frock?"). And sunglasses add a layer of disguise.

I went into the sunglasses shop, and approached the counter. The assistant, a young woman, said "Can I help you?" I smiled and said "Yes, I'm looking for sunglasses to go with this look," and indicated myself. She didn't seem fazed in the slightest, but asked me how much I wanted to spend, and then showed me lots and lots of frames, several of which I tried on.

Every time--every time--I looked in the mirror, it was a surprise to see Vivienne's face looking back out at me. The assistant was lovely. I told her I wanted large round lenses, but she suggested a few alternate frames. Some of them didn't work at all, but some of them looked really good. Eventually, I settled on a pair, and bought them. She asked me if I had shopped there before, and I laughed and said "Yes, but I didn't look like this!" and she laughed too.

When it came time to pay for my parking ticket, the attendant smiled and asked if I was having a nice day, and I said "Yes, it's lovely, thanks!"

In the afternoon I went for a long stroll round the park. With my sunglasses on, nobody looked at me at all, and I seemed to blend right in. I went into the little cafe next to the park and ordered a drink, and sat writing my journal with my lovely fountain pen and its lovely sparkly ink. Other patrons came and went, and nobody seemed in the least troubled. I once wrote in this blog I considered this simple activity to be pie in the proverbial sky, and here I was, doing it and loving every moment.

Reflections

You would think that no human being could stand this amount of pink fog, and perhaps you would be right. There is a definite sense in which Vivienne time seems to stand apart from ordinary time; no work, no commitments, no obligations. It's probably the same sense of "getting away from it all" that some men enjoy when golfing or fishing--but surely it's much more pleasurable than either of those activities? In any case, after a couple of days, I had to come back down to Earth.

But my reflections are these. First, going out as Vivienne seems to be OK. That is, nobody seems offended or horrified. The people of my town seem very tolerant, which is extraordinarily gratifying to me. Why should this come as a surprise? Perhaps because I've had about 20 years of being told how disgusting crossdressing is (by my ex-wife), and though I knew that her view was very skewed, some of it had inevitably sunk in. To discover that it isn't right; that people are apparently totally fine with it, has come as a revelation, and a delightful one. My biggest goal, in all of this, is simply acceptance, as I have written before.

Second, I think for me, the key is to not pretend to be a woman: I shall surely fall short. Instead, I can simply be myself, and let people make of me what they will. The woman in the sunglasses shop didn't seem remotely uncomfortable with my attitude or presentation. I am hopeful that with time and practice the anxiety will fade and the pleasure and comfort will grow, but even if it doesn't, where I am right now is fabulous.

So far, everything has been completely wonderful. I fear that there may yet be an event, which in my mind I am calling The Puncture, where I have a truly unpleasant encounter with someone, or some other experience which really puts me off going out like this. The reason I think such a thing will happen is that a part of me thinks that moments of bliss must be balanced out somehow, for the universe to keep turning. But the reason I think it might not, is that very few people (and I've read a lot of stories) mention events like this.

In any case, for each time I go out, and meet smiles and acceptance, it adds to the store of goodwill and optimism in the bank. As these experiences accumulate, it will become harder and harder to demolish the pile, and easier and easier to accept that an occasional uncomfortable encounter represents the exception, not the norm.

Vivienne-- The Next Steps

It's been a little under three years since I wrote this post, about the end of my marriage. During that time I've been going through a tremendous reframing of my life. There were several things which happened which were quite surprising, and I wanted to put them down here.

Meeting someone new

It will come as no surprise at all that I adore women. I always have. I'm more comfortable in their company, and I just feel better being around them. It was therefore inevitable that I would start dating again.

To get a few things out of the way, this was not about "sowing wild oats". I've never been that person before, and I am not that person now (even though one of my male friends, with the best of intentions, but without much delicacy, told me it was time to get shagging). So I was just looking forward to dinner, wine, and pleasant company.

Actually neither of us drinks coffee!

To my surprise, on one of my very first dates, I really clicked with a woman from work. We found we had a lot in common, and we were texting each other constantly. This presented a problem: to tell, or not to tell?

On the one hand, Missy was lovely, and funny, and had a host of good features. I was enjoying feeling attractive again, and I was looking forward to spending more time with her. On the other, I had escaped from a previous relationship which had been ruined, in large part, because of cross-dressing. I didn't think it was fair on this woman to take the relationship further without her knowing. I didn't think it was fair on me, to have to keep hiding who I am. So, on our second date, I told her there was something important she needed to know.

She blanched immediately. If you ask her about it now, she will tell you that the expression on my face made her think it was something dreadful, such as terminal cancer. But I slid my phone across to her, and showed her some pictures of Vivienne. She was surprised, of course, but her response was basically "Is that all?" And she was completely fine with it.

Having got that out of the way, the relationship blossomed. We moved in together a year ago, and things are looking great. I am enormously fortunate.

Vivienne went away

Missy wanted to meet Vivienne. I was incredibly nervous, but again, it was a lovely encounter. She didn't laugh. She didn't wince. She gave me makeup tips and bought me thoughtful gifts, including perfume, and a lovely handbag.

Vivienne in the kitchen

We went out together for a stroll round the town. I was unbelievably nervous, but I can't tell you how much I wanted this experience. I wanted to know what it would be like--for me, for her, and for other people. Amazingly, it was completely fine. We hosted a dinner for friends at home. It was bliss.

Having spent nearly 20 years being told that Vivienne was grotesque and perverse, I struggled to process all these feelings. I couldn't believe, at first, that being Vivienne was suddenly OK. One night I was in the bath, with lots of bubbly foam, and shaving my legs. Missy texted me to ask what I was doing, and I told her, and she responded very positively and said she hoped I was enjoying it. I was!

I found myself dreading, at any moment, that she was going to turn round at some vulnerable moment and say "Ha! Fooled you, you horrible tranny freak!" And of course she hasn't done this. After 3 years, it's beginning to sink in that she isn't going to. The trust is building, and it's a feeling which doesn't get old.

But the next part was another surprise: the compulsion to dress nearly vanished. I didn't change who I was. I continued to be Vivienne online. I continued to buy nice Vivienne things when I saw them. But the drive to dress, to express myself openly, seemed to go away nearly completely.

I wondered why this was. Was it because Vivienne was forbidden fruit, which, when suddenly available, lost some of its sweetness? Was it because I was so wrapped up in a new relationship that Vivienne was forgotten? Was it because there was so much else going on, with kids and work and school? Was it because all of us wax and wane with time; that we are not constant in our feelings and wishes?

There have been times when this has happened before, and I reasoned that Vivienne would return in time. Meanwhile, I wanted to be ready! I had new clothes, cosmetics, accessories. Not grabbed off the rail in the back of gloomy charity shops, but carefully considered to be part of a look that works well; these shoes would look great with that skirt.

Vivienne came back

And then, Vivienne came back. I gradually became aware of an insistent nagging feeling, which became more and more prominent with time. I realised that the feeling was unstoppable, and that it was time. So I've just gone with it. And there has been an explosion of experiences; more Vivienne time in the last month than there has been in the past three years put together. It's been amazing, and intoxicating, and it's still going on. Where will it lead to next?

Frightening the Horses

When asked to comment on a supposed homosexual relationship between two of her colleagues, British stage actress Mrs. Patrick Campbell (her stage name) made a comment which has become legendary.

Does it really matter what these affectionate people do-- so long as they don't do it in the streets and frighten the horses!

Hay! How you doin'?

I suppose there are two ways to look at this comment (which has been widely quoted, misquoted, and even mis-attributed). The first is to interpret it as saying that homosexuals should keep themselves hidden from public view. The second way to interpret it (and the way I choose) is to take it as a whimsical remark saying: who cares what they do? What harm could possibly come of it?

This quote came to mind when my attention was drawn to this article, Conservative Men in Conservative Dresses, which was mentioned and discussed over on Thorin's blog. Written by Amy Bloom, and published in Atlantic Monthly in 2002, it is a ruthless (but not wholly unsympathetic) critique of male crossdressers. Bloom is observant, smart and articulate, and the article is well worth reading in its entirety. But it really hurts, and I've been struggling with my reaction to the article all week. The sub-title, taken from the body of the article, is this:

The world of crossdressers is for the most part a world of traditional men, traditional marriages, and truths turned inside out.

And the first line begins:

Bloom: Heterosexual cross-dressers bother almost everyone.

In the first half of the article, Bloom describes crossdressers. Distinct from transsexuals; distinct from drag queens. She talks to Ray Blanchard, and repeats some of his well-trodden dictums. Some of these, you will know, I agree with, including the one that crossdressers don't want to be like women; they want to be like men think women are. She talks to Tri-Ess, and quotes some of their material. So far, so non-descript. However, this material is probably new to the readership of the Atlantic, who are probably unfamiliar with the background.

Blanchard: Of course it's not relaxing. Heels and makeup and a wig and a corset? It's preposterous. Even women don't find that relaxing. Relaxing is a pair of sweatpants, clothing that doesn't even feel like clothing. Cross-dressers want to normalize this, to have it seen as relaxation and self-expression. Cross-dressing is an attempt to resolve an internal conflict, and it's not about fabric. If we had clothing for men and women that was identical in every way except men wore shirts with four buttons and women had shirts with five, cross-dressers would want more than anything to have the shirt with five. We don't know why.

Matronly: the Two Ronnies

I happen to agree with this viewpoint; it's not about the clothes! I would say that my crossdressing feelings are not about the clothes but about the role or expectations society has for me. It's a question I often ask myself (and consider on this blog): what would happen if men and women were all truly free to wear whatever they want? I think Blanchard's interpretation of the answer is as good as any other. And I absolutely do have an "internal conflict", whether it pleases me to admit it or not.

Bloom: This seems to me to be the heart of cross-dressers' dilemma, and the heart of mine in writing about them. Cross-dressing is a compulsion, but we must not see it as a sickness. A good wife should tolerate it because the man has no choice, but it isn't too hard to tolerate because it's a gift. It is about fun and pleasure—and it's a necessity. The necessity of cross-dressing is frightening to the men and to their wives, and their wish to tame it, to characterize it as a preference and a gift, is understandable.

In the second half of the article, Bloom deliberately goes on a cruise, with 25 crossdressers and their wives. She takes time to get to know them, motivated by an interest "in the less common ways in which people inhabit their gender". Bloom describes the appearance of the crossdressers.

Bloom: I have met cross-dressers whose presentation is just this side of Christina Aguilera [but] they look more like my formidable fourth grade teacher, a big, tall woman with a bolster-like bosom, thick legs, sensible pumps, hennaed hair, and twin spots of rouge on her cheeks. They have the matronly look so common to straight cross-dressers. A pronounced face requires pronounced makeup, and after the false eyelashes and even the subtlest contouring of the wider jaw and the thick brow, one can look beautiful or ridiculous, but one cannot look like most of the women around.

How they see themselves?

She describes how most of the crossdressers are eager to talk about themselves (something I can certainly relate to!) But then Bloom starts to discuss the wives.

Bloom: Sometimes the wives wish to come, to support their husbands and to enjoy the trip, or to hang out with other wives, like golf widows or wives in Al-Anon. Some come because their husbands need them to. Happy wives are everyone's favorites, but happy or cowed, enthusiastic or grimly accepting, the wives at these functions are simultaneously objects of much public appreciation and utterly secondary to the men's business.

It would be easy to dismiss this entire article as full of hostility, but I don't think it is. I think it is the result of someone who has really taken a good look at crossdressing, and come to her own (somewhat ruthless, but not entirely unsympathetic) conclusions. I suspect that Bloom and Helen Boyd would find much common ground.

Bloom: I come to see why so many women find themselves sympathetic to cross-dressers: Women are raised to be sympathetic, and protective toward the vulnerable, and there is something sweet, unexpected, and powerful about being a woman and sympathizing with a man not because he demands it but because you genuinely feel sorry for him, for his debilitating envy and his fear of discovery and his sense of powerlessness to live as he wants.

Debilitating envy? Check. Fear of discovery? Check. Sense of powerlessness? Check. Add in guilt and shame, and it would be a full house! But for me, the most powerful parts of the article are the vignettes of conversation with the various crossdressers and their wives. Here, she discusses "Felicity".

Bloom: On the third night of the cruise Felicity comes to dinner "en drab" as they say, looking like what he is— a heavyset Baptist minister who worked construction in his youth. With a flourish the headwaiter delivers roses to his wife, to applause from our four tables. Felicity puts his big hand on hers and squeezes it. He makes a toast to their thirty years of marriage and to her goodness and support. He begins to choke up; her remote look never changes. I can see that she is not pleased that he decided to dress like a man for her tonight. She is not pleased that he is so grateful to her for trying to believe that he cross-dresses only because he cannot express his warm and nurturing self while wearing trousers. Nor is she pleased, God knows, to sit with a bunch of men in makeup and dresses, some modest, some outrageous, some passable, most not, and call it an anniversary party.

Felicity says, "It's like there are three of me in this little boat: the husband, the cross-dresser, and the minister. I can hear the falls approaching, and I know, I know with all  my heart, one of us will not survive this ride." He begins to cry, and I get tears in my eyes. As I hand him some tissues, his wife glares at me and says, "You sure do get involved with your interviews".  She must think that some pretty fancy footwork is required to wind up so sorry for the crossdresser and not for the wife; when I look at her sympathetically, she almost spits. Pity from people like me is not what she wants either.

The men I met were by and large decent, kind, intelligent, and willing to talk openly. Their wives were the same, many of them under the additional pressure of having to make the best accommodation they can to a marriage they did not envision and do not prefer.

The final section is the one which Thorin quotes; the one where Bloom talks about crossdressing as an exclusively sexual fetish.

Bloom: The greatest difficulty people have with cross-dressers, I think, is that cross-dressers wear their fetish, and the gleam in their eyes, however muted by time or habit, the unmistakable presence of a lust being satisfied or a desire being fulfilled in that moment, in your presence, even by your presence, is unnerving. The combination of the cross-dressers' own arousal and anxiety and our responsive anxiety and discomfort is more than most of us can bear. We may not mind foot fetishists, but we may not wish to watch them either.

Wearing her fetish?

This notion touches on what another of my correspondents called, with unmatchable turn of phrase, "wanking in public". It is clear that Bloom considers this to be what crossdressing is: a sexual fetish expressed publicly. Perhaps she is worried about the horses.

So much for the article. Why does it upset me so much? Because I can see truth in it. I can pretend that none of it applies to me, but the fact that it makes me deeply uncomfortable doesn't make it wrong. I seem to fit Bloom's model pretty well: educated, professional, intelligent, kind, and willing to talk openly.

I do wonder what other people see when they see Vivienne. I am sure they don't see the same as I see. I wonder if they look at me with abhorrence, with scorn, or with pity, with silent tolerance rather than open acceptance. But I can cope with all that. What is worse is something Grayson Perry touched on: crossdressing causes everyone a lot of pain; the crossdresser himself, and his spouse (and sometimes their kids).

My wife really struggles with crossdressing, and we are a long way from her coming with me on a cruise where I can wear a dress every day. And yet a very good description of my wife would be "having to make the best accommodation she can to a marriage she did not envision and does not prefer". Grimly accepting, indeed.

I had hoped to summon a series of carefully constructed arguments to demolish Bloom's article, but I find I cannot. What she describes is not my present, but it comes uncomfortably close to what might possibly be my future.

Interestingly, Atlantic Monthly doesn't seem to have this article available in its online archives, though other articles from the same issue are available. I wonder if it has been deliberately withdrawn, and if so, why?

I can make some points, though. Whether Bloom likes it or not, my own crossdressing desires will never go away. I would rather not be this way, and I would really rather not cause anyone else (especially my wife) any discomfort as a result.

The fact that this is the way I am does not make me a bad person. It does not make me cruel, manipulative, exploitative or otherwise objectionable. Trust me when I say, I have a host of positive attributes. There are a lot of behaviours out there which are a lot worse than crossdressing, which seem to be tolerated.

I think things are changing. I don't think all crossdressers fit with Bloom's archetype (even she says as much), and I think that public crossdressing is becoming commoner (and less noteworthy) all the time. A generation ago, if we had seen two men or two women showing affection publicly, there might have been societal discomfort or even overt disapproval. These days, it's no big deal any more (though no doubt, disapproval persists in some quarters). Is homosexuality a fetish? Are gay people acting out their fetish in public? Surely homosexuality is all about sex? Actually no. But people may well have felt that way once. And in the same way, perhaps crossdressing will come to be accepted as nothing out of the ordinary. Nobody bothers any more to ask why some people are gay. The accepted answer is: they just are.

I can promise you one thing in closing. No matter what I wear, no matter how high my heels, or how red my lipstick, the horses will not mind one little bit.

===
Addendum 24th September 2014

I sent an email to Amy Bloom via her publisher, telling her the article was continuing to provoke debate, and inviting her to comment. I received this reply:

Sorry! I wish to thank you for the invitation and say that I am currently up to my eyes in a new novel. I don't have the psychic room, right now, to engage with other, interesting projects.

Regards,
Amy.

I am naturally disappointed that she has declined to discuss the article with us. If she changes her mind, I will be sure to let you know.

That Whole Bathroom Thing

One of the issues which seems to really face trans people who are out and about in society is what toilet they should use, and what reaction they might face when they get in there. Can it really be that much of a big deal?

Unequivocal: Bathroom Sign

This topic entered my mind the other day when I went to work and noticed a sign which looked a bit like this one. It might be worth a discussion of what this sign actually says.

This sign is an example of what linguists call proto-writing; the sort of thing you see on road signs and the like. The idea is that the sign conveys a message which is clear even to people who cannot read, and is designed to be culture-independent. It contains a diagrammatic representation of two figures. One of the figures is a rudimentary outline of a human body, where the other has a triangular body to represent a dress or skirt.

Nowhere on this sign does it say "Men" or "Women". Genitalia are not depicted. Chromosomes are not discussed. The presence or absence of any characteristic is not questioned, other than some vague depiction of clothing.

It would seem quite reasonable, according to this sign, for people wearing skirts to turn right, while people wearing trousers should turn left. So why should anyone object if a man dressed in a skirt wanted to turn right? But how many women, wearing jeans, would turn left?

Different cultures

I know, of course, that this sign is a convenient shorthand. We know what it means, even if what it means isn't quite what it says.

This sign isn't quite as cross-cultural as it purports to be. In some countries, robe-like garments are common for both men and women. On a trip to the Middle East once, I was amused to see a toilet sign which had identical images for male and female, wearing robes, except that the female one was pinched in around the middle to represent a waist, where the male one wasn't.

I didn't take a picture of the sign, but this one is reasonably similar. It is a reminder that our Western cultural norms are not shared worldwide; that some cultures would look at the figure on the right (above) and decide the skirt was indecently short.

Trans people can find themselves in a real pickle about bathrooms. For example, Victoria Askey says of her transwoman spouse Treva:

Victoria: I hate the fact that she has to go through... wondering which toilets she can use without causing problems. I mean, use the men's and get beaten up, use the women's and get some female complaining, use the disabled and get someone complaining, and this can all be in front of my children. Some people don't seem to think before reacting. I hate the fact we are stared at. What happens if we go some place and she needs to use the toilet but there is no option to her? Then we have to come home just so she can pee.

Meanwhile, Rachel in Auckland reports this:

Rachel: After my drink, I need to visit the ladies room, weaving in and out amongst all the tables, a pretty blond woman stood (6ft 2 in heels to my 5ft 11) and motored her way to the ladies, just beating me. After she entered, she held the door open for me and smiled.

And Megan, one of my correspondents, writes:

Megan: To my surprise, women are somewhat friendly and just assume you're gay and have no interest in them. One particular outing, a young lady about 22 or so noticed the stall door lock was broken and asked me to guard it while she was in there. Fox watching the hen house came to mind! As she left, she guarded it for me.

Victoria is in the UK, Rachel in New Zealand, and Megan is in the US. So perhaps there is a cultural aspect to it. Perhaps some countries (or cities) are fine, where others are not. So hard to know for sure. Why do I have to rely on the word of my correspondents? Because I don't (yet) go out dressed, so I have never had to face up to this problem in a practical sense.

The solution?

I don't doubt that there are dozens of stories, good and bad, about trans people in bathrooms. I found myself in a debate with some radical feminists on the Gender Trender blog about this issue. Though I tried to be reasonable and balanced, it didn't work; I was roundly flamed, and everyone had plenty of fun calling me "Mr Vivienne" and so on. I suppose some people resort to insults because they can't argue articulately.

Nonetheless, some of them had a point to make, and I think it's worth bringing out that point here. How would a woman feel if she went into a public bathroom and found someone who was clearly a male-to-female transgender person?

Some women, such as the women that Rachel and Megan met, seem to be genuinely untroubled. It seems no big deal to them. But I am reasonably sure this isn't true of everyone. Some women might feel really uncomfortable. Some women might feel threatened, or in danger. How do those women react? Most likely they say nothing, avoid eye contact, hoping that this unwelcome interloper will quietly go away. That reaction may be misinterpreted as acceptance. In other words, just because the women in a public bathroom don't run screaming when a crossdresser walks in, doesn't mean they are all comfortable and accepting.

Random Radfem:  It is also not the responsibility of any woman to object to your presence. Most woman are not going to confront a man- probably a much physically larger man- in an enclosed private room. No matter how uncomfortable they are made to feel, it is safer to get out than to risk the chance of being physically attacked if the man in question is mentally unhinged.

Seriously inclusive

I think that some male-to-female transgender people deliberately seek to insinuate themselves into spaces which are traditionally women-only, as a means of validating their identity as women. The radical feminists see this as a violation, a masculine act: the imposition of male privilege on other people, whether they object or not. Nonetheless, I don't see this. I see it as being essentially a personal thing, perhaps even a selfish thing:  I think the transgender people are trying to say: “look what a real woman I am”; rather than saying “women do not deserve legal recognition”. I don't accept the radical feminists' express accusation, which is that any trans person in a women's bathroom is a sexual predator with the intention of molesting its occupants.

(I am reasonably certain that a crossdresser visiting the men's bathroom while dressed, would provoke anger, outrage and bewilderment. Mind you, this isn't a subject on which I have read much at all).

Why is it that bathrooms have become the battlefield upon which these bloody conflicts are played out? In this wonderful article from The Atlantic, journalist Julie Beck analyses our attitudes to public bathrooms.

Beck: The public collides uncomfortably with the private in the bathroom as it does nowhere else, and the unique behaviors we perform stem from a complex psychological stew of shame, self-awareness, design, and gender roles. This culturally agreed-upon separation creates unique single-sex spaces. There is perhaps no other arena that so stridently reinforces gender separation and difference.

Biologically speaking, men and women don’t need separate bathrooms—they’re using them for the same reasons. While there are a few functional differences—many men prefer to pee standing, women need receptacles to throw away tampons and pads—it’s not hard to imagine a unisex bathroom that would, at least in theory, work for everyone.

The public bathroom is therefore a focal point in the behaviour of men and women. Beck comments that men and women behave very differently in public bathrooms. Women are more relaxed, chatting, sharing makeup, where men avoid eye-contact, don't speak to each other, and don't even stand near one another if they can help it.

This cartoon came from a website for librarians.

As an aside, I am indebted to Beck's article for making me realise that I am not alone in being too uncomfortable to pee in the presence of strangers. Where possible, I choose a cubicle in public toilets, because I need privacy, otherwise I can't go. It seems there are plenty of people out there who are worse than me in this regard!

Overall, then, these are my thoughts about the whole bathroom thing. First, I think that men who wear women’s clothing in public are, in general, politely tolerated. While I completely welcome this, I think this tolerance is a privilege; I do not see it as a right. (And, as I have mentioned on this blog, there are some people who are not helping the cause here).

Next, I think that women should be entitled to safe, women-only spaces, for any reason they think fit, or even for no reason at all. For me, this means that they are entitled to object to the presence of a trans person in the women's public bathroom. If someone objected to my presence in any public space (e.g. a mall, an airport, a library) I would quietly leave without making a scene or causing a disturbance. If someone objected to my presence in a women-only bathroom, I would immediately leave without question. I do actually worry that it might offend someone or make them uncomfortable, and for me at least, this would not be OK.

I think that things are changing. I have noticed several restaurants in my town which just have a series of unisex cubicles. No problem. Beck's article says that gender-neutral public bathrooms are now mandated by law in any new or renovated building in Philadelphia. In addition, see here for the story of parents using the law to force a school to allow their transgender daughter to use the girls' bathrooms. Once again, the tip of the iceberg.

While transgender people are trying to get into the women's bathrooms, women themselves now have access to a range of devices which allow them to pee standing up. Nonetheless, I suspect it will be a while before women are elbowing men out of the way at the urinals!

===
My thanks to Tasi, for drawing my attention to Julie Beck's article and Lexie Cannes' article, and to Melissa Lyn for the Unshelved cartoon, which came from this webpage. See also here for my comments about the tampon advertisement featuring a meeting between a woman and a crossdresser in a public bathroom.

Addendum 27th April 2016

The bathroom debate continues to feature prominently in public media, with several US states enacting laws which restrict which bathroom trans people can and cannot use. Other states have had similar laws thrown out.

Meanwhile, the Huffington Post has produced this interesting article which summarises and synthesises the status quo. In addition, Lexie Cannes has written this eyebrow-raising article which contains reports of several women being thrown out of public bathrooms for being mistaken for transwomen. Ouch!

Alex Reid

Imagine you are a crossdresser. You meet and then marry a woman who is gorgeous, sexy, glamorous and adventurous. You reveal your secret to her, and she is thrilled: not only does she dress you, but she celebrates your fem side and enjoys making love to you dressed. How does that make you feel?

Masculine: Reid

Alex Reid is not short of masculinity. Handsome and chiselled, he is a mixed martial artist and cage fighter (though, seemingly, not a very good one). He has also been a bit-part actor. He shot to fame in the UK when he found himself dating a woman called Katie Price, whose stage name is "Jordan", in 2009. Here he is as he would like you to think of him. His Wikipedia article contains a single line about his crossdressing, and his personal website, nothing at all (unsurprisingly).

Price is a former topless model, whose career has included modelling, fashion and beauty, television and media, and writing books about herself.

Price is no airhead with big boobies. She is shrewd, ruthless and successful, having negotiated the treacherous waters of media celebrity for many years. According to Wikipedia, she is now worth over 40 million pounds.

Feminine: Jordan

At the time they got together, Price was splitting up from her former husband, singer Peter Andre. Andre released the single Mysterious Girl in 1996, and wowed teen audiences with his famous "washboard stomach", before disappearing without trace, until he was washed up on the celebrity career resurrection show I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! in the UK, in 2004. Down in that jungle, amid the bugs, the bush tucker, and the humiliation, love blossomed between Price and Andre.

After the show finished, they not only married, but became reality TV sensations, starting a whole franchise of programmes about their personal lives. We learned, at least at first, that Andre seemed actually to be quite a nice bloke. In any case, it relaunched his career very successfully. In a breathless moment of schmaltz, Price and Andre even released their own cover version of A Whole New World, the love song between Aladdin and Princess Jasmine. They had two children together, whose names they seemingly chose by picking letters at random from the Scrabble bag.

When the relationship came (inevitably) crashing down, the whole country was in on every detail of the separation. Depending where your sympathies lay, one could buy T-shirts, with "Team Peter" or "Team Katie" on them, to show the world whose side you were on. In other words, all eyes were on Katie Price, and who her next swain was going to be. Practically nobody had ever heard of Alex Reid, but suddenly he was being photographed on red carpets next to Price, and setting gossip columnists a-flutter.

Roxanne: seriously?

It didn't take long for things to hot up. Reports began to emerge that Alex Reid was a transvestite, whose secret alter-ego was "Roxanne". But all was not lost. Not only was Price untroubled, she seemed positively to relish having a transvestite for a boyfriend.

Contact Music: Katie Price has vowed to stand by boyfriend Alex Reid, despite revelations he is a cross-dresser. The glamour model insists she has no plans to dump the cage fighter over his feminine alter-ego 'Roxanne' and says they are very happy. She said: "We're very much together."

It was at this point that I started to take an interest. Initially upset that he had been outed, Reid seemed to calm down, when Price allowed him access to her enormous collection of clothing, cosmetics, wigs and other feminine accoutrements. She described it enthusiastically here on the Graham Norton Show:

Price: When he told me, I'm like, Oh my God, I gotta dress you up. In my dressing room I got wigs, eyelashes, everything. I went: you are perfect, you're my girl, so please let me do you up, please let me do you up. And he's like, hang on a minute, this is a bit weird, I'm not used to a girl saying "let me do you up", 'cause normally it's a private thing he does. But I'm well into it, it doesn't bother me.

Awww.... matching outfits!

Price is not simply feminine: she is uber-feminine. Everything is just a little more: the eyes, the boobs, the teeth, the tan, the hair, the lashes, the lips. This is all a carefully cultivated image, and the whole package, for me, teeters on the very brink of attractiveness, just above the cliff of grotesque. In addition, she is confident, powerful, and used to discussing her personal life in public.

Norton: Have you had sex with Roxanne?
Price: Of course! Call me strange, call me weird, whatever.
Norton: So when you're with Roxanne, are you... two women, or are you sometimes the man?
Price: I boss him about. He becomes quieter.
Guest: Can I ask, is there a bit of leather involved, and a whip?
Price: Honestly, you name it, he's been there, done it. Honestly, anything goes with him. I'm having such a fun time.

Faced with this level of approval, it was only a matter of time before we saw Roxanne publicly, and here they are, Jordan and Roxanne, in matching gold outfits, at the launch of one of Price's several autobiographies, in 2009. Price was reported to have ordered designer dresses to be specially made in Reid's size.

Getting his Rox off: Reid

So let's just pause here for a moment. What's going through Alex's mind? First, he is married to a woman who is considered to be one of the most desirable in the country, to say nothing of wealthy. Second, he seems to have entered transvestite nirvana: not only does Price accept his transvestism, she embraces it enthusiastically, and provides him with a level of access to feminine accoutrements which must be almost unparalleled. Third, Reid has gone from being a relatively unknown person to being one of the most famous faces in the country. This interview with the Guardian seems to get a very clear picture of him, without even mentioning crossdressing.

It seems quite understandable to me that all of this would be a bit of a shock; something quite difficult to deal with. And unfortunately, Reid just wasn't equipped to handle Price and her ruthless career machine. He was, unfortunately, merely a pawn.

It wasn't long before cracks started to show. Tabloids spoke of Price's disappointment that Reid was unwilling or unable to have a baby with her. There were reports of him having sex with other men as Roxanne, and the relationship shattered apart after barely one year.

It won't surprise you in the least that Price has continued to manipulate the media in her own interests. Price wrote it all down in a book, Love, Lipstick and Lies, published in 2011, excerpts from which made it into the popular press. Sex with cross-dressing Alex Reid was obscene, depraved and left me frightened, roared the Mirror.

Price: Think of the most disturbing porn you could imagine, and times that by ten. Only then are you getting close to what I witnessed and what Alex wanted me to join in with. I’ve tried a few things in my time, but I’d never before f***** a man dressed up as a woman who happened to be my husband. I felt as if I was crossing a line, going to a dark place where there were no boundaries, where there was no normal.

I just hope the poor girl can somehow get over it and just get on with her life.

Reid all about it!

I feel extremely sympathetic to Alex Reid. He is, without doubt, an autogynephilic transvestite. He wants what we all want; to dress freely, to enjoy it, and to have fun. At first, it must have been breathtaking, being dressed by Katie Price and having her order designer gowns in his size. And yet, we all look in the mirror and feel we are not as beautiful on the outside as we feel on the inside. How much more cruel is that comparison, when the face beside you is that of Katie Price?

And what about the effect on his sense of self, his manhood, when the press were calling him "Mr Katie Price" and he was known for nothing other than being her plus one? That must be pretty hard to handle. And what about those outfits? They were (almost certainly) chosen by Price for maximum impact; he would probably have looked very strange in almost any feminine garb, but careful wardrobe and cosmetics can be amazing. On the other hand, these two outfits, in which he was pictured publicly, are just dreadful. No wonder that, in every picture I've seen, he looks ill-at-ease. Partly that's because he wasn't dressed as Roxanne, he was dressed as Jordan, which is something that few women (and far fewer men) can actually pull off.

In another universe, the public acceptance of Jordan's transvestite husband would simply be mandated by her celebrity. There would be no arguing against it. Left a little longer, and it would have been downright cool. I can see young male wannabees shaving their legs and squeezing into those skimpy outfits to impress their girls. I had genuinely hoped these events would be a step towards public acceptance of crossdressing. But not in this universe.

And what do you do, when you open yourself up to someone you love about crossdressing, and they hurt you deeply? You purge, and you purge good.

Digital Spy: The cage fighter has apparently vowed never to dress up as Roxanne again after suffering emotional abuse when Price revealed his secret to others and made him dress in drag publicly for her book launch in 2009. According to The Sun, Reid told a friend: "Roxanne is dead and it was Katie who heartlessly exposed her. She murdered her. She is evil and she will pay."

I think this particular choice of language, with violent metaphors, points to deep emotional suffering. I do not doubt Reid never wants to dress again, but I do not doubt that he eventually will.

 

Katie Price is currently in another marriage, but will probably get divorced in the next month or so if she plays to form. Reid had a daughter with another glamour model, Chantelle Houghton, but the word on the street is that they have separated too.

Meanwhile, Reid is back pretending to be a real man's man once again-- but for how long?