A journey to San Francisco to become no less than Me. (BLOG REBOOT: Former site of Hairy Legs.)

Posts tagged ‘clothing’

Day Seven: Failblog.

So, I guess I’ve missed several days of the challenge.  Two, I think.  Whoopsie doodle doo.

Like I really give a crap.

Today, I’m going to write about some embarrassing crap, just because I can’t think of anything else.  Beware if talk about nipples and bras makes you uncomfortable.

So, I’ve somehow lost the only binder that I have.  I’ve taken good care of it, washed it often and carefully, even sewn it up when one of my friends accidentally cut a hole in it.  It’s funny- it’s the most expensive thing I’ve ever bought to wear, and it’s become the one thing that I absolutely never leave the house with.  It feels weird that I’ve become so dependent on a single piece of cloth for my personal comfort.

So for the first time in almost a year today, I had to go out wearing a bra.

I felt like a fucking clown.

I’d lost my binder somewhere between my best friend’s house and home, so it was on the way home to my place that I was wearing the goddamned contraption.  I’d never much noticed it growing up, but bras are really, really uncomfortable.  I wound up with all kinds of red marks in my shoulders that have now become foreign to me.  It made me look like Madonna, or at least, I felt that way.  I kept getting slightly startled every time I looked down.
See, I had to borrow one from my friend, and I’d never really spent any kind of money on ones for myself so I always had the crappy little ones from Wal-Mart, but she had this full support, lacey, padded, wired, superstructured wonderbra of a thing that made them spring to attention in a way I’d never seen them look before.  I spent a lot of time with my arms crossed, but it didn’t much help.  Mainly, all I’d wanted was something that would put a layer between my t-shirt and my pointy-ass nipples.  But after wearing it for a couple minutes, I began to think it wasn’t really worth it.  This damned thing made my chestnuts look about twice the size they really were.

So, as soon as I got home, I traded it out for my old bandages- what I wore before I finally broke down and got an actual binder.  I’d almost forgotten how to wear them- how to bind them loose but repetitively for maximum durability, wrap them even, where to set them so they wouldn’t look lumpy and stupid, etc.  They don’t work nearly as well, last nearly as long, look nearly as natural or feel nearly as comfortable as a real binder, but they’re ok in a pinch.

I just hope I find my real one soon.  I don’t have the cash to get a new one.

This blows, man.


I’d like to say right now that I’ve passed a milestone.  Just a few minutes ago, I had the first female in my life ever to tell me to put the toilet seat down.  Aside from the slight embarrassment (and huge flush of relief that came to realize that she saw it up before her mom did), I felt a sense of… becoming– not quite pride, but accomplishment; the feeling of passing on into being not just a boy, but maybe even a man.

My 21st birthday is in 3 days.

I’ve been thinking about it for about 5 months now, and I’ve finally decided that I am, in contradiction of everything I’ve said before, going to cut my hair.  Yes, I’ve said before that I don’t:

1)  go around wearing what I wear or looking what I look like just to make things easier for everyone else.  I do this for ME.
2)  follow gender stereotypes, because if I think that’s what makes me a man, then I might as well just pack up and go home.
3)  want to go through transition for the sake of being a man, I do it for the sake of being MYSELF.

I still hold to those standards, but the funny thing is, I feel like a completely different person today than I did five months ago.  I feel that short hair would suit me better as I am, that I’m really not trying to live up to that scruffy biker/metalhead image anymore, that I want a softer, shaggy, more boyish cute faggy look as I settle into my male self.  (Plus Hilary Swank looked awfully cute in short hair in Boys Don’t Cry.)  In fact, I could go on listing a thousand reasons I’ve changed my mind- it doesn’t matter.  I will never abandon my resolution to be myself, and if I tried to hold to an image that I was before but not now, just to prove something to anyone else, then I’ve lost sight of that.

This cutting of my hair will also mark the passing of another landmark, no matter how I try to downplay it.  I’ve had long hair for my entire life, as long as I can remember, and losing it will almost be a point of no return.  I may grow my hair long again, in the future when my features have masculinized again, but for now, this is my aggressive visual act of manhood to those around me.  It says, “this isn’t just something I’m saying, or a phase.  I’m serious about this.”  If nothing else, I hope that it will be a constant reminder of what pronoun to use.

So, I’ve decided that, the night before I get it done, I’m going to make almost a ceremonial gesture, an act of severance to the female life behind me.  My friends and I are going to go out for a night on the town, and I’m going in full drag as a female.  There will be nothing questionable about it- I’ll be gussied up in every way possible, from corset to makeup and hairdo, head to toe.  It will be very symbolic as the last time I ever don the female garb, and at the end of the night I’ll remove every piece and say goodbye to the life behind me.

I’m calling it my Severance Ball: my rite of passage from a female body into a male one, and I feel that at the end of that night, I will have no regrets and will never look back.

Today, I am Mr. Clean!

This is the T-shirt I'm wearing today.  Except mine's a little more hardcore.  I'd post a pic of myself wearing it, but my camera's still broken.

This is the T-shirt I'm wearing today. Except mine's a little more hardcore. I'd post a pic of myself wearing it, but my camera's still broken.

Mr. Clean was always pretty badass, huh?  The only other person who could rock that polished doorknob haircut as hard as Mr. Clean was Morpheus, and you can bet those weren’t the only doorknobs that were getting polished on them.

…Now that I’m done making awkward innuendo about bald guys, I’ll get to the point.  Today I’m called upon to do some serious cleaning of my seriously messy bedroom and bathroom, because my stepmom’s going into hip surgery and we may have some relatives coming and visiting and/or living with us for a while.  I’m taking advantage of being forced into cleaning by pretending it was my idea and going through all of my old clothes and the girly things that have been hanging around by virtue of bad Christmas gift that I didn’t have the guts to throw out.  I now have those guts, as well as some balls, and the gall, and every other body part I need to do things I would not once have done.  It’s finally time to get rid of the things I seriously will never use again.

It feels like a good time to do this, because I’m no longer bouncing between wearing girl stuff in polite company and guy stuff when I feel like it.  I now “feel like it” 100% of the time and the idea of putting on anything frilly, pink or skirtlike is laughably beyond reason.

Maybe I’ll have a yard sale…

I wish I could make a vlog about this.  It’d actually probably be pretty funny for you to see the state of my room and me going through it.  It’s seriously a wreck.  This last weekend I had a kind of a party while the ‘rents were gone (again) and I wound up flinging a mattress and various paraphernalia into my room when I heard them coming up the drive a day earlier than I thought they would.  So on top of the usual squalor and chaos, the mattresses and broken closet doors and other various things create a series of tilty, jaunty planes that made me wake up in the night last night thinking I was inside an Escher painting.  Seriously.

(But at least that’s better than the apocalyptical dream I had night before last that God decided to destroy the world because it had too much Nathan Lane in it.  It gives me the shudders.)

I digress.  Today, I cut through my past with a sharpened sword and excise the filth and scum that is no longer of use to me.

(For some reason I picture that line being read with the voice of Sir Alec Guinness.)


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