Kitten Heels.

A Temptuous Romance with an Article of Footwear.


I’ve decided to try drag/cross-dressing.

I’ve always hated mens fashion. So regimented and restricting, unimaginative. Different coloured reskins of the exact same T Shirt, the same stiff collared Shirt, Jeans, Hoodie, Leather Jacket, the exact same Suit and Tie combo. Maybe jazz it up with Waistcoat, or a Bow Tie. Big woop.

Well ok, Bow Ties are cool. Maybe a Fez?

Regardless, drab. Uninspired. Samey and unexpressive. Pragmatic.

If mens fashion could be summed up in a single word, to me it would be Monochrome. Black and White, grossly oversimplified and one dimensional. Homogeneous, there’s a better one.

Women’s fashion, on the other hand, fills out the entire rest of the colour spectrum; the beautiful, vibrant shades in between those two stark extremes. The sultry reds, the laidback turquoise and blues, the potent violets and ochres.

Certainly, there are the classic sewing patterns and designs, but the room for expression in women’s fashion is so much broader. Dresses and Skirts of every cut imaginable, same with Tops and Jackets, Shoes of every conceivable design. There are even several different types of /heel/ on a shoe (Kitten Heels have to be the most adorable term I’ve ever heard).

The choice is so much wider. Obviously, there are cultural reasons behind this, and many of them are not exactly positive, or forward thinking. But that is a discussion for another day (I’ve had a feminist rant bubbling away like plate tectonics for months, that’s bound to jarr into an eruption very soon).

So, as part of my journey in discovering what gender really is and where I fit in, this is the natural next step. To a certain degree, it is handy that I have a slender, more feminine frame (which is not to say that non-slender people are not feminine, but I would not want to attempt this new exploration if I were built like a Hemsworth…ahh, I did a twisty, you thought I meant if I was curvy. Well shame on you…). It makes the actual shopping for clothes easier, and easier is quite necessary right now, I am feeling a bit fragile in myself, mental health-wise.

Having gazed at women’s fashion from afar for so long, I already have an idea of what to go for. My height, which is considerable, even for a Male, means that long and flowy cuts are the order of the day.

I have, so far, gone for an ankle length, grey, lacey dress, very hippy, and very accommodating to my frame. To go with this, I have opted for a wig (because there is no way I could grow my hair out convincingly right now, with this receding hairline.) Very long, plum red, with a fringe. A full fringe! Even when I had long metalhead hair, I daren’t get a fringe!

To finish the core of the outfit off, I had to get boots, clearly. And you would not believe how hard it is to get decent women’s boots in a size 10-11. I guess Amazonians really are just myth.

That said, I eventually found 2 pairs, that I absolutely could not decide between; a pair of thigh length white leather heeled ones that are gorgeous, and a pair of much less ostentatious, but so much more cute brown leather ones, with the aforementioned kitten heel.

Naturally, as they were both combined, cheaper than another pair I had an eye on, I got both pairs, and hate myself already. One fewer Dominos until payday.

They are all in the process of being shipped rn, from different places and to differing schedules. Some will be here much earlier than others, and I will undoubtedly showcase each as they arrive.

Now, I just need to get around to shaving, learning how to do make up, picking up some accessories to go with the dress (bangles, necklace, etc.), and learn to walk in heels.

Why did I leave all this so damn long?? 27 is no age to be learning to walk.

Motherly Instincts.

Always a door step, never a coat rack.

(Update: I was pretty drunk writing this one. Take it with a grain of salt, and apologies in advance for wallowing in self pity.)

It strikes me as a bit problematic that, though my instinctive proclivity is to look after people, rarely is that ever the case in return.
My natural response to anyone else having anything that causes them difficulty, is to look after them, heart, soul, and everything else. Now whether my ostensible maleness causes them to doubt that this is my true intent, based on the duplicitous actions of my unwanted penis-bearing brethren, or that as individuals, they just don’t give a fuck, I /alway/ seem to be left disregarded and unappreciated for the effort that I put in for others.

I don’t know why this is, and if it were an occasional occurrence, I wouldn’t be that phased, but this has been the end result of every action I have taken in the last God knows how long. I have put in untold effort to make sure that other people are ok, happy, content, or improved in the emotional wellbeing, and I have still ended up alone, uncared about, miserable, and utterly dejected. I have given the most important, formative years of my life, to others, and have nothing to show for it, other than loneliness, depression, and abject disappointment.

I’m not about to act rashly about anything, don’t get me wrong. But just once in my life, I would like my efforts to help and care for people to be recognised, and not just thrown to the wayside like a spent condom or an empty baggy. I can’t continue like this, it hurts too much, to always be the one left alone.

Exploration of Definition.

Plotting the details.

Hasn’t been a great deal of progress in recent days, been bearing my brunt of the office cold, and laughing at the thought of whether I can still be guilty of Man Flu anymore.

Largely, I’ve been exploring gender identities, in an effort to determine if any of the pre-described states of the gender spectrum fit with exactly how I am feeling. At a later date, I’ll write an entry about some of the more interesting identities I’ve discovered which don’t fully apply to me.

For now, however, I’ve determined that I am somewhere between Gender Fluid, exhibiting elements of different genders to suit a given situation (I do still exhibit masculine traits, though they usually only present themselves at the times I am least happy or calm, able to exert the least control over myself. When my Id is in full swing, and my Ego and Superego are flailing about like Eels in dry mud. Such as when I am angry, or trying to worm my way out of trouble or blame. Anyone who knows my Dad knows where I get these traits from, and why I would sooner they never presented themselves), and Demi-Girl/Boy, not feeling enough of either gender to fully commit to it, is my understanding. (No, that sounds dismissive, and not how I meant it. Not so much commit, but slot neatly into either definition. That’s better).

I would say that at this time, personality-wise, I have a 80-20 split of more typically female personality traits, and this is what is causing the dysphoria. I’m aware that a trait in and of itself has no gender, but I am referring to the gender imposed on it by society, which, fabricated or not, plays a big role in peoples understanding of the world, and must by taken into account, to live a harmonious.

It isn’t yet as physical as it was when I was younger, since my psyche stepped in and overrode the longing to change and be who I felt I was, but that too is starting to resurface. We will see how that develops as we move forward. I worry that making the full change now, at 26 or older rather than pre-puberty,  and still having shoulders this broad, so defined a jawline, and being 6 foot 2, as a transfemale, would in the long run cause my mental health more harm than it would good, in my current state. Which in no way takes away from those who have made the change: you are beautiful and powerful, and I am envious of your magnificent courage to be who you are in the face of a fearful, unsympathetic world.

Also, as a matter of clarification, many people have thought, all throughout my development as a human, that I would grow up to be gay. This has lead to some stark confusion when I grew up and was not, remotely, gay; largely  this is because they were reading an effeminate nature and assuming that this meant, gay. Not for one moment in a negative sense, or dreading the prospect, but simply misunderstanding what they were seeing.

This much has not changed. I may play around occasionally as though I am, because I’m a natural flirt and attention is nice, but I am not at all interested in Men sexually. Simply having a feminine personality, does not instantly mean, “suddenly likes the cock”. I am wholly attracted to women, femininity, the female form, body and mind.

If we’re getting technical, that largely, emotionally, makes me a Lesbian, which would, naturally, mean that I am gay from a certain point of view *cough*said Obi-Wan*cough*, but I digress into labels confusion and Star Wars reference territory and must stop there for another discussion.

So maybe I lied, that is quite a lot of progress. For two weeks.

Psychosomatic Masculinity.

First Draft.

​There has been a shift. Something very important has changed. And I think it is for the better.
Ever since I came out at the weekend (it feels so very alien to think of it that way, but I suppose there is no other way to put it), I’ve found myself acting and reacting subtly differently on a subconscious level. I don’t mean that I’ve starting mincing around like a walking cliché, but inescapably, a certain pretense of masculity that I hadn’t even realised I was affecting, that was entirely a part of my personality at this point, seems to have evaporated. It isn’t my go to response anymore.

I don’t really like the idea that I have been acting falsely for years, but realistically, I must have been. Psychosomatically, anyway. It’s difficult to know how to describe it, but ever since admitting aloud, so to speak, that my feminine side far out-balances my masculine, and the internal pressure to redress the balance has alleviated, I find that I am talking differently, gesticulating and even walking differently. And again, I don’t mean I’ve started talking like a “valley girl”, or popping and snapping my hips; there’s just a small but noticeable lilt, or softening of tone.

Moreover, I can’t wait for the weather to warm up so I can get rid of this beard.

The first couple of days back at work have been encouraging. Everyone has been incredibly supportive (the beautiful lesbian couple sitting either side of me in particular), even the guys, whom I’ll admit I was more worried about them feeling awkward about the idea than I should have been. I don’t kid myself that this will hold true everywhere, but I’m not exactly about to start going in to work in a dress. I haven’t got the tits for it, for one thing, or the waist for another. And these boxy shoulders? Nope. Though I have found a reasonably androgynous white hoodie that I might get. If I’m feeling brave. Need to learn to Noel Fielding before I can Kaitlyn Jenner.

Still feels so bizarre to even be indulging this line of thought, having suppressed it for a quarter of a century. But it feels good bizarre. Happily confused, rather than frustratedly flummoxed. Paradigm shifts can sometimes be entirely for the best.

Drunken Revelations.

Page 1 Rewrite.

In the wee small hours of the morning of Saturday 11th February 2017, on the messy end of a night of heavy drinking, intimate heart-to-hearts with people who didn’t deserve it, and a spiteful 3am call to my estranged Father, my beleaguered brain coerced my fingers into typing out this post on facebook:
“I have Gender Dysmorphia, and always have had!”

Naturally, I woke up several hours later to a colossal hangover (at 26 years old,
long gone are the days of waking up scot free after trying to drown myself in rum and sambuca), and to some mixed responses of support and concern from friends (more that someone had hacked my Facebook than the declaration itself). Thus, I deleted the slapdashed post, and followed it up with this more tailored qualification:

“Ok, so I got very very drunk last night, and shared something quite intimate about myself, that a more sober head would rather I hadn’t just yet. At least until my own thoughts and feelings on the matter are more formulated. Yet, it is out there now, so I suppose I had better explain a little. Dratted gobshite drunk me needs to keep his mouth shut.

Whilst it is true that I have always had mild feelings of gender dysphoria (not dysmorphia, as inebriated haste misdiagnosed this morning. Dysmorphia would suggest that my self image is different from my reality, and that I see a woman when I look in the mirror, which I do not), this has largely been a disassociation with everything that a man is supposed to be, or the archaic gender role of a Man, and I haven’t acted upon anything because of this. As the very definition of Man is something that is finally being called into question by society in modern times, that has felt like enough to satisfy my feelings thus far.

Whether or not that is correct, I have happily gotten by. I have dreamed as far back as I can remember as a female, I connect much better with woman emotionally, almost always choose to play female characters in games (FemShep or GTFO), or write female main characters in stories, and when I was very young, quite literally wished more than once that I would wake up a girl the next morning. But, as I grew older and realised that this was A) not going to happen (about the same time I realised that my Hogwarts letter wasn’t going to come…) and B) still not something that the world is entirely ready for (transgender people are still often greatly stigmatised and misunderstood, at least in my locality, as someone of their biological sex pretending to be the other biological sex, and I don’t feel I have the strength of character to deal with that ignorance and persecution on a daily basis for the rest of my life), I guess that I diminished the sensation to some degree, consciously redefined my feelings, and chose fitting in over being myself.

And yet, became a Goth for many years. Long hair and make up. Subconsciously testing the waters maybe? Took me far too long to spot that.

Recently, in the last 6 months or so, the disassociation has gotten more acute, to the point where I am thinking about it a lot of the time. I’m getting to know people in similar situations, and I was hoping that the world in general is starting to become more accepting of Trans individuals (not convinced that this is still the case or trend, given the recent political climate, not just in America but globally, but we’ll see). I don’t know exactly the outcome I want in the matter, and facebook is less the correct forum for working that out than a counsellor would be, but I now realise that I do need to address the issue in some capacity, and not just sit on it.

I also need a fry up and a cup of tea, because I am hanging like a bastard.

P.S. I know that in these matters, pronouns are important to some, and to others it can be a tricky area to navigate. Given my own confusion on the matter, whatever is fine, I have no preference.”

After an overwhelming out-pouring of love a support, and a few requests to document my journey, we find ourselves here. Page 1 of a new chapter, and I’m happy for you all to read along.

Though preferably more sober than has been evidenced so far.