I was intrigued, very early on, by how insistent the gatekeepers to this process are that i should learn to conform to a particular idea of feminity: that i should learn to “pass”, with all the connotations of failure implied in that single word.
Even the good Dr Curtis talked about fitting in and not evoking a “hostile” reaction. In many ways, i have no issue with that. i want to fit. i want to learn about how to nurture my burgeoning feminity.
Still though, i know that am a long way off. i’ve left the comfortable point of departure known as maleness in hope of arriving elsewhere in due course. Along the way i will be neither male nor female: a “freak”; weird; unnatural. (Yep: I’ve started reading up already on how the religious and how some feminists regard us).
But so what! To borrow from the wonderful John Bannerman: i am what i am. If, for a time, i look like a man in a skirt, i don’t care. i wouldn’t have cared before: it is only this presumption that there is “pass” and not-pass that starts to colour my every action.
For now, i am practising. i am practising make-up, practising clothes, practising jewellery – and no doubt practising 101 different tricks of speech an mannerisms as well.
i am having fun: and if that gives more offence than the average friday night office party, all dropped trousers and bums in the air, i am sorry for the persons offended.
I have no intention to give offence: but if you take it, that is your issue, not mine.
(in seriously bolshy mood)