I kinda thought they would itch, but turns out they don’t.
Anyway, I jump ahead. Hello! Welcome to my blog. Well, not my blog as such, but Sarah’s blog. And given I’ve started by referring to her in the third-person I guess I’ve got a ways to go before she/I get properly integrated.
So, what’s this blog about? FASHION! Not today’s fashion which, as a 70s and 80s child I find scarily similar to what I grew up patently ignoring, but the fashion of yesteryear.
Sarah is the person I embrace occasionally, the girl that I see as femininity. The girl I’d like to see as I ride the Tube, sip my coffee in Starbucks or Costas, grab a beer or seven after work. She is what I think, personally, girls should be like.
I’ll quantify that a moment. I’ve always had the urge, the itch, to change myself and present myself to the world as a woman. Not become a woman because, hell, blokes have it good in the civilisation (sorry ladies), but more to put on the costume and revel in the delicious feel of femininity.
I’m not a sexist. Or a racist. Or basically anything-ist, other than live and let live-ist. I treat everyone I deal with on a day to day basis as the same, I don’t distinguish between gender and I have the world’s worst gaydar (I really don’t see what people are and don’t judge anyone) *but* I love the femininity of early era fashions.
So when I reached a certain age and decided to let the inner girl out, the choice of how she would dress and what she would wear wasn’t even a choice. I found some cool websites, bought some dresses and took the plunge. I found an utterly wonderful dressing service (I can hardly work out how to wash, nevertheless put makeup on) and threw myself into the idea of dressing.
And then I shaved.
Shaving isn’t as fun as it sounds. For a start, I’d never shaved my legs. I’m not that hairy, but hairy enough, and since my second marriage to my soulmate my male hormones have exploded in glee, so sitting in the bath and scraping off 4o+ years of leg and arm arm was entertainingly difficult.
And when I was done I finally understood all those comments I had seen from fellow Transpeople about the feel of shaved body parts.
It feels……odd. It feels cold and silky. Until you get into bed, and then the nerve endings get all wobbly and report to the brain that your legs are wet.
Plus the absence of hair means you can’t get a lather with shower gel.
But so worth it. Putting stockings on is like dipping your finger into chocolate. The feel of a dress flowing over your legs is like nothing I’ve felt before. It makes you want to giggle, which is such a girlie thing but so apt.
But I digress. This blog will be an exploration of the fun I’ve been having, and the fun to come. I’ll be talking in depth about the dresses and experiences, I’ll not be talking about politics, sport, food, drink, relationships. I may stray into girlie giggles and squeals but, you know, if you dress a certain way your brain starts to behave a certain way.
So welcome and well met. My name is Sarah and I will be your hostess for the evening.