transretrogurl

After a couple of mad weeks, following the Manchester Bucket-List trip, where the world went even more insane than before, I decided to take a day off and pop into London for a good old fashioned Cinder’s session. I did nine new looks and revisited my Witch costume, had a blast including copious glasses of BrewDog, followed by a, well, interesting drive home (London drivers don’t seem to handle surface water well; took me two hours to get from Bermondsey to the M4), then a knackered Sunday (spent all day playing Starfield).

I’ll do another post and share the looks, some were wonderfully fun. But for this post I want to revisit my favourite fetish, one that is spending a lot of time in the forefront of my brain – the 1950’s housewife….

Pictured – ‘squee’. Petticoat, apron, gorgeous fifties’ housedress and her wedding ring. ‘Mrs’.

I commissioned another lovely wig from the brilliant Etsy shop, ‘Wig in the City’, a short, tight-perm look. I found a proper 1950’s housewife dress, added pearl earrings, pearl bracelet, delicate woman’s watch, a little apron and a big petticoat. It ticks all the boxes that trigger my fetish endorphin rush.

Before I gush, as per normal, I want to have a little dive into what makes this such a lovely rush for me. For a start, the persona of a 1950’s stay-at-home wife is the absolute opposite of drab-me. Drab-me is a precocious over-achiever, a slob when it comes to fashion (I own two pairs of jeans and ten or so t-shirts); I do like to clean and vacuum but, cough, I don’t do clothes watching and I have never used an iron. Almost embarrassed to admit that.

Pictured – ‘Never used an iron, young man?’

And it’s an odd misogynistic thing as well; I’m not daft enough to think what I define as a 50’s housewife’s style, mannerisms and submissive behaviour was what it actually was like. In fact there was a lot of, well, medication for women back then, especially in the states. ‘Mummy’s little helpers’ were very common, anti-depressants to counter the sexist behaviour of the men and that ‘women belong in the home’ attitude. For me the idea of diving completely into the role of the wife is an interesting combination of ultra-femininity, utter emasculation and sexual stereotyping.

As I sat in the chair yesterday whilst Cindy glued the wig onto my temples (which in itself is a goosebump moment) I was staring at the woman in the mirror. She looked completely housewife-y, a little prim and proper in her sleeveless blouse dress (with a pretty little bow at her neck). The apron was tied tightly around my corsetted waist, making the petticoat fluff out further.

Pictured – why petticoats are no longer in fashion is always a surprise to me. But there’s an upside; more for me…

The dress was a lovely yellow/white number. Proper 1950’s style; the tight waist, flared out skirt, button-up from the bottom right up the neck. A little squirt of perfume, I gently clipped my pearl earrings on (which is surprisingly difficult when you have long red nails), then stood up and did a little spin in the mirror.

When we do a housewife shoot we have a laugh in the kitchen. It seems the natural place for the 50’s American woman, and we pose with the cooker (always requires kneeling down which is adorable when you have a petticoat and heels), a mop, a brush, the washing machines, the works. I find myself talking about ‘time to put husband’s meal in’ and ‘I’m getting used to being Mrs’ and it sounds eerily believable. I think that’s the core brilliant fun of it.

Pictured – ‘Come on oven, heat up. I spent all afternoon reading a fashion magazine and lost track of the time. Hubby will be cross if his meal isn’t on the table when he walks in’

It’s an amazing and very kinky feeling to feel ‘stuck’ in the clothing and roleplay. I find myself thinking about what it would be like to cook a meal for my husband. To kiss him when he comes home from work, pour him a drink before dinner, let him complement me on my dress and makeup. It seems, well, easy to do that.

I’ve been working through a set of bucket-list items lately; being on happy-pills has really alleviated the anxiety and worries around a lot of things. I’ve been out escorted, been out by myself, but always in modern-girl clothing. There’s a part of me who wants to go shopping to Tesco or Sainsburys in full fifties’ frock, petticoat, the works. There’s also a part of me who desperately wants to do the weekend wife thing. Play the role, take my husbands second name, the works.

Pictured – I *love* this picture in B&W. For an instant when I look at it I see a real housewife from the 1950’s and that little rush where the brain goes ‘huHHH!’ is delicious.

I have no idea where this fantasy/fetish came from. There’s just something so pure about it in my head; the fashion, the mannerism, the handing of of responsibility to the man in the relationship, the chance to nurture ‘your husband’.

I have a number of 50’s house-frocks now and it’s hard to pick a favourite. I do like the sleeveless blue/white one with the white collar (always buttoned up), I love the red one with white collar and sleeve trims, and I like this one I tried yesterday (yellow and white is a nice feminine combination and the little bow is so cute). I’m always looking out for proper house-dresses and I really like the collared and button-up ones.

Pictured – “Hey doll, can you wash my golf kit for Sunday? I’ll bring you a bunch of roses to make it up to you, darling”

Couple of amusing gotchas though; firstly when you kneel down you always catch the petticoat with your heels. When you go to stand up the outfit stops you (it’s kinda of a nice kinky feel as well). Also you can’t see your feet; climbing stairs in a petticoat and below knee housedress is Russian Roulette at its most fun.

As I said, I did ten looks yesterday and this one is the one I am going back to to have a second, third and fourth look. I’ve decoloured a couple of them as well and there’s a lovely thrill in looking at a black-and-white picture of a 1950’s American Housewife and realising that she is me.

Stay beautiful and feed your fantasies. You may surprise yourself and find a different ‘you’.

Pictured – same makeup, same session, completely different fetish (and yes, I did like wearing the collar)