A Dahl’s House

A gentle reader asked Miss Manners for advice about wedding invitations and etiquette when one of the bride’s parents is a MTF transsexual. Among other things, the mother of the bride was concerned that an appearance of her ex-husband would overshadow the wedding.

Besides a considerate use of pronouns, Miss Manners offered some gracious and sensible advice:

People are going to notice anyway. If there is a party the night before, you might consider taking your former husband around and reintroducing her to your circle so that the guests can get over the surprise before the ceremony and focus on that event rather than its provenance.

The rest of it is not difficult, Miss Manners promises you. You should treat your daughter’s father – and that this person did father her does not change retroactively – with dignity, but you needn’t offer explanations. A formal invitation would come from “Mr. and Mrs. Clive Carvington and Ms. Catherine Tyson,” and an informal one would be as a letter from you saying that you, your husband and Annabel’s father, Catherine Tyson, would be pleased … etc.

Judith Martin, you rock!

So gentle readers, please email Miss Manners (the address is at the bottom of the article) and let her know that you appreciate her educating all of her readers that transsexuals are worthy of respect and deserve common courtesy. We need to praise people when they do right by us just as much as we need to protest when when they don’t.

On a happier note, last night Patsy, Alice and I went to see the Faux Girls at Marlena’s. Just as the show got started a bachelorette party came in and we moved over to give them more room. As hostess Victoria Secret said, there’s nothing like a bunch of drunken straight girls to liven up a drag show. Only it wasn’t only straight just girls—there were several guys who were in drag. As I later found out talking with the party, apparently the maid of honor was actually one of the guys—although he refused to wear a dress for the ceremony (good thing too, getting stuck with dress and shoes in seafoam is no fun). But apparently the other bridesmaids challenged him to attend the bachelorette party in drag and he took them up on. And then a couple other male friends joined in. The guys had all gotten into the spirit, getting wigs and having their nails painted and make-up done, and there was some credible efforts for first-timers.

Since a number people in the party already had boas, needless to say they got volunteered during the “drag tag” part of the show—a little drag competition among people from the audience. Since the bachelorettes where too focus on the vicious competition for the tiara to remember to take pictures, I got out my camera and took some. Afterwards I gave my card (one with my femme name and email) to one of the women, letting her know I could send the pics to her. From there, I started talking with various people in the group, doing a little group dancing and even joining in with a round of shots for the bride.

Anyway, I had great time and I hope they have a beautiful wedding today.

And of yeah, one other bright spot during the evening. After the show, a woman (not from the bachelorette party) walked up to me and asked if I was male or female. I told her I was a man. “God, you’re so hot—I hate you.” (Too bad she was with her boyfriend.) Now I’m pass the point where passing is the holy grail, but damn it’s satisfying when the hard work gets recognized.

One other fun moment—Patsy had broken some nails, so she was wearing the same Kiss 1-Step nails as I was in order to have a nice French manicure. As she told Alice: if you want to know about how to do girly stuff, ask a crossdresser….

I was at a department store yesterday en femme looking at purses and behind me and I hear: “mumble, mumble, baby…” and then in my peripheral vision I see Creepy Guy walk past. I didn’t really catch what he said, but the intent was clear.
OK, what an asshole…. but he keeps moving to the edge of the purse department. Only then, a minute later he circles back and walks up next to me. “This is nice,” he says, gesturing toward a purse. “Yes, it is,” says in my best I’m-not-really-interested-in-talking-to-you tones. Family shopping nearby looks up. Creepy Guy walks off. But a minute or two later he comes up again behind me and mumbles something that I assume he thinks is going to make me hot and wet. This time I just ignore him.

I go look at a display in the aisle just outside the purse section and I find something that I like. Creepy Guy walks up and mumbles something again. “Go away,” I tell him bluntly. “Are you a man?” he demands. “More than you’ll ever be,” I think, but I figure now is not the time for a snappy comeback. Instead I give him my best I’m-gonna-fuck-you-up stare and say: “Go. Away. Now.” Creepy Guy finally gets the message and scurries off before I tell him that I’m sure his friends would be amused if he got his ass kicked by a guy in dress.

Fortunately, the check-out counter was 10 feet away, so if things had really escalated I could’ve yelled for store security. As it was, I just went over there bought the purse (in part figuring Creepy Guy wasn’t about to confront me while I was in line) and did make sure on the way out to check that he wasn’t waiting for me.

All-in-all, definitely an eye-opening experience. I was about the same size as Creepy Guy if it ended up getting physical, but I can only imagine what it’s like if you know the guy harassing you is bigger and stronger.

I’ve stopped writing about every outing I do because they’ve become fairly “normal” to me. But I had a couple nice experiences recently that I wanted to share.

Two weekends ago, I went to the drag show in San Francisco with Patsy (where we met Kew and a friend of her’s). After the show I was talking to various people in the bar and ended up giving make-up advice to two different women. Ironic, huh. (They’d mentioned how good I and the drag queens looked, and how they didn’t have a clue when it came to make-up.) I didn’t really give them any specific advice as much as reassuring them that if I could learn how to do it, so could they. But the best part was when one of them said she assumed I was a woman until I spoke—flattery will get you everywhere young lady….

Then last weekend Transgender San Francisco arranged a make-over day at MAC —everyone got a full one-hour makeover with no obligation to buy anything (although I’m sure most folks probably did). They did it in upstairs room at the local Bloomie’s (the closest to home I’ve ever been out dressed). The artists were really sweet—although one of them was trying to persuade me to try some blue eye shadow. A baby blue, but still….guess I’m just not fashion-forward enough.

Afterwards, as I was walking down the hall, a Bloomie’s employee came out of the break room to also catch the elevator. She did a brief double-take, but that could’ve just been seeing a customer on an “employee” floor. She was curious what was going on, so I told her about the makeover session and that it had been organized by TGSF. She said, “Oh, that’s nice.”

I decided to do a little shopping so I swung by the women’s department (not that I could afford anything there, but I might as well look). When I got there, a somewhat fiesty saleswoman was working with a customer who obviously must be a regular—and apparently a bit of shopaholic. So the saleswoman was giving her the thumb-ups or thumbs-down on outfits—telling her (half-jokingly) that she wasn’t going to sell her things that would never make it out of the closet. Meanwhile, she asked if I needed help and we started making small talk. I remarked that since I’ve got a small closet, , I make it a rule that whenever I buy something new something old has to go. (A rule I almost follow.) The saleswoman shouted into the dressing room, “Hey, you need need to hear what this lady said….” It wasn’t being inducted into the Great Mysterious Discussions of Womanhood or anything, but they let me take part in their bantering as if I was just another woman, and it was….nice.

Finally, I went in for my haircut this week and also got a pedicure and manicure. I’d come out to two of the nail techs last month and since one is pretty interested in my crossdressing, I wanted to show her my latest photos from my makeover. But since I hadn’t gotten around to making prints, I just brought along my laptop, since I was going after work. Which worked out well because the third tech who’d seen my “Halloween” photo—but who was on vacation last month—was there so I could show her my other photos (I’m sure the other techs had told her about me).

But by the time they’d finished manicure and I could get out the laptop (while they finished up the pedicure), another customer had come in her pedicure and was at the station next to me. “What pictures?” she asked. “You’ll see…” I said. The funny thing is I wasn’t even nervous—I’d figured I’ll probably not run into her again. So I pulled up the pictures and turned it in the direction or her and the nail techs. “That’s you!” “Yes, I’m a crossdresser,” I said.

She seemed pretty cool about it, so we ended up have a bit of chat—it turns out her daughter was a lesbian and she’d actually hired a transsexual who’d transitioned. Although, it turns out she didn’t know a thing about crossdressers (and not as much as she thought she knew about transsexuals), so I ended up doing a bit of Trans 101 education. The only downer was at the end, when she said I’d need to find a “special woman” who’d appreciate me. Gee, thanks…. I know it’s true, but you don’t have to rub my nose in it, even if unintentionally.

But it was just nice to not compartmentalize myself. To just say, “this is who I am.”

Patsy and I recently saw Ute Lemper (a singer who specializes in German cabaret) and I was reminded of Helen’s thoughts on wanting paper lanterns by part of the chorus in one of the songs Lemper sang—Friedrich Holländer’s “Münchausen.”

Truth is hard and tough as nails
That’s why we need fairy tales
I’m all through with logical conclusions
Why should I deny myself illusions?

Obviously, one doesn’t want to live solely in a fantasy world, but like Blanche DuBois sometimes we need a little time-out from the harsh, bare bulb of fact. And in fact the full chorus makes clear Hollander is really talking about trying to maintain hope admist disappointment.

Liar liar liar liar liar liar
I’m sick and tired of lies from you
But how I wish your lies were true
Liar liar liar liar liar liar
Truth is hard and tough as nails
That’s why we need fairy tales
I’m all through with logical conclusions
Why should I deny myself illusions?

In a way, being trans is a bit like being an actor, musician or writer. The odds of “making it” are such a long shot that it’s no surprise that many of them have titantic egos—you have to almost a willful ignorance of the realities in order to pursue your dream. The dream of many trans-folk is just being able to live a regular life like everyone else, which can be tough when all too often some people see us as freaks. (I wonder, how many of those who have stared and giggled at “that guy in a dress” would have the balls to go out in public knowing full well that they could face that sort of ridicule?) So sometimes we need illusions to keep ourselves going.

Now it turns out I’d actually misheard the lyrics initially, and (with apologies to Hollander) I actually prefer my mishearing:

Life is hard and tough as nails
That’s why we need fairy tales
I’ve reached a logical conclusion
Why should I deny myself illusions?

It’s not about a choice between harsh reality or illusions, it’s choosing that one can have both. Of course, mistaking one for the other can be problematic. But just because it can be a problem doesn’t mean it inherently is. To build on a thought from Helen: Sure it can make sense to tell a kid that a Superman costume won’t make him able to actually fly—especially if he’s standing next to the window. But if all he wants to do is lay on the top of the couch with his Superman costume on and insist he’s flying, what’s the harm in letting him indulge that illusion for awhile?

After all, while Baron von Münchhausen “acquired a reputation for his witty and exaggerated tales; at the same time, he was considered an honest man in business affairs.”

Donna related an experience of a woman coming up to her on the subway and telling her “I know what you are”—only to turn out the woman said, “That’s right! You’re Jewish, aren’t you! I can tell from your nose!” instead of that Donna was transsexual.

Which, as Helen noted, was an interesting illustration of how what you’re thinking might not match what someone else is thinking when you think you’re getting read.

Interestingly my Pilates instructor, C., had a similar thought along those lines. I’d been telling her about my weekend, including going to the mall and getting stared it. She wanted to know why I assuming the worse, saying she’d stared at trans people before (I’m the first one she knows personally) but that was because she was admiring the artistry and skill they showed in their presentation.

In a different forum, some of the women pointed out of that women generally get looked at more in public in men do—so it could be simply that instead of being read.

And the woman who helped me find my latest wig and otherwise improving my appearance warned me that being prettier meant I would probably catch more people’s eyes—and I needed to decide whether I was ready for that.

So as long as no one’s giggling, I can at least tell myself there are reasons I might be getting stared at that aren’t the ones I fear.

Ran across an interesting set of portraits of transmen and transwoman by photographer Jana Marcus, whose exhibit about transmen opened in Santa Cruz last weekend and runs through June 30 at the Institute of Contemporary Art. An online slideshow also includes her portraits of transwoman.

The show received stellar reviews from the alternative weeklies in Santa Cruz and San Jose, where the exhibit, which was included in Photo District News’ “Best Photos of the Year 2005” annual, showed previously. Marcus pairs the formalist portraits with interviews, some quite moving, with her subjects.

Unfortunately, I missed the opening reception, but I’ll have to go check it out.