Repeat visitors and friends will have witnessed some early stirrings of the old girly game, and for Petra of course, the game begins with the gams. Later this week, I promise a new Panty Hose Parade entry on behalf of my presently, very, electrically happy legs. Givenchy is the name, and glamour is the game.
Here today though, I will divert and discourse on an ageless, ceaseless civil war. Pantyhose vs. Stockings. Your cross dressing correspondent is presumed to be a partisan for the all-in-one, up-and-over pantyhose in this fierce fracas, and while my fondness for them is real and enduring, I am nothing if not versatile, and not in the least doctrinaire on the matter.
Recently I received a note from dear friend Christine over at Chrissie’s Place. She described her own feelings of … well … let us agree to decorously say distaste for pantyhose. We agree on so many other matters of taste, temperament and times I felt as though a little thought and perhaps a well fashioned epistle on the topic might be in order.
The act of fastening a well made stocking top to a garter belt is validation from above that you are, at that moment, special. The very nearly perfectly private show of thigh hardware embossed under ones own tight skirt is a joy to behold. Adding the ever present risk of a slipped stocking to the universe of ladder-inducing threats to gossamer hosiery just amplifies your awareness that you are dressed, studiously and decadently dressed.
Yes, I love stockings. I opined about the sad 60’s revolution that seemed to shake and sadly simplified our foundation garment habits here. I mean every word of it. I was born out of time. I wish that we had never abandoned all the clasps, seams, hooks and eyes that held the stockings, garters and girdles of bygone times. Sadly my views on the matter were not solicited and of course would not have mattered. And so stockings elude our easy day-to-day grasps.
Yes, the gentle and constant strap tugs, the heightened requirement for care in taking a chair, the knowledge that a peek of scallop lace may be available to the innocent and not so innocent bystander, these things are meaningful. From my perspective they are feelings of privilege reserved for the refined woman, genetic or otherwise. And privileges not exercised often enough for my own tastes.
My own tastes are compromised by practicality though. First, there is the shape of my leg. Just not enough flesh at thigh top to be clung to. Stay-ups don’t. And when a true stocking is fastened to the suspender belt, yet another slightly more awkward layer is added to my already complex under-layers. Calls of nature go from a manageable ordeal to an epic battle against the forces of foam, elastic, nylon and lycra. One might crack a sweat and do undue damage to the overall appearance.
Arguably, these are struggles that we privileged cross dressers should delight in. Or at least try more often. Nobody ever said that beauty and allure would come easily. Or if they did, they were not reckoning on my desire to feel beautiful.
And so, back to Betty and Veronica. No doubt, no earthly doubt,Veronica has a top drawer stuffed with stockings and belts and other accoutrements ably deployed in her relentless war against the composure of everyone flocking around her. Betty I suspect does not so dote on her finery. Practical and attractive that Betty is. And while practical I am not in most aspects of life, in the matter of hosiery, I suppose that I am. I will reserve my big romantic flourishes for my writing. And so with the Betty's of the world in mind, you can expect more Panty Hose Parade notes here regularly.
Photo credits go to Secrets in Lace. For those of you inclined more to stockings than pantyhose, go visit, feast your eyes, and crack open the purse for a little treat.
Happy dressing, and everything else. … Petra