Five for ’10, Part III: The Joy of Shopping

The full time woman has, it seems to me, a life time to develop a signature look, a style sweet spot. I imagine that this is a gradual and glacial learning process, sedimentary layers of progress, a long slow bake of hits and misses. For women inclined to caring about style, the learning opportunities abound. Shopping in the company of friends, and talking about clothes is so much more a socially acceptable, indeed expectable behavior for the fairer sex than it is for the less fair.

Therefore I submit, dear friends, that those of us who come around to possession of a female wardrobe by, shall we say, less than conventional means, are desperately handicapped in the style sweepstakes. As with many things in life, overcoming a handicap takes thought, patience and determination, trial and error, and above all, practice, practice and more practice. 

I practiced like quite the possessed young thing this past year. The practice has paid off in what I have to say is the signature achievement of the year for me. I have become consciously competent at knowing what to wear.

Patience is the primary virtue now, and patience pays off at the sales counter. I was impatient once this year. I responded to a swoon impulse and came home with a tunic I love, but dammit, I paid full retail, I still feel poorly about that. The sting diminishes when I consider the following Top Five steals, staples and statements, my best shopping moments of the year.

Up Top: I have a couple of silk shirts for guy wardrobe, and I have to confess that I always feel just a little suspect when wearing them, as though I am engaged in something unmanly, engaged in something unsavory. I don’t have any hang ups about unmanly, but unsavory catches rather in my throat. Rather a shame really, because I quite like the feel of silk. Here the life of Petra is a real bonus. A silk blouse is cool, it glides, no preening, all polish. Mine, from Ann Taylor at a 78% discount from a $90.00 full retail tag down to $20.00. Well made, it will last years and not date. I already have it down to $6.67 / wear. Couldn’t help going back out the next day to grab the purple one.

Down Below: More purple. Purple is a color that feels the same way in my drab wardrobe as silk does. I have purple, I just don’t feel like I fully own it, it is a color that takes dominion over my personality, and so guy me shies away from it. Again, rather a shame, because it is a gorgeous color and suits my complexion well. And again, Petra to the rescue, loving the whole regal vibe that comes along the color of Queens. I extended my license to wear purple to my feet this year, finding in late spring in the clearance racks at Macy’s a terrific, classic closed toe pump with a 3 1/2” stiletto (just my style) marked down to $20.00 from $70 for a 71% win.

‘Round the Middle. It is tough to pick a single bloom from the crowded garden. I am ashamed to admit that I own 18 skirts and all but two of them delight me. As a garment class, my average skirt retails for $82.00, and was purchased for $19.00. I think in hindsight that my first move away from the severely tailored, classic pencil cut into a more contemporary, clingy, knit style skirt was a big step for me. This was the garment that convinced me that I could and should dress young. This revelation broadened my horizons considerably, So hats off to the I.N.C. grey and black bandage skirt, retail $79.00, discounted 72% to $23.00.

On the Legs. It took me until November of last year to finally get around to trousers. This seems, in an odd way, to be a slightly seditious form of cross Cross Dressing. In any event, I wrote about the whole happy ordeal here if you missed it first time around. Having a couple of pairs of smart strides broadens my potential range considerably. Clearly it is not possible to practically and convincingly inhabit la Monde Féminine in skirts and dresses alone. Finding a pair of classic, low waisted, 5 pocket style stretch denims on my first attempt was a huge win. Finding them at $15.00 down from an original sticker of $69.00 was practically a heart stopper.

On the Town. It is fitting that my last transaction of the old year should be the most triumphant one. The first (real) Little Black Dress. This is a real threshold purchase, right up there with first knickers, first breast forms, first wig, and other big firsts. The LBD is a totemic item, it is bequeathed with social significance. Light as a feather, yet possessed of a power to stop people in their tracks. This frothy number certainly stopped me in my tracks in late December at Ann Taylor. A strapless cascade of tulle ribbons to mid-thigh, a luxurious merengue of femininity, originally listed at $250.00. For reasons that passeth understanding a small clutch of these beauties survived a seemingly endless series of markdowns, all the way to a mere, laughable $30.00. I happened upon my LBD on a +40% off day, and so picked it up for pennies under a practically insulting $18.00. I won’t have much on when I wear this to a gala evening at SCC later this year, but the dress is bound to be the least costly part of the ensemble. I am still shocked, and delighted to have had such good fortune on such a seminal first find. O, it feels like a million bucks, and I must say, looks rather fetching too. On the model too.

I will close with this thought: Shopping is, for most people, in and of itself, a pretty shallow undertaking. I think though, that shopping has the potential to be something of value and meaning to, well, the likes of we if we apply a little care to it. Each of these Five top moments in wardrobe building were executed in drab, but called upon every ounce of feminine intuition and aesthetic potential that I am capable of finding. It is good to be able to touch those parts of the self, and cater to them, on demand, without all the overhead that goes into actually presenting as Petra. Not quite the real thing, but it goes a long way in between full immersions, yes?

 I hope you have great luck in the shops this year. Would love to hear of your best wins too. Comments welcomed always.

Meet the Frockers

Yes friends, here we are deep into the manic month, dreaded and delightful December. The dread has much to do with just how many things need doing, and the generally worsening weather in which they get done.

The delight is abundant though. Contemplative finishing stitches are put on the waning year, loved ones are loved, and one receives a little love in return. Sometimes too in December, we get to witness, or precipitate a random act of kindness, stranger to stranger, the little miracles of humanity that seem most important when the Sun is at it’s furthest remove. Watch for it. Heart warming stuff is nearby, and is a pleasant relief from other year end rituals like spittle flecked, profanity laced shouting matches over possession of the last damned parking spot within marching distance of the mall.

It is a lovely time of year too for people with an eye for style. Women do make an extra effort with themselves even with all the chaos. Whether it’s an office party, a dinner party with friends, or a seething, sullen and uncommunicative custody hearing, you just know that looking a little better, newer, more special is OK, welcomed, even expected. The bigger and later in the day, the bigger the effort, the better the looks.

Most chaps out there look forward to a little harmless ogling. Me? I take notes. There is so much more to pay attention to, to be mesmerized by. The color, shape, glitter and glamour dials get cranked up to 11 (one louder). Nails are brighter, eyes smolder like a tire dump fire, hair is teased out and pumped up, perfume descends like sunset in the desert.

Accessories too, the sparkling little clutch with room enough only for lip gloss, a credit card and a condom is held by a bare arm, draped in a diaphanous tasseled shawl. Rings and bracelets catch light even in dark rooms, subtly and not-so-subtly saying to the world “yes, I am all that, and at least one person agrees with me…”

Comfort falls by the wayside as far as shoes go too. Strappy sandals, beguiling d’Orsays, glittering, beribboned, velvety, metallic, anything but dull, and anything but flat. You see, one wants to drive the height up a bit and really look people in the eye, perhaps from an unexpected angle. Indeed, with the shoes and hair done just so, a 6” change in altitude is not out of the realm of the possible.

This sudden change in presence draws attention to plunging necklines, fabulous necklaces, polished pendants poised just so, nestled warmly upon more brazenly displayed busts, pushed up, powdered, perfumed and proud.

All of this is lovely yes, but for me, the High Holidays are also the time of High Hemlines. And for this, here in the Church of Petra, can we get an Amen? Hell yes.

I was out this past weekend to join friends at the year end Tri-Ess / Sigma Epsilon gathering. I went high of hem, and had a high old time. It was party number 2 of a longish day, requiring a drastic change of appearance during the intermission. I would have like to have taken more time with the maquillage, but December schedules do not always allow the luxury of time.

My party frock for the evening, a foxy little number from Macy’s, picked up for a relative song had been quietly waiting on the sidelines and hoping to be called up to the big leagues since early October. I had such fun with her in the fitting room (story here), I was very much looking forward to her debut evening.

With coat off and over my arm, I followed the wrong party sounds navigating my way through the hotel and wound up in an impromptu chat with a couple of gentleman loitering outside what I took to be a Korean jewelry merchants soiree. My silver accessories attracted positive notice. I did take a look back over my shoulder once they had steered me in the correct direction and can claim a little giddily that the rest of the visible me did too. That’ll straighten your shoulders in a hurry friends.

I soon found the right room. This was only my second social with my local support group, and so most of the faces were new to me, and vice versa. The average attendee, there with a supportive spouse, was an empty nester freed up in later years to better explore themselves without the prying eyes of kids about the house. The ladies of this great generation did go all out for the evening. Lots of glitter in evidence, a very happy celebration.

There were a handful of late Baby Boomers like me in attendance, and a even a young 20 something with a complexion to kill for (I am mad jealous Grace), but I felt as though I was amongst the youngest in the room. It was nice to say hello to a couple of friends I had met at SCC this past autumn too, Phoebe, Heather Anne and Megan amongst them.

Here is a little observation for my fellow denizens of the online world. We (or perhaps, just me) think of the CD/TG world as being a sub set of people who spend countless hours browsing blogs, social networks, chat rooms and the like to learn more about and participate in our gender driven lives. As it happens, there are a lot of nice people out there who managed to get to a comfortable place with themselves (and with their partners too) without much reliance on the Internet. Who knew?

Fellow bloggers will know just how much a nice comment on a post means. Well, to be told in person that ones blog is read and enjoyed goes even further. I was actually recognized as Petra of Voyages en Rose infamy. Some top moments of the evening were provided by people who tottered over to introduce themselves. I enjoyed a good long chat with Milla and Teresa, (killer pant suit Teresa) in from neighboring Alabama who said some wonderful warm things the writing found here. This is a conversation starter absolutely certain to engage my full attention. I was late (and unprepared for) the gift exchange, but new friends are no doubt the better gift.

I was a little surprised, and shouldn’t be in hindsight, that in another conversation, I was asked if I was the person behind “that blog with all the pantyhose posts”. Guilty as charged. You are what you write, I suppose. For the record, this evening I was sporting a lovely pair of Gerbe Sun Satin 8’s, and yes they felt great. I will be doing up a full review of these fine sheers on a more mainstream lingerie/fashion blog in the not too distant future.

It was a lovely evening. Long time readers know that I put pretty good care into wardrobe, and am not shy about clingy, fashion-forward looks. This evening however was really the first time that I dressed for display. One wants to look good always, yes, but typically the Cross Dresser dresses to blend in, to be noticed perhaps, but not to stand out. A holiday party is a nice change from the typical routine. Standing out, standing tall, shining brightly and revelling in the effect is special. I better understand today just how this time of year is celebrated by the beautiful women in my life. Such a feminine privilege, the opportunity to really go all out for a night out.

I do hope that you all get a chance to get dolled up a once or twice over the busy holidays. It is a nice gift to the self, and to all the people around you too, regardless of how you appear every other day of the year. If you have seen and met some nice Holiday Frockers, I would love to hear from you, an consider your comments to be a real gift.

Cross Dressing Senses: Sound Edition

Sight and Touch are two of the five Senses easily alighted when you dress well for a special occasion. Fashion-hungry female readers of Voyages en Rose know this as well as (or better than) periodic Cross Dressers. We, all of us though, have other Senses, hungry ones too who get a little less attention from wardrobe elements. Today’s essay has to do with one of the Senses less obviously catered to, the Sense of Sound, and is written for anyone with the precious and all too fleeting gift of hearing.

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The other day, a new threshold of experience was attained, just then, fully dressed in the quiet moments before taking the air en Femme.

The skirt I had selected for the day was typical in terms of shape: a black, slim and fitted pencil cut, back-zipped and slit, seated quite high on the waist, and cut a couple of inches above the knee. This skirt, in black leather, is an assertive, highly visible fashion statement that never fails to seize my attention when I see a woman so outfitted. This is a look certain to rivet the attention of the female set too. Watch for it the next time you see a leather skirt, pay mind to the reactions of other women in the room. The leather skirt gets seen. Reactions on the faces and given voice to ranging from “you bitch, you look great” to pensive admiration, to puritanical disdain at such a daring outfit.

Again, driven in part by envy as I am, I have long wanted to stand in the eye of this little storm system. I did, just last week, find a day-appropriate leather (ok, synthetic pleather) skirt at Macy’s. With a couple of coupons and great luck in the clearance rack I managed the heist for a mere $21.00 down from $80.00. I need yet another shortish black skirt like I need toilet tissue on my heel, but leather was, I felt, underrepresented in my wardrobe. So there.

She fits perfectly and has the impact on posture, movement and stride that one expects from a well fitted skirt, but it came with an added, unexpected, and delightful bonus. Like any tailored skirt, it has a slick lining (acetate in this case) that facilitates comfort, a smooth exterior finish and relative ease of motion.

The lining being moored to a completely inelastic skirt exterior though, taken with the real restriction on stride length inherent in the figure hugging cut created a Sound, a gorgeous, upper case "S", Sound that provided me with one of the most rewarding sensory pay-offs from these years of self examination and wardrobe exploration: The soft, subtle and unmistakable swish of sleek lining across nyloned thigh. An absolute Choir of Hushed Angels between my knees.

Swish.

The skirt guards against lengthening of step, or hurrying from Point A to Point B. In fact, making any distance with a modicum of grace necessitates much more swiveling of hip, shifting of rump, and tightly circling thigh than any other garment I possess. One is encouraged to adopt the exaggerated prowlish motion of the catwalk. This walk, dear friends, is not an affectation: it is a practical imperative. And it amplifies the Sound.

Swish, swish.

These soft woodwind notes join the percussive meter of the stiletto heel on hardwoods, tiles and pavements in a satisfying swell of music. Dramatic punctuations from the brass section herald such movements as the ascent up and on to the leather upholstered car seat, derriere first, with knee-locked legs swinging in behind. The sizzling crescendo when sinking deeply on to a couch, or attendant upon straightening the skirt and tucking the blouse, all of it very evident in ones quiet and newly self aware aural center. While others paid some attention to my appearance, I was drenched in this music, a private channel delivered with terrific reception even in a room crowded and buzzing with ambient sound tracks.

Swish, swish, swish.

And to close this small symphony, the dénouement notes, the diminuendo, muffled snare of the zip, sadly undone at the end of the day, heralding the long sibilant slide of skirt from high on hip to pooled at feet. A deflated, briefly sustained and mournful cello grace note from the now formless, collapsed and accordioned skirt signaling the end of a magical, musical performance.

Encore. Bravo. Encore.

If you like music, and you like the look of a nice leather(ish) skirt, I encourage you treat yourself to a little shopping, and to treat your ears to a little night music. There is a positively operatic selection of them online and in stores at Macy's.

And if this fun is not on your program today, I would be so happy if you might share your favorites Sounds of dressing here today in the form of a comment. I’m all ears.

My pals, M.A.C. and Macy

Long time readers will know of my smoldering love affair with the nice people at M.A.C. Skilled staff working with terrific cosmetics, in settings that are 100% free of the possibility of a hassle about gender/wardrobe incongruity. Lovely people with an abundance of passion and personality. Really, they had had me at "yoo-hoo!"

My inaugural M.A.C. trip was chronicled here. I have been back on a few occasions, slowly padding out the color palette and generally adding to my arsenal of tools and skills in matters of maquillage. I have also been discovering how beguiling a business the beauty biz is. The array of shades, textures, purposes, tools and etc. is practically infinite. And as is the case with shoes, you can never have all the stuff you want, or feel that you need. Again, as is the case with shoes, there is the possibility of a more attractive, more noticeable, more unique you, right there that you can try on and take away with you.

Unlike shoes though, the price points are low to the extent that it is easier to say yes, easier to open the purse and treat yourself.

Yes, this whole beauty business courts the client well, and pushes the buttons of borderline addictive personality types (moi? Pas de tout!) quite expertly. That and my seemingly inevitably destitute non-retirement aside, things are slowly picking up for me on the beauty front. I have been motivated in this effort in part by words of, well, perhaps words of encouragement is not the perfect word, from Mrs. Bellejambes.

“You look like you are wearing makeup. Too much of it. Way. Too. Much.”

Hmmm. In fairness I had to agree. I had been for some time using a Dermablend concealer/foundation cream and finishing powder, and really I have no complaint with the quality of the products. In hindsight though the advice I got at the ULTA shop where I picked them up was inexpert. They got my skin tone wrong.

I have switched over now to a couple of M.A.C. products that I highly endorse. Concealer here and finishing powder here. Terrific finishes, not invisible, but closer to it, close as I might get, or can expect to get given flaws of complexion.

If hitting a makeup counter en femme is beyond your reach or the limits of your nerve, really do not hesitate to engage with a technician in drab. Explain your requirements. Offer your hand up as a test area. Getting a quality product on your skin is easy. Getting the tone right is not. So give a technician a chance to get it right, and it will pay dividends in the form of beauty. If you feel as though you are invading a territory you are standing out like a sore thumb in, get over it. Chaps buy gifts all the time. And unless it is 9:30 A.M. you are likely not the first Cross Dresser they have met on the day of your visit.

Earlier this week I popped into the M.A.C. Pro Shop in Atlanta Perimeter for an inexpensive treat. My false lashes were not going to stand another wear, and so I dressed fully, did the make-up entirely minus my eyes, put a big pair of starlet sunglasses on and waded into the mall. I worked with a lovely technician for about 45 minutes getting a beautiful new pair of eyes painted on for the price of new lashes and a couple of shadow colors. I wanted these colors in any event (this is my year of purples and lilacs), and watching a pro work for basically no extra charge is great value. With a happy new look on, and the little extra confidence in the stride that goes along with it, it was time to say so long to Mac, and to drop in on dear friend Macy.

I really took my sweet time getting from A to B, and for a couple of reasons. Firstly, men rush through malls. A lady does not. I do still consciously need to moderate my pace of movement en femme. Next, and of equally vital import, you cannot really see what other people are looking at when moving at man-pace. So, in between longing looks at window displays and mental notes on the wardrobes of younger, hipper, prettier things than your correspondent, I was meeting eyes to see what was in them.

Lots, as it happens.

For the most part, males of the species who do notice you scan you pretty quickly. Top to toe with a slight pause somewhere between necklace and belt. Hmmm. I am glad that I am not too busty a lass. I think it might get tiresome. Legs, yes, they get a look too. How many of them perceived a difference about me beneath the surface? Surely some. Not one of them though betrayed shock, alarm, delight, bemusement or any strong sentiment by their facial reactions. And their eyes, when met go elsewhere. Just, kind of look away and move on.

And the women? Much better watchers. Again, they are moving more slowly, and are more receptive. There is a longer look, it takes in more details, but goes right back to the face. And then a Mona Lisa smile. The smile mostly seems to impart a message that goes like so:

“Wow, look at you. You are a guy, dressed as a woman, getting away with it, kind of, maybe mostly, but I got you, didn’t I?”.

And then the eyes lock on yours. This is a real invitation to engagement. I felt as though I was losing a game when I looked away. It is tough to not look away though, in a feigned act of indifference to the scrutiny, or simply because I am so easily befuddled and confused by women.

In the jungle of the mall though, there is no doubt that the women are the Alpha predators, the Lions, and the chaps are either feral packs of teenage hyenas or easily herded stray lone herbivores.

Several herbivores had been corralled in fact into a nice pen just outside of a massive warren of fitting rooms in Macy’s. Rather a sad looking bunch, docile and sleepy, sunken into a too low peach-shade sectional couch. Penalty box, purgatory and not pleasant for the lads. Their lasses were obscured from view, doors slamming, hangers flying, winners and losers determined inside the fitting room, and in my 15 minutes or so within earshot of the place not once did I hear a woman say, “honey, what do you think of this?”

What I did hear was one of the Macy’s shop assistants engage in a lengthy and clearly expert discussion with the 4 or 5 guys in the antechamber to the fitting room about football. While I bided my time removing chunky jewelry, peeling off my cardigan, stepping slowly out of my skirt, unbuttoning and hanging up my blouse, on and on they went. The Macy's staffer really knew her stuff. Back and forth they talked and trash-talked sounding like something off ESPN, expert analysis, analysis that was way over my head, and moreover, of no particular interest.

What was of interest was just how perfectly my dress fit (mine is blue, her sister is pictured here). This feeling, is visceral. Everybody on the planet deserves to know just how fine the moment is when you try a dress on and can believe, if only for an instant, that this is as good as this dress can look. It is a wonderful feeling. I could have kept the feeling to myself. But I am more generous than that. Perhaps generous is not the right word for this moment though.

On the way in, I had noticed the tailors platform and panoramic mirror complex just next to where the chaps were seated. I wanted a better look at my soon-to-be-mine dress. I knew that this would come at the expense of giving everyone in the bleachers a look too. And I did not mind. I admit it. I sought the moment out. I felt, I believe, for the first time as though I was the Alpha predator.

Conversation slowed and then stopped while I exhaustively, critically 360’d myself in the 3-way mirror.

“Great dress” says the nice Macy’s lady, slowly, after some moments of silence.

The lads were wordless.

They both were right.

Fall Sewn Up

In a post last week I wrote about a couple of successful shopping excursions. I doubled down and stocked up again this week. I don’t want to be paying retail for new gear when emerging from Drabatical 2010 in September at the SCC Conference. I have been closing gaps in the wardrobe at a great clip lately, but do you know, completion in this matter remains much like the vanishing point of a desert horizon. Forward progress seems not to bring it very much closer in.

Yes, gaps remain in the wardrobe, and I suppose they always will, but I had spied some Fall/Winter 09 winners still on the rails, ready for adoption, and knocked down to near nothing. I promise you this is the last “look what I found”, gloat-a-thon post of the year. I have made this same solemn promise to my budget.

Back to Macy’s again. The previously mentioned ombre bandage skirt from I.N.C. has a big sister, a very sleek scuba-chic number similar to the sunnier summer one pictured here at left with two minor tweaks: Mine is black, all glorious black, and has long fitted sleeves with a nice zip detail from wrist cuff to mid-arm. After all the knock-downs, coupons and such a mere $23.76 down from $99.00.

The black crop jacket I picked up earlier still had a twin of a slightly different complexion left behind, and I think they deserve to be together come the rapture. The twin is a big, high, hot pink and represents a promise I have made to myself to shake up my color palette a tad. Outside of the odd splashy animal print I have picked up along the way, I have been stuck in a dark monochromatic rut too long. I don’t want to wind up looking like a real estate agent with a Goth heart. So, the ruffle collar flared short coat is in, lit up brightly at the same 76% off list, $23.76.

Drab mode, I took these two up the cash register and the very attractive young sales assistant, had a suggestion about a couple of other things she was sure I would like. We did not chat about particulars, but it was quite clear that we both knew that I was shopping for myself. Sometimes one needs a little encouragement to explore new territory, and bless her heart I am glad she provided it. Pictured at right is the faux-rubber mini. A bit young, yes, and a look that is a bit less reserved than I typically go to, but it feels and fits, well … wow in a word. If I ever do any Karaoke en femme, I have an outfit ready to go. $17.70.

I was hypnotized by the skirt well enough to not notice the other little black shawl collar toreador jacket she quietly insisted into my bag. 2 pieces, $40.00. Thanks Katisha!

There is a mathematical problem one is left to solve when working with separates like jackets and skirts. The solution was found in the clearance racks of JC Penney. I have said before that JCP is today a different and much more fashion forward store than the one I remember from youth. Target (love Target) has garnered a lot of publicity in style circles of late with the addition of Zac Posen and Rodarte lines amongst others to their apparel lines, but I swear to my now stuffed closet that JCP is a real competitor.

My problem has (had I suppose) to do with tops. I have not enough. The blouse is the great multiplier element, an inexpensive way to create new combinations and permutations of more expensive staple items. Theoretically, well selected tops reduce the need to acquire costly new staples. In theory I stress. Problem solved, five colorful tops, with a variety of alluring, lace and net camouflage elements, splashes of color, washer/dryer ready, comfy fits and crazy price points.

Total layout of ~ $40.00 for north of $200 worth of tops, tops that are really rich with all the elements that make dressing very special ... full sleeves, suggestive transparencies, sleek silky fabrics, cling here and there, delicate fasteners at neck and cuff. They all work with items in the wardrobe and confer much versatility. I am done. I must be.

All the math, the quantitative $ & cent stuff is in the spreadsheet here. I have been taking note of my purchases in the hopes of learning something, I do not know what, but something at some point. At the very least, being a conscious shopper should help keep things in check, yes? If you measure it, you can manage it, right?

So, yes, there have been some real quantitative wins. What I have learned of late though has more qualitative upside than quantitative. The qualitative stuff has to do with the tasty fruit of shopping well. I believe I have developed criteria for finding things. Those thoughts will appear here next week in the form of an essay (or two) that describes some of the general rules I now carry at an increasingly reflexive level when shopping. These are thoughts that I genuinely hope you will be able to take and remake in your own image, for your own image as you go about treating yourself to the odd pretty thing.

Happy dressing and everything else in the meantime.

A Tale of Two Sorties

Historically dear friends, I have been good at saving for the future, but not spending for it. Buying things off-season for events far away on the horizon implies that one plans on being there at that time. Life is not so certain in my view, and so I try not tempt the fates. I do make some exceptions. I buy bananas while they are still green, and I do lay down a case or 2 of wine every year that I may not touch for five or 10, but that is it really. I am just (again, historically) not a strategic consumer.

Things change, yes, when we allow things to.

As I have allowed myself more free access to my feminine sensibilities I am finding an increasing capacity for planning ahead in matters of shopping. Perhaps, in part, my behavior is tilting from male hunter mode to female gatherer mode as a result of the long leash that Petra is operating on. There is more to it than that of course.

Clearly, when I shop, I am making up for lost time and real gaps in a wardrobe. I consider that I am still very much an apprentice in shopping for non-guy things, and so feel quite happy to put real time into the effort. With practice, I am finding this sort of consumerism to be really enjoyable. Economical too, which is a very real requirement. Spending wisely is a responsibility to the home and future that I share with Mrs. B after all.

So, yes, I have been shopping even though I have no expectation of dressing and enjoying life en femme until September. This post is a little dispatch on a couple of recent sorties.

Macy’s has been on a fairly serious clearance binge these last couple of weeks, and prices on remnants of Winter 09 and early Spring/Summer ’10 have been gutted to a delightful, even shocking degree.

Let us agree that the contemporary women needs a leather jacket. I have had a picture of this item in the back of my mind for some time. Nicely cropped to a high waist, and clean of line. Less biker-chick and more lounge-chic. The found item has just the impact I was looking for. One’s first leather jacket is a meaningful wardrobe commitment. The Cross Dresser is fortunate: we can get that moment twice in one life. $180.00 retail, picked up for $31.00, an 83% discount.

Tucked beneath it (picture above, click to enlarge) was a piece that I have been lusting after for some time. Like the jacket, this clingy stretchy bandage skirt is from I.N.C. International Concepts. Colors graduate from a pale grey, through blue and into black at the mid-thigh hem. Comfy and current, versatile and a huge value. This is a really nice knock-off a BCBG piece that was haunting my day dreams and threatening my wallet at more than double the Macy’s list price of $79.00 earlier this year. Patience paid off as I picked mine up for $22 and change, 72% off list.

Cozy beside the bandage skirt in the chaotic clearance rack was a sleek short number that caught my eye. I need another black skirt like I need a poke in the eye from a mascara wand, but I had to look twice. Always did love the look of a faux-wrap skirt. I believe that this one will go from day to evening without offending any style gods. Measured by % discount, at 85 points off this is my all-time greatest heist and a mere $11.85. At this price, so what if I already have two others that are more or less twins?

I have a hard time leaving casinos on a winning streak, and that foolhardy strain surfaced again later that same day. I had a meeting soon after Round 1 that brought me near to another Macy’s where 2 more items were added. One does get caught up in the fever after all and so I found myself at the finish of the work day back in the I.N.C. racks at Perimeter Mall. I felt that, at worst, by idling for an hour or so I would miss full crush of evening commute traffic home. I did better than worst.

I was able to add a lightweight, 3 season, cropped cutaway, fully lined flannel jacket with a pretty ruffled collar, smartly nipped at the waist, flaring nicely to hip height at side and back. Lots of interesting pleating details at the back of the jacket too. Again, I.N.C, again, super versatile and a wonderful fit. A mere $22.70 down from an even $100.00. Score. Here now, for your benefit, a couple of bonus shopping tips.

First, the clearance racks are typically organized by size, but organized is a relative term. You should always graze up and downstream. Nothing is where it belongs, and the further the garment is from its proper size bracket, the greater the likelihood that it has been missed by your competition. My charming little jacket was found lost amongst the X-Larges.

Advanced bargain hunter Tip #2 has to do with gravity and the savagery of busy shoppers: Really nice things actually fall off of hangers. I kid you not, friends, look and see what has dropped to the carpet. There are diamonds at your feet. Case in point, my last find of the day, a shimmering grey silk blouse with full yards of tuxedo-shirt pleating, a demure Mandarin collar and very full and feminine sleeves that finish at nicely tailored cuffs. Bits of it are pictured above. You are not gauche enough to ask the price, but I am evidently gauche enough to tell you: $20.00 down from $70.00.

A total outlay of ~ $ 110 for just over $500 worth of goods that fit well, are well made, and won’t look dated by the time a chill returns to the air, when the pink tides rolls back in, and I stroll out again in the Autumn.

Can’t wait. You should not wait either. Go plan ahead. Spend on your future. You will be happy you did.

On the other foot.

My wife has periodic outbursts of shoe madness. It would be fair to guess that she owns somewhere in the 50-60 range. Handsome, or pretty, as her stable is, she is a piker relative to some genetic women I know, for whom shoe shopping is a competitive sport. The compulsion to own many shoes is a calling, something that largely passeth the understanding of the normal guy.

The "normal" Voyages en Rose visitor however is exceptional, and perhaps might better understand how people can become mesmerized by the towering heel, the exposed arch, the binding strap and the vast array of shapes and shades that meet the eye when shoe shopping, or when simply admiring the passing, click-clacking feminine parade.

A little over a year ago, I polled readers on shoes. The purpose of the poll was to find out how large the Cross Dressers shoe collections were. The results are pictured at the right. At the time, I owned 4 or 5 pairs, which were perfectly adequate to my needs. This number put me comfortingly in the largest group of respondents (33%).

The next largest group of responses (22% of participants) indicated that they simply could not count how many shoes they owned, or rather, how many pairs they themselves were owned by. This got me to thinking about the similarities of shoes and cats. I have a friend from a former life who confessed to having “18 or 20” cats in the house he shares with his wife. I asked just how in the hell you get to having that large and weirdly uncertain number of cats.

“Not sure, but somewhere we hit a number where the next one just did not seem to make a damn bit of difference”.

My suspicion then was this: Like cats, there is an incremental shoe that puts the household on a practically unstoppable slope. I believe as well that they share a number. The high-heeled, pointy-toe number of no return, the “Tipping Point” number is Five.

I stayed perched on Five for a good long while mindful of its statistical significance. I picked up Pair Six just after emerging from last years Summer Drabbatical. I went through much of the Autumn without adding to the inventory, and in December, Mrs. Bellejambes made a gift of a nice pair of tan Mary Jane’s to me. I held steady at Seven for a good while. But there has been a nagging, persistent little voice calling to me of late.

I came home with Pair Eight a couple of days ago.

I am in the curious position of being capable of self-intervention, and yet a little drawn to the idea of letting things, in the lovely words of Leonard Cohen, slide in all directions.

I have made a few more forays around the shoe sections of shops lately. I left empty handed, certain that I had not seen the perfect thing, but clueless as to what the perfect thing was.

This represents a complete reversal of my guy-mode shopping. I never venture into a shop without a very complete vision of what is required. I do not shop speculatively. But for Petra mode, and of late specifically on the shoe front, a different model is emerging.

I slowly started to develop a sense of the perfect thing. The emerging vision was tied to a recently acquired skirt. The skirt is a grey/black animal print that with a nice purple detail. The skirt required a top, and the universe provided one in the form of a lush, deep purple silk blouse. The black pumps would be fine, perfect in fact, but only one perfect outcome out of many possible states of perfection. The perfect thing seemed over time to resolve in my mind as a purple suede pump.

And lo, there they were, at 70% off, in my size, nesting in a Macy’s clearance rack. Perfect. And then at the next shop, a belt to match. Again, perfect. And then I found myself looking at bags. Exponential possibilities pulled at me. At which point, the expense of letting things “slide in all directions” was becoming abundantly clear. I took a deep breath, and headed for the exit. Self intervention while I still had the wits, will and wallet in tact.

Let me now tender my sympathies to all who have trod upon this slope. I no longer have any mystification about how it can happen that all the closet space in a comfortable house slowly disappears. I have a clearer idea of how seemingly aimless browsing can periodically result in a great win, a feeling of at least temporary completion, of a mission that really has no complete state.

I think that this ever receding horizon, is something that women are more inclined to reach for than men are. Those of us who Cross Dress, or who identify as transgendered, can be easily drawn in to the same compelling game. These thoughts are an extension of my recent ramblings on the Cost of Cross Dressing. These thoughts have now put my in mind of a mathematical model that might explain some of it. I am going to take on the Math of Feminine Dressing in a post next week. After a little shopping sortie en femme today.

Happy Dressing, and everything else.

Long Crossdressing Strides

My wife sometimes thinks as far as a half day ahead when considering what to wear. We cross dressers typically require a little more planning. Perhaps require is the wrong word. I, for one, rather relish thinking about what will work for Petra. And in so far as dressing en femme for the outside world is not a frequent event, I typically do have time to ponder on about exactly what I want to shimmy and slide into next time. Here at least, is a nice, low carbon emitting pastime.

I review 8-10 emails a day from various retailers promoting this look, pimping that coupon and generally provoking my next click with the promise that I too, yes even I, can look as beautiful as the remote, perfect woman pictured within that simply-must-have garment. I follow avant gardiste bloggers gathering intelligence from the glittering trenches of the rag trade. The other day in a dentists lobby the choice between Sports Illustrated and Elle was a no-brainer. I’ll take the pretty over the sweaty any day.

Out in the real world too. I can barely stop writing memos to self. Fueling up the car, hunting for a bunch of bananas less bruised, holding an elevator door open, all around me are women who made fashion choices that register a place on my long and largely unfulfilled wish list. The variety is blinding and crazy-making. I envy them the complexity, the exponential explosion of ensembles that somehow, by some miracle emerge from so many drawers, shelves and closets, so effortlessly assembled and lived in so gorgeously.

My wardrobe is largely built around the dresses that flash a little leg, the skirts that gently and surely constrain the stride within taut fabric, the suits that insist on mindful modesty sliding out of the car seat, or taking a tall chair at a long bar. I do not suspect that will ever change. Truly. The breeze between my knees is the wind beneath my wings. With that said, I am struggling with an urge, a yet unexpressed desire to get into women’s pants.

Now, for the benefit of visitors from The U.K., by pants I mean slacks, not knickers. Well tailored trousers that merchandize curves, lengthen legs, narrow waists and draw eyes from butt to buffed nails. If pants were good enough for Katharine Hepburn, surely they are good enough for me? … I think. There is a curious set of feelings aroused by this next likely fashion statement. I feel like I am considering a little act of sedition within a bigger act of sedition.

For me, and for a few of you perhaps, cross dressing is, in part, an act of rebellion. Even as we embrace feelings and needs deeply wired within, we are thumbing our noses at convention. Hello world, yes, this is me, in a dress. Maybe “passing” from afar but far from passing up close. And now I am considering taking the dress out of cross dressing. I spend years warding off the urge to dress, agonized over accepting myself when I finally realized the fight was futile and wrong headed, and now I want back into pants? How very perverse.

Pants might just represent an interesting fashion frontier though. I suspect that they might have the impact of cloaking me just a little bit --- who is expecting a cross dresser to cover up their legs after all? Slacks have an odd ambiguity to them. On a woman, they are statement ... "I can run with the boys, and look like a girl". This statement is pretty muted these days and demurred by ubiquity. But not so long ago, a grown woman in pants was challenging the status quo and being just a little cheeky. Well, I live to challenge status quo's everywhere, and with the help of my ample padding can be just as cheeky as the next girl.

Perfect pants are de rigueur for the modern woman, can fashionably rise to the requirements of practically any occasion and still possess all the liberation that their design naturally provides. And lord can they look good. I want some of that. I am man enough to admit it.

High-waisted, thin-belted, side-zipped, flare-legged, and long enough at the cuff to insist on a good heel. Paired with a smartly tailored, stretch cotton, French-cuffed, body-fitted blouse. A little bling, a big shawl and a bag to die for. I am looking forward to really legging it about this autumn in this imagined look. Ann Taylor and Macy’s are showing some terrific stuff. The endless racks of TJ Maxx are lined with options I have not taken the time to explore, besotted as I have been by the dresses.

I just feel like its time to mix it up a bit. How about you my dear? Do you have a perfect pair or do you remain faithful to garments with higher hems?

Happy dressing …