Getting out the Vote effort

Some of you are old enough to remember all the way back to last August when I entered myself in a Victoria’s Secret $5,000 shopping spree sweepstakes. Some of you too were kind enough to throw a vote or 2 my way. Weirdly enough, with your help I managed to place #432 out of well over 10,000 contestants in the pretty online melee. Notes on just how close I came to smothering under the weight of a truckload of fully lined brassieres can be found here.

But don’t visit there just now. I am at it again, for a smaller prize, and with better odds I think.

My fashionable friend Miss Neira introduced me to Chictopia some time ago. Chictopia is a kind of Facebook meets Lookbook social network. Younger, prettier and more fashionable people than I congregate there, and so I created a profile and drop in from time to time to see what the style muse is whispering to those in the know.

Well, today I find out that Chictopia has a small Nine West giveaway on the go, and so I have elbowed my way into the “Search for a Stylish Sole” sweepstakes. One can never have too many shoes, and rare are the opportunities to get them for free.

I know, I know, the odds are slight, and stacked against me. But with that said, I came within a single misfiring neuron of adopting the name Dawn Quixote before embracing Petra Bellejambes as my Nom de Femme, so tilting against the windmills of reality is something that comes quite naturally to me.

Tilt with me now, won’t you my dear?

It should be an easy thing. Here, for example is a link. You will land up on a page that looks very much like the one pictured here. Just at the top right of the ensemble snapshot is some kind of votey-widgety-thingy that you should be able to click on without registering for anything. Unless you want to register and create a profile, which is a lovely way to defer taking the garbage out or tidying up the dinner mess for 5 minutes. And unless you think my look is ghastly. But in all honesty, I am just being greedy and grabby and am desirous of your vote. Do I need a platform to run on? OK, here it comes…

If elected I will institute sweeping reform to the Dry Cleaning and Valet Parking industries so that we, all of us, from sea to shining sea, will look more crisp while walking shorter distances into smart restaurants.

I hope that this is a change you can believe in. Again, link to the contest just here.

Momma needs a new pair of shoes. Thanks in advance for your sympathy and support.

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Update: As it happens, some sort of Chictopia registration is required in order to vote. Damn. One of you cheerful people did, and then voted for me, and for this I am grateful. I think I have a better chance if I just self-fund my shopping spree. Alas.

Again, thanks!

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.

Stations of the Crossdresser – Shrine # 1 – Designer Shoe Warehouse

Ramona, my Fashion Consultant and Transformation Expert and I had a few stops planned for the day. And I felt the need to look smart and have some great advice along the way. Ramona is the proprietress of “Explore your Feminine Side” in Atlanta. Two things quickly here:

1. Having a GG with you while shopping is a real plus. Girls have a shopping sonar that I for one do not possess. This is a real time saver. A little easier to navigate fitting rooms too. Additionally, shopping with a friend makes the effort more sociable, and so much less furtive than crossdressers sometimes make it.
2. Looking your absolute best really helps free your mind for the tasks at hand. If you can, do seek professional help. It really makes a huge difference. Thanks Ramona!

Now, back to the shopping. The one chore I simply could not fall short on had to do with the shoes. When I mentioned this need, Ramona suggested that if we could not fill the order at the mall, that DSW would not fail us.

I had dressed for the occasion in a manner that no self-respecting, hyper-shopping, genetic girl would do. Stiletto boots, dressy sheers (Donna Karans thank you very much), the little black skirt at 5 inches above the knee and the leopard print trench coat. We had poor fortune at Lennox Mall. I am a girl on a budget, and the clearance racks had been pretty expertly gleaned. I made a couple of mercy purchases just to work on purse handling technique, but found nothing I could not live without. OK, the lace blouse is indispensible.

We were already 3 hours deep into a mall walk but the gams were still game, the purse not completely pilfered and my shoe closet still lamentably sparse. We decamped the covered parking comfort of Lennox for the more exposed and less upmarket confines of Buckhead Station, home of our nearest Designer Shoe Warehouse. The torrential rain stopped long enough for us to make the dash across the parking lot without my makeup melting away.

For those of you not familiar with this mega-church of stacked heels and pointy toes, imagine an enclosure larger than a football field filled with shoes. Upon entry I swear I perceived the curvature of the planet. I would not have been surprised to hear the alarming “beep beep beep” of airport people movers. Far in the distance, at the very horizon loomed the big clearance racks.

“Is that where we start Ramona?”
“Yes Petra, you learn well, your instincts are good”

Very nice smiles and a “welcome ladies” from 2 of the SA’s on the long walk back for the beginnings of my revenge. Revenge I say because I can barely find men’s shoes in my size, but 8 ½ represents a pretty rich seam in the realms of heels. 3 solid racks of all the odds and ends that made it through a season without finding a decent home. All the sad orphans. It simply breaks ones heart. I start now to understand the maternal feelings that most of my ex-girlfriends have about their shoes, and shoes they have yet to own.

It was relatively easy for me to harden my heart and not come home with armfuls for one reason, and a reason I will encourage all of you to borrow. I went shopping knowing exactly what I was after. In this case, the perfect black dress pump. True and shameful. Strappy sandals and boots I have. Wine shades and browns. Peep toes and patterns. But I have somehow missed on the one pair I would want to wear on the trip through the Pearly Gates. Never too late to atone though.

The clearance racks were not the sweet spot for the perfect pump. The classics never fall that far from grace. But the variety and value for the girl who has everything (except an entirely ruined credit rating) was spectacular. Anywhere from 30-70% off regular DSW prices which are ~ 40% of the department store prices on highly sought after designer labels. I timed myself – it took a full 25 minutes just to consider and walk away from everything in my size.

With resolve and a heavy heart we strolled back into the main pews of the cathedral. Our SA Stephanie was enlisted to do a little of the leg work, and set about it with charming determination. A quick note here on the staff. In broad daylight I think Helen Keller could clock me. Perhaps I am a little hard on myself, but you dear people know what I mean. In any event, my dressing and my gender are, it seems, on planet DSW a complete non-event. Just a gal looking for shoes. And a gal slowly disappearing behind the stacks of boxes served up by Stephanie in her desire to make me even happier.

Many contenders failed in the qualifying rounds owing to the wrong taper on the heel, or too round a toe. The "A Team" was assembled consisting of the BCBG, the Steve Madden and the Nine West and a death match ensued. “R” counseled patience.

“Walk them around the shop. Don’t just go home with the best looking one”.

This struck me as the “get to know them slowly before putting out” equivalent of shoe adoption. And sound advice too. A decent shoe store is one place you are certain to have floor height mirrors in abundance, and that is an opportunity not to be missed. Additionally, one can never get too much practice delicately lowering ones skirted butt onto a try-on stool. The society for the preservation of modesty would have been proud. I really don’t think I flashed anyone.

Ultimately, the Nine West won the pageant, and there is no saying why. Just an understanding between feet and shoe that words cannot adequately express. Either of the runners up will be able to fulfill the duties of my beautiful new matte finish 4” dress pumps should they be stolen.

These are perfect shoes. I am delighted. And I lament the years that we have not spent together. But I am born anew, possessed of the glowing zeal of the newly converted and ready to provide all the loving care that these darling shoes so richly deserve. I think I want them to have lots of siblings too. And I know where to find them.

I will end this minor pilgrimage by lighting a candle for this Shine of Shoes, our first of 14 Stations of the Crossdresser, the miraculous, the bountiful and all-forgiving Designer Shoe Warehouse. To find a shrine near you, just visit the store finder here.

And so to you dear friends … what Station should we genuflect at next time? I breathlessly await your suggestions…