About Time

It is no small matter of pride, dear friends that I am able to present as female pretty much as well coming out of the long summer months of hibernation as I did before going in. The fashion flare remains intact, the make-up skills do not rust much and my walk works and struts with the same seismic intensity it had when I parked it way back in springtime of this year. My leg conditioning, however, was miles behind the rest of me. After three high altitude, pinched toe days at SCC my thighs, calves and hooves were in a state of outright mutiny. 

Napoleon Bonaparte was reputed to have said that an Army marches with its stomach. Petra is here to tell you that a Tranny marches with her feet. I have a long, happy and cool autumn winter season ahead of me now, and put myself back in stiletto trim. In the meantime, I will find and share this clichéd solace: no pain, no gain.

Enough of the pain then. Let us move on now to gains which net out to this: I got to be Petra … Panavision, Technicolor, Dolby, THX, IMAX, Blu-Ray Petra, my happy 34B self in a fully immersive 3D world for days at a time. I don’t know about you friends, but I really have missed me. It is good to be back. So many good things absent and unnoticed in the general busy-ness of the drab day-to-day.

I won’t dive into specifics here today with you. That will wait for another tide of time. For now, I have a bit of a reverie on time itself for you.

I have missed taking my time, sweet patient time, the time required to unearth Petra from beneath my more broadly known and gruff exterior. So much of what passes for progress in my day to day life is done by brute force, volume over value, donkey-work and doggedness in pursuit of keeping pace with or perhaps even a step ahead of the needs of the now. Petra however cannot be rushed. Petra requires forethought and finesse. Petra gets coaxed into the light. No amount of pushing or shoving helps.

God, but it takes time to become Petra, and the expense of time underlines just how precious time is.

Time is required to conduct the breathtaking archeology of transition, the adding of layers, sediments and shrouds, to reveal the person within.

Time is required to compose the elements of shape, color and scent, to orchestrate a harmonious whole.

Time is required, time to pause, breath and measure, time to not madly dash forward, time to be sure of the next step and the step beyond that one.

Time for the trivia too, are my keys in the purse, is the hair fixed just so, stop now before the lip line and gloss, did I brush my teeth since dawn?... good god I will be speaking with people after all, and look at you not a ring on your fingers, better set that right and slowly too. Be calm, move slowly, stay dry dear. The whole world is out there now, you can lock the door behind you and go out into it now, alert, attenuated and receptive.

No matter that I have been aching to be out, present and presenting as Petra forever now, stillness is required to do this fully and correctly. A stillness that I have not reflexively sought in the rest of my rushed everyday time.

I propose that the qualities of stillness, patience and mindfulness required to be Petra are very much the same qualities required to recall and write about those precious moments, minutes and hours. Or about anything else I suppose.

Since going back into a corporate setting in January of this year, I have missed that stillness. Not much room for considered, conscious receptivity to the moment with all the milestones to meet and millstones to carry. I have known at some level that this change in the nature of my days would be a price of the work I took on. It has, however, taken the time required last week to be immersed in the life of Petra to actually have benchmark against which to measure how far away from stillness I typically live.

It has felt good, great in fact, to be Petra again. It’s about time too in more ways than one. Time to not be rushed, time to coax rather than cudgel, to persuade, to not push and shove.

Wardrobe and words, make-up and metaphor each require time, time I do need to catch up on a little. Looking forward to it. Thanks for spending your time here.

SCC After Words

The fragrant dust of the 21^st Southern Comfort Conference has been settling a few days now, and I feel a little more certain of being able to start to tell you all about it. I cannot promise a great post here, dear friends. I am as much out of practice at blogging as I have been, until quite recently, at spending long hours in tall pumps. Nothing for it but to start and try, yes? On we go therefore.

Roughly 850 registered attendees (including a surprising 450 first timers) gathered with countless supportive friends and family, and a vibrant number of peripheral participants at Atlanta’s Crowne Plaza’s Perimeter for what I believe to be the largest Transgender conference known to man, woman and everyone somewhere in between last week. I was able to extract myself from work long enough to enjoy a good part of Thursday, much of Friday and practically every loving moment of Saturdays glamorous finale en Femme.

A mad gusher of posts emerged from my first visit to SCC last year, which you may find here, here and ooooh, I can barely reach it .. just over here. The Sophomore visit, with so many elements and sensations so familiar, leaves fewer themes to exploit. Some things need mentioning though, and the important ones have to do with gratitude.

I have spent many years attending conferences of many types over long decades, and must tell you this: SCC runs a tight ship. Not an easy thing to make the trans run on time darlings, and dammit but they do. Hats off to Lexi, her Committee Chairs, and the 100 or so volunteers who just put their backs in to a big piece of work. A special call out is due to Blake Alford whose tribute in words and pictures to Transgendered soldiers, sailors and aviators past and present was without doubt for me the most stirring moments of a great event.

Close in the stirring moments parade came Friday evening at a commitment ceremony for four beautiful couples, amongst them dear friends Cindy and Joanne, both radiant in white. Such a privilege to witness such an open, loving embrace of all the differences an individual can bring to and enlarge a home with. I missed the tossed bouquet by mere inches.

These moments were however eclipsed in the few hours that Mrs. Bellejambes was able to spend with my sisters, brothers and I. Again, I am thankful for much. I hope a fraction of that feeling shows in this picture.

More ponderings to follow as time allows. Let me leave you with a finishing thought:

If, in your journey, you have not enjoyed the luxury of time spent with people with whom you share a difference, you should. Put your spare change in a big jar. Mark your calendars. Visit Atlanta next year for Southern Comfort. You might catch the bouquet yourself.

See you here.

Head over Heels.

As much as I love a good long day in a pair of smart heels, and friends, I truly do, it is at moments like these that I am thankful that I am not required to type with my feet.

Yes, from thigh-top to toe-tip, the legs are experiencing what Diana Ross might have called sweet love hangover. Noticing these sensations on my first tentative, padded steps out of bed this morning, and being of a curious disposition, I did in fact conduct a little research on leg musculature. It pleased me greatly to learn that the longish muscle that endows the upper regions of the thigh with its superabundance of fleshy, curvy, callipygian appeal is actually known (to people who did not drink themselves rotten in their freshman year and made it into med school) as the Sartorius.

This pleases me in part because knowing a new thing is good, but more because Sartorius is just an errant spellcheck away from sartorial. If I have a sartorial signature, it is brazen display of Sartorius. Irony walks with me.

I have not witnessed many sartorial or Sartorius displays recently. Three inches of snow in Atlanta last Sunday melted well enough on Tuesday that overnight temperatures seriously below freezing turned our roads into treacherous rinks by Wednesday. On these rinks cars more or less behaved like 7 year olds playing hockey, flailing about in blind mass pursuit of a puck, careering here and there, spinning out and taking the innocent down with them in a knotted mass of shrieking earnest futility. I stayed out of the dangerous game entirely.

Chez Bellejambes was well provisioned, lots of food and drink, an ample cache of aloe infused bathroom rolls and plenty to read. We weathered well. Cabin fever had well and truly set in by weeks end though. Yesterday therefore, I was quite delighted to brazenly bestir myself, emerging from the ice cocoon to take pretty wing in Petra mode for the opening planning session of Southern Comfort Conference 2011.

I plan on haranguing you quite regularly here about your schedule and intentions for September. You really ought to start putting a shekel or two aside here and there. Maybe fight the odd shopping impulse too. If you do these things then the expense of coming to Atlanta and spending a few days or more in the company of so much smart, beautiful, liberated diversity will be more manageable. I implore you, if you have not been able to attend a conference that caters to the CD/TG set to do so. It is an expense though, and we do live in challenging times. I get that. If you are thusly challenged, let me encourage you to visit this page and note that there are scholarships available. You may be in a financial position to qualify for support. Don’t be shy. Don’t be proud. Don’t stay locked within yourself. ‘Nuff said on the matter. Head on down to Atlanta.

But back to heels now which is where I started after all. In the evening I happily pried my tootsies into the purple pump referred to in the post directly prior to this one. The morning wardrobe was perched upon newly acquired and long sought black suede (ok suede-ish) booties purloined from Macy’s for a very faint song. Too embarrassed to say the price really. Well that moment passed quickly enough. $24.00. The purchase pathology is kind of interesting to me though, and I want to share it with you out of a sense of care for your financial well being (which ties back neatly to the whole SCC attendance thing … see how I did that?).

This particular look has been in my gun sites for some time now. A versatile autumn / winter style, matches well with the legging / tunic look, skinny jeans, opaque tights / tailored skirt ensembles. In short, while not an absolute need, this is a shoe that has been more than a want. And on a half dozen sorties through a variety of shops, Nordstrom Rack, Ann Taylor, and DSW included I tried on and discarded stacks of paired suitors like a high maintenance Disney princess. This one pinched, that one swam. This one too tall, that one too low. Too round at the toe there, not sure about that platform. Thwarted time and again.

I kept at the objective though and, finally, finding them just before Christmas, was relieved greatly. As is my habit, I updated my purchase tracking spreadsheet and noticed with no small alarm that these were pair #10. I had unknowingly perched myself on an irretrievably steep slope.

A couple of years ago I polled readers to determine just how many pairs of shoes we possessed. The analysis kicked out a behavioral singularity that graphically displayed a gradual erosion of will between pairs # Five and 10. Past the 10 Threshold and basically one is left only with bilateral amputation, bunions, or bankruptcy as a brake against the desire for more and more shoes. There are zombies amongst us. Take a look around you next time you are shoe shopping. They cannot count how many shoes they own. Or rather, how many shoes they are owned by.

What havoc hath I wrought, what a fool am I. Even with the clear foreknowledge, with certain statistical indicators of a ruined future, my guard dropped, and I blithely stepped past the pointed-toe point of no return. I had barely made a mental note of # 9 only a week or so earlier, the lavish lace classic court shoe from Ann Taylor marked down from $180 to a mere $48, so blind to the charms I have become.

Enough heels. It is time for healing now. Time to mind myself and stop with the shoes for a while. You may think this a fools errand, and you might be right. I feel however that no honest exploration of ones fuller gender complexion is complete without battling against the pretty tide of shoe lust. Pictures at 11 of course. And 12. And beyond.

On a more serious note, a couple of words about the SCC planning session and evening social follow. I made some new friends, people with dazzling lives and minds, diverse interests, abundant charm and beauty. There was time as well with friends that I have met now 3, 5, or 8 times here and there. These acquaintances become more easy and meaningful each time too. The slow sedimentary process of trust building takes time, takes patience. Precious things with a commensurate payoff. A payoff available in the living, breathing company of people. People gotta meet.

There was a very pleasant surprise seeing about 60 people showing up at 9:00 am on a weekend to indicate willingness to help execute this big complex undertaking. And it was comforting to see Lexi, Blake, Lida, Christy and the rest of the board and committee chairs leading the charge. I encourage you to save the date: Sept 21 – 25. Start planning would you? And if you have figured out how to save yourself from the syren call of the shoe shop, drop a line would you?

Brush with Celebrity. SCC Video Cameo

Typically, I have pretty good instincts around cameras. That is to say when other people are holding them, I try to stay out of the frame. I really do try, but quite deep in the evening of the final night of the recent Southern Comfort Conference I let my guard down.

My charming friend Aislin spied me walking through the scene of a short interview with a very visible star of the TG universe, Chloe Prince and sent me a link. Chloe is noted amongst other things for her blogging, the creation of the Pink Essence social network and a very graceful and informative ABC Primetime feature that exposed a lot of mainstream living room dwellers to one remarkable woman’s life.

The second lass swanning (thanks Aislin, I can't really quibble with your language) by Chloe’s left shoulder towards the camera around 15 seconds in wearing the black boat neck cocktail dress is me. The dress is holding up nicely. My makeup, not so much. As to the walk, I cannot recall whether I was going for an amplified hip-sprocket gait or had simply fallen prey to the effects of too much wine, women and song.



It seems as though the embedded YouTube vid is not displaying on iPhones, and perhaps other devices. So here is a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMeYjHsJ3Gs

Next year I think I will use the service doors and avoid the camera crews. In the meantime, I suppose one must in some way note their You Tube debut.

As for Chloe, she is just admirable. A completely genuine person. I attended one of her presentations at SCC, on the topic of living genuinely, online and otherwise. She spoke from a position of authority on the matter, and with such feeling for we “students” in the room that it was all quite moving. There were a few sniffles and many dabbed eyes. Her seminar was one of the things that made conference attendance a real dollar value for me.

If you are not a member of Pink Essence, you should go look around, and join up if you like what you see. You will likely feel more compelled to attend SCC too if you do, so be forewarned.

If you are camera shy you should, like I will, practice your 180 degree turn and retreat move, and do try, my dears, to pay attention to where you are walking.

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On another note, this post is #200, which is I suppose somewhat of a milestone. Thanks to everyone who has visited, full body hugs to all of you who have left comments. I would have stopped much sooner without you. I suspect there are another couple of centuries still left in me. I look forward to sharing them with you.

Happy weekend all.

Cross Dressing Economics. Fashion Week Edition

Recently I was coursing the aisles and pawing the racks at a nearby Bloomingdales with a charming female companion who can afford to do more than just the coursing and pawing at Bloomingdales. In between patting myself on the back for resisting an unnecessary acquisition and acute pangs of regret for not resisting it I spoke a little about how I keep my shopping under control by painstakingly keeping track of purchases.

You see, I maintain a spreadsheet with garments classified by type, vendor, description, full retail price and actual price paid. Furthermore, I count the number of uses I get from each garment to arrive at a Cost per Wear (CPW) number that should, in the long term, help me optimize on future purchases. All very logical of course, and very much in keeping with my practice of over-engineering the protective rationales that keep my life perched barely on the rails. I hope too, at some deluded level, that this document will keep somebody in a well funded Gender Studies program busy for a post grad year or two sometime in the future.

My friend tut-tutted:

“Oh, no, no, never. That simply isn’t done. It’s just not on you know.”

Very English, my friend.

In any event, she opined that this was a distinctly male habit, and at complete odds with my appearance. We then went to Nordstrom’s to look at shoes and get past the slightly awkward moment. The moment passed. But now while she is not looking, I thought I would share some numbers with you.

The chart below (click to enlarge) contains all clothing on I had on display over the course of my week at SCC: shoes, hose, skirts, dresses, tops and outerwear, minus all the belts, bags and bling. As to the rest of the garments not on display, well some things a lady simply does not share.

I dressed Monday to Saturday, largely in items purchased late spring and summer that I had not worn before other than trying on for fit, and so my CPW numbers are not so low as they will get with time and multiple outings. Still, even with the newness of most of the modeled pieces, I think I deserve a Girl Scout Bargain Hunting merit badge.

The summary findings are these. It costs me $100 to present fully. Again this is the one time expense, from top to toe. My fully amortized cost (Lifetime Aggregate CPW) for complete ensembles ranged from a high of $100 for an outfit featuring one of my rare full retail purchases, (a snazzy Rachel Rachel Roy off the shoulder tunic), to a shockingly low $37 for the dramatic cocktail dress look I poured myself into for the final gala dinner. These numbers have nowhere to go but down as long as the universe is expanding and not doing something else unexpected.

The data further confirms a sense I have had that my blouse assortment is not broad enough. I had to repeat a top once in the week. Tut-tuts again.

There is a seemingly outsized cost contribution from shoes and hosiery in my typical ensemble (see Fig. 2). Almost 40% of a typical outfit investment clings to my toes. Allow me to make a case for this seemingly lavish and unfair distribution: The toes are worth it dear friends. They will tell you so in no uncertain terms after a few hours in poorly made and poor fitting shoes. As to my average $18.00 hosiery costs, well, nothing makes a so-so skirt look good, and nothing makes a terrific skirt look va-va-voom faster than quality legwear. The reverse effect is true too. Beyond that, the comfort provided by well made nylons adds immeasurably to your enjoyment of a long day dressed.

At the end of that long day, somebody should want to rip the pantyhose off of you, and that somebody should not be you. So there.

As to the rest of the ensembles, many of them are pictured in prior posts. Scroll away, or site search on SCC for more. Their average discount from retail is 70% (not counting hosiery). Being this mercenary on price has allowed me to shop in places that on the surface look a little pricey for the part-time gal on a budget. With this, the overall quality and effect of my appearances is better than it has been, or might be. Civilians and fellow travelers alike were generous enough in their complements to let me know that I am zeroing in on my style sweet spot nicely. Even without the kind words though, you know it yourself when things are correct. Suddenly, you are walking like you mean it. You just feel good. This feeling is worth the investment of time, care and the few dollars you can spare to get it.

Getting that feeling, and keeping it under control too is something to aim for. If you do not need a spreadsheet to achieve that effect, I bow in your general direction. Just now, I must sign off and go update mine with a couple of blouse purchases I made this past weekend in order to resolve the imbalance issue raised by the numbers.

Ah, the things we do in the service of science and beauty.

And you my dear. What do you do to keep the purse and closet both stuffed?