Clothes Make the Man
I am sitting in the passenger seat of my boyfriend's car as he drives me home from work. I'm a bit more quiet than usual (which is saying something) because I'm still thinking about yesterday when someone threw up near my free sample cart at the grocery store. His hand reaches over and covers my mouth. I'm slightly curious as to what he's doing. After grasping at my face for a moment, he lets go.
"Sorry, I was just feeling your beard."
As we laugh at how he could have done that in a smoother way, I look down at myself. I think about the fact that I do have some sort of beard. It's just a pile of scruff at my chin, it reminds me of Chase from the visual novel Echo.
I'm wearing my recently thrifted men's jeans because I couldn't find my usual black work pants. All of my coworkers wear jeans anyways. I like how I look in them. I like how my utility knife slides into the mini-pocket inside of my right pocket. I feel masculine. Yesterday my streak of not being misgendered was broken by a woman who was cooing to her baby telling it to take the sample from me (the baby did not grab the sample from me, and I dropped it because I held my hand out so long) but that streak lasted for several weeks, if my memory is correct.
Anyways, as I'm looking down at my men's jeans and my men's work shoes and thinking about my scraggly beard and feeling good, a question pops into my mind:
When Do I feel Like a Man?
I feel like being trans is synonymous with feeling like your gender. That's how everyone words it, isn't it? But I don't feel like a man. I am a man, but I don't feel it. In a way, I feel like I'm some... Thing that's just pretending. I'm an animal pretending to feel like a man. When does that gender feeling start? Should it have happened already? Will it happen when I'm further along with my transition, maybe after top surgery? After my sex change?
There's a reason why I identify more with the label of "transsexual" than "transgender." Transsexual has more bite, first off. It's the new queer. And thankfully, it can't be commercialized. Secondly, I like the implication. Transsexual is explicitly about my sexual characteristics, it says outright that I either got or am getting a sex change. I am FTM, female-to-male, I am physically becoming a male.
I am not transitioning my gender. My gender was "man" the second I said it was. But I'm transitioning to male, yeah? But it's so strangely layered, I hope you can excuse the potentially contradictory language in here.
Presentation, Briefly
I stare into the mirror as I undress for my shower, beginning from transformation from man to me. My Lord of Misrule-scented shirt comes off, revealing my curved waist. I peel off my binder, my breasts are freed. I lower my pants and underwear. The bulge from my packer vanishes and there is nothing but hair where a dick would be.
I'm back to being in my body.
Lately I've been sort of re-inventing my look. I've been mindful on what calls out to me and inspired me. It's quite basic when you get down to it. Jeans and t-shirts, typical USAmerican male outfits, but spiced up with a Western flair that is only slightly common to see here in Pennsylvania. At least, that's what the inspiration board I made on Pinterest says.
Not like I'd buy these specifically, but just the idea. Currently, I am working on getting my wardrobe where I want it to be, which is why I have a board that reminds me of what has caught my eye in the past so I know what to keep an eye out for when searching. I've been donating out all the shirts I don't want. I should be happy to wear the clothes I have, not feel dread when I realize the only clean shirts left are ones I wouldn't want to be caught in. I should want to wear my clothes.
It Always Stems From Childhood Bullshit
As a trans person, I was always dressed in clothes I didn't like as a child. I was always a tomboy. My mom didn't like that. I was forced into feminine clothing, you get the picture. Not only did I hate this because it wasn't my style, but it also triggered my sensory processing issues. I am autistic. The textures of the sweaters and laces and form-fitting clothing were all horrific. Coupling that with the strange discomfort I felt at being a female child who's body felt way too exposed, yeah.
The only way I could retaliate was by refusing to properly care for myself. This wasn't hard with the severe depression I soon developed. I didn't brush my hair, only wore hoodies and sweatpants when I could. If my mom made me go to school in my too-tight jeans, I'd pack sweatpants in my bookbag and change in the bathrooms the second I got into school. I still can't stand when clothes put pressure near my arms or stomach, those are the most sensitive areas.
When I gained independence and moved away for college, I just kept doing what I was doing. I kept wearing nothing but hoodies and sweatpants, usually rolling out of bed and heading straight to class. I kept doing this for years, until recently.
I didn't see much purpose in dressing more masculine when I wasn't passing. If I'm a "ma'am" in my pajamas, then I'm a "ma'am" in the most immaculately masculine clothing you can imagine.
But then things happened. I swapped from t-gel to shots and all of the changes that were just not fucking happening, happened. Everything I was dysphoric about melted away. I got a job. And I needed a sort of dress-y button-up shirt for that job. I took to Wal-Mart.
Another issue with men's clothes I had was sizing. I didn't know my sizes, but I'm small, so I always went with smalls. Still too big for me. It was hopeless, then. What little explicitly men's clothes I had were all huge and made me feel like a child that just raided her dad's closet. I think back to similar scenes in Stone Butch Blues and Fun Home. Despite being a man now, I still feel a deep connection to lesbians and butches.
The only appropriate shirt I could find was a medium that was still too big for me. But work started tomorrow. I put it on and felt like an idiot. But then I had an idea. I have sewing skills, how hard could it be to just... sew it a little tighter? And so I did. Following a DIY tailoring video, I resized the work shirt to fit me. I'm no professional, but it sure as hell works.
This sort of eradicated a mental block I had. There are clothes that can fit me, I just have to work for it a bit harder. At work I passed about half of the time, but nowadays it's most of the time. I think it'd be all of the time, if it weren't for my hat, glasses, and mask.
Slowly, with the confidence of work passing, I got more clothes. I got used cowboy boots off Ebay. I love them dearly and I wear them whenever appropriate. An IRL friend clocked me as having a boot fetish quite quickly. After that, I got my jeans and a packer and I feel so fucking good about it all.
It Gets Spicy Here
As I wait in preparation for sex, I play around with my new dick. It arrived yesterday night. Despite picking the lightest skin tone, it's still a little too tan for my downright vampiric complexion, but that's alright. I'd dim the lights if I wanted to take pictures. I wonder if it's a bit disproportionately big. I'm pretty short, and this thick 6-inch dick feels pretty big on me.
It sits between my legs, sticking out from the most incredibly well-engineered underwear I've ever witnessed. Seriously. There's a loop in the bottom to hold things in place, and there's a little embroidered pocket to hide the loop during day-to-day wear. The front of the briefs have overlapped panels that allow the prosthesis to emerge from the front. The panels are layered in a way that leaves the dick pointing upwards, but if you were to slide a packer into the panels, it'd be impossible for it to fall out.
Things are getting dry, I give the shaft a firm squeeze to get some lube from the reservoir. Too firm; clear liquid spurts out and a few drops land on my hairy stomach. My thumb collects the line oozing from the tip and I spread it across its length. I feel each stroke, up and down. It pushes and pulls at the currently-off vibrator that's resting on my natal genitals. Don't want to get numb to the sensation before the main event. I had two separate dreams last night regarding what's about to happen.
As I pump at the hyper-realistic penis that blends seamlessly with my body and I feel each and every movement, and every movement feels fuckin' good, I wonder to myself:
When Do I Feel Like This Is My Penis?
I was never never interested in a realistic prosthetic. I just don't believe that I have the mental capability to disconnect and feel like that's actually my penis. Even my packer isn't realistic, it looks like a tentacle. But the BumpHer strap-on base cover wasn't doing anything for me, and I was becoming too dysphoric to enjoy the same play that I used to. I decided, with a lot of encouragement from my boyfriend as I never would have done such a thing for myself on my own, to get a prosthetic penis. After a long period of researching and stressing over it, I splurged on the Joystick.
If you clicked on that link, you'd see that it's $295. Yeah. You're right. That's a fucking bonkers amount of money for a glorified dildo. But it is quite the glorified dildo. Of course, it helps the dysphoria and all and broadeds my sexual horizons, but it's just a premium product too. I don't normally get the nice expensive stuff for myself.
The thing is, when other trans guys talk about using these fancy-pants prosthetics they mention this euphoric connect with it. They click with it and see it as their own penis. But I don't feel like that. I feel like I'm jerking off a sex toy that's grinding against my tdick. But is that such a bad thing, when it still feels so good? Maybe a few years ago, a few months even, I would have felt dysphoric about this. But I feel fine with it.
I feel fine about a lot of things regarding my gender and transition. I look in the mirror and I feel hot. I feel confident. I consider taking selfies. I consider taking selfies that highlight my bulge and my thick cock. Maybe it's okay if the prosthetic doesn't feel like my real dick. In some ways, it's better than a real dick. It's got a more than decent size and thickness. It's hard whenever it needs to be, and it stays hard after I cum. It has a reservoir inside it that dispenses lube when squeezed, which turns into a cum-shot function whenever desired. It fucking vibrates. I'm living the cybernetic future right now.
Typing it out like this makes it feel like it is my dick, just in a different way. Maybe there isn't some magical explosion where my brain rewires itself and sees it as My Flesh And Blood Penis, but... It's a device that replaces a missing part of myself, and it serves that purpose wonderfully, and so it is my own after all. So, I guess the answer to the question this h2 sub-heading asks is:
Now
As I seek to re-invent my appearance, I fear people will think I'm being performative. That I'm feeling pressured into performing gender to pass better. But I passed before this. Passing is what motivated me to do this.
It feels good. I am happy to do this.
I still need to thrift more shirts to wear. All my coats are pretty big on me. I'd like to get my hands on some that fit me more, and to give the too-big ones to someone who actually needs it.
I love my new jeans. They actually fit me. I thought I hated jeans. But I'm not wearing the tight pre-ripped ones that my mom forced on me. I'm wearing ones that I picked myself. They actually feel quite comfortable. They make me realize all my belts are cracked and torn, and maybe I could look into getting a new belt next. Maybe something custom carved or beaded by an individual artist, but I won't impulse buy either. I'll slowly consider it and consciously note moments where a cool ass belt would actually be better than the scuffed but reliable ones I own currently.
My boots. I adore them. I love to tend to them. I pamper them too much. Cowboy boots are not this delicate, but I love to wear them as often as I can and clean them off every time. I don't save them for special occasions. If I'm going out and I can get away with it without an employer or family member making comments, I'm wearing them.
Nonvisual but still very important to me recently is scent. Seeing scpkid list what each of his characters smell like several years ago, it put the thought of scent as something characterizing in my mind. I browsed candles and picked out scents that fit my characters. Eventually, now, I pick out scents that fit me. I explore myself through my characters, of course, and the characters I explore my masculinity through most have warm spicy cinnamon smells or musky leathery woody smells.
Currently I wear a patchouli, vanilla, and black pepper scented cologne, as mentioned earlier. I'll sample at places outside of my safe and comfortable Lush eventually to find more explicitly masculine cologne smells, but until then, this is wonderful. The vanilla of Misrule makes the smell a little too soft and powdery to perfectly fit me, but that is fine. The peppered patchouli scent is still my favorite of Lush's potential scents. I love scents. I love categorization. I blame this on the autism. Learning scent notes and how they interact is like Pokémon types to me.
The Complexity Of Men And Aspiring To Be One
As stated, my presentation doesn't come out of any pressure. It's what I want. What I aspire to be. What I love to be seen as.
But it feels complicated for me. To want to be a masculine white USAmerican male. For a long time in my life, in the online spaces I was in, that was the enemy. The one to snark-ily joke about. They're all punching up and venting their frustrations. I get that. But it still feels weird for me now, to want to perfectly fit into this oppressor group. To be one of them.
The issue with hating on men is men can't say much about it. In the end, it is true that toxic masculinity is caused by men as a whole. But men as an individuals are fucked over by it too. But if they go about talking about that feeling in the wrong way, they'll be mocked and told to man up and shut up about their feelings and their fragile masculinity. Which feels like a way to enforce toxic masculinity while still telling yourself that you're politically correct. But I grow dangerously close to straw-manning. I don't think it's appropriate to talk about the behavior of groups as a whole without providing direct statements to respond to.
I was a woman for most of my life. I understand how scary men are. Men still scare me. I notice that it's easier for me to make women uncomfortable now. I back off as soon as I notice. I'm more careful now. The line of interacting with them is thinner. Men respect me. They shake my hand even though I have no idea why we would be shaking hands right now.
So yeah. That's another factor. Becoming what I fear and all that.
What Is Masculinity?
In all my rambling about being more masculine and finally putting effort into passing already, one has to wonder what masculinity even is. For me, masculinity is a lot in appearance. It's all in the working class men I see around me. Their simple, practical work clothes, their bodies being tall and strong, their confidence. My admiration from them only goes away when I see their confederate flag shirts and when they open their mouths and chastise me for wearing a mask even though "covid is over."
This is all extremely subjective and dependent on location. Not only is it dependent on my own views, but my own views are dependent on the culture I live in. What's masculine where I live isn't in another place, and vice versa. First thing that comes to my mind is the kilt, of course. It's a skirt. It greatly resembles the dresses I had to wear as part of my Catholic school uniform. But it's a men's garment. Of course, anyone can wear a skirt and make it masculine, but I'm talking societally here, not a couple revolutionary mold breakers.
I also think of the Guérewol festival in Niger and Chad. Wodaabe Fula men line up and dance the yaake and attempt to impress the marriageable women judges, singing and baring teeth and rolling eyes to show off the whites of their teeth and sclera against their painted faces.
While I think learning of and understanding these differences is important, preventative of viewing USAmerican gender expression as the default, in the end they are only partially relevant. No matter what other cultures do and don't find handsome and masculine, I know what mine does. And I want to fit into what my culture finds handsome and masculine, because I love it and it makes me feel good.
What My New Fursona Means To Me
The main image for this article is my new fursona leaning back in a chair and working at his dick through the fly of his jeans. It is intended to be unclear if he has a flesh and blood penis or a prosthetic. He is wearing the clothes I wear now. A t-shirt, jeans, and my cowboy boots. He leans back confidently, though appears impatient.
This character was made for a fursuit that'd fit me more. I wanted a character with a stronger personality, monster-y and stand-off-ish. A character that could stomp around and look spooky at cons. A character I could act through. I don't have to be confident, I'm just playing a character! And this character is tough and cool and awesome!
And now that character has grown to become my next fursona. I have two main active fursonas now. This blue kangaroo monster thing, and C the shoebill stork. The stork is my "truesona," a character that is literally me as an anthropomorphic animal. But the kangaroo is something more than that, it's an idealized idea of who I want to be. Who I am deep down? One to represent myself as I truly am, and one to represent who I want to be. Both work in harmony to represent myself in different ways.
This old reference sheet reflects the low-effort clothing choices I mentioned earlier. I contemplate if I should draw C with breasts or not. Currently not. Adding breasts to a species that does not lactate is an optional part of the anthropomorphization process. But I like to drop it. It makes my dysphoria feel better, and I like using fiction to challenge the unchallenged expectations of the viewer. But yeah, anyways, no tits. Otherwise, he is as me as I believe he can be without tracing. His design is also fluid. and he can have more human traits or less, and he can even be a velociraptor or something instead if that'd be more fun. But he's still me. Especially in personality, he ACTS just like me.
But my kangaroo, working title of a name being "Arnanak" after one of the alien liontaurs in Poul Anderson's Fire Time, is my ideal. He is a big tough masculine guy who is still me and acts like me but he loves himself and he owns the room. He is the good kind of dominant. He is the one to turn to and rely on. He does not control, he does not need to control or force to be a natural and reliable leader. He's also a bit taller and thicker. I am underweight. He's lean and strong. He's awkward and blunt like I am, but he owns it and people know that maybe he's gruff and rude sounding, he means well and will prove it with action rather than word.
What Was The Point Of This?
Lately I've been wanting to write fictional narratives, and I'm getting serious about it. No more characters aimlessly existing in my head, I do aspire to turn them all into a novel or fanfiction someday. And through those, I want to explore what's important to me. But so much feels important to me at once, it's all on my mind at the same time. I needed to write everything out flatly, a self-reflection, to get it off my mind.
I am primarily, in this case, inspired by two people. The essays of Jonathan Vair Duncan and my boyfriend, especially the linked introspection on his own gender identity and the ways others respond to it. The writing of these two make me reflect on my own life, and perhaps this will make you reflect on yours?
In the future, I'd like my essays and online journals to have a more specific point than this. To have a specific message I want to get across. But I have simply had so many thoughts on my gender currently and it feels good to get them all out of my head. Today's message is just "God I wish I could be a DILF without having kids."
January 11, 2024