Veronica27
07-12-2012, 10:29 PM
I am a man whose appearance has always been very low on my scale of priorities. This may be simply a quirk of my personality, or it may be the result of being the youngest child in a working class family who was always dressed in hand me downs and nagged constantly by older siblings to comb my hair, tie my shoelaces, pull up my socks, and generally not embarrass them in front of their friends. I like to think that it is the result of being too busy on more important things in life like my hobbies and magnificant thoughts.
I am not belittling the importance of appearance. We are judged by our appearance despite the objections of some who dislike to be told what they should be doing. It is to some extent a matter of respect. We should show respect by presenting ourselves in the best possible light at weddings, funerals, job interviews, fine dining establishments and so on. We are showing respect for ourselves as well as those around us.
But it is the obsessive interest in one's appearance that I can't be bothered with. All my life I have detested shopping for clothing. (Maybe that explains the hand me downs). I hated barber shops, visiting them only when absolutely necessary, and my longish hair was beginning to embarrass others. For many years I trimmed my own hair, only giving it up when poor eyesight made it almost impossible. Now I just let it grow, tie it in a ponytail, and let my wife shorten it a few inches about once or twice a year. (an added benefit to this is I don't need a wig to crossdress).
When I reached puberty, I suddenly fell in love with the natural beauty of the girls around me. An aspiring artist, I now enjoyed drawing pictures of feminine pulchritude, more than the usual pictures of trains, cars, baseball players and the like. What I couldn't understand was their obsessive interest in their appearance. My older sister was a prime example of this; originally a Tomboy, she now drove my mother nuts demanding that her clothes be just right, and demanding cosmetics that had never been a part of my mother's vanity. Why did these girls all have to wear makeup, polish their nails, and have to have clothes that were the latest fashions? They didn't need any of this to be beautiful in my eyes. Why did women risk serious injury wearing high heels, and make themselves uncomfortable with corsets and the like. And the obsession in those days with whether their slips showed and their seams were straight. It made no sense to me and was a horrendous waste of time and money. Perfumes, jewelry ugh. I was a guy and was glad I was. I shuddered at the thought that the law of averages had given me just a 50/50 chance of being one.
So why did I suddenly want to try on some of these ridiculous things, and why did it become a lifelong compulsion? A lot of things led to the initial trials. Curiosity, and raging hormones were probably the strongest of these. But why has it persisted? It certainly has not had anything to do with wanting to be a woman. I don't and I don't achieve any sense of being one when I dress. I am beginning to think it might have something to do with my disinterest in my appearance. Society says I should wear such and such, and I say why? I'm not trying to impress anybody anymore, being long since retired. My feminine clothes are different, a change of pace, and in some cases comfortable. But why go all the way with makeup, jewelry, forms, heels, etc.? It adds to the overall adventure and excitement. It is a risk and a dare. In fact, the very fact that I am essentially a slob malewise, means the escape through crossdressing from male expectations can only be fully accomplished by not only wearing female clothing, but also by going from disinterest in appearance to extreme attention to appearance.
Does this place me in a minority of one?
Veronica
I am not belittling the importance of appearance. We are judged by our appearance despite the objections of some who dislike to be told what they should be doing. It is to some extent a matter of respect. We should show respect by presenting ourselves in the best possible light at weddings, funerals, job interviews, fine dining establishments and so on. We are showing respect for ourselves as well as those around us.
But it is the obsessive interest in one's appearance that I can't be bothered with. All my life I have detested shopping for clothing. (Maybe that explains the hand me downs). I hated barber shops, visiting them only when absolutely necessary, and my longish hair was beginning to embarrass others. For many years I trimmed my own hair, only giving it up when poor eyesight made it almost impossible. Now I just let it grow, tie it in a ponytail, and let my wife shorten it a few inches about once or twice a year. (an added benefit to this is I don't need a wig to crossdress).
When I reached puberty, I suddenly fell in love with the natural beauty of the girls around me. An aspiring artist, I now enjoyed drawing pictures of feminine pulchritude, more than the usual pictures of trains, cars, baseball players and the like. What I couldn't understand was their obsessive interest in their appearance. My older sister was a prime example of this; originally a Tomboy, she now drove my mother nuts demanding that her clothes be just right, and demanding cosmetics that had never been a part of my mother's vanity. Why did these girls all have to wear makeup, polish their nails, and have to have clothes that were the latest fashions? They didn't need any of this to be beautiful in my eyes. Why did women risk serious injury wearing high heels, and make themselves uncomfortable with corsets and the like. And the obsession in those days with whether their slips showed and their seams were straight. It made no sense to me and was a horrendous waste of time and money. Perfumes, jewelry ugh. I was a guy and was glad I was. I shuddered at the thought that the law of averages had given me just a 50/50 chance of being one.
So why did I suddenly want to try on some of these ridiculous things, and why did it become a lifelong compulsion? A lot of things led to the initial trials. Curiosity, and raging hormones were probably the strongest of these. But why has it persisted? It certainly has not had anything to do with wanting to be a woman. I don't and I don't achieve any sense of being one when I dress. I am beginning to think it might have something to do with my disinterest in my appearance. Society says I should wear such and such, and I say why? I'm not trying to impress anybody anymore, being long since retired. My feminine clothes are different, a change of pace, and in some cases comfortable. But why go all the way with makeup, jewelry, forms, heels, etc.? It adds to the overall adventure and excitement. It is a risk and a dare. In fact, the very fact that I am essentially a slob malewise, means the escape through crossdressing from male expectations can only be fully accomplished by not only wearing female clothing, but also by going from disinterest in appearance to extreme attention to appearance.
Does this place me in a minority of one?
Veronica