Write me a description of why men crossdress as women, done in the style of Hemingway

I asked Google's Gemini (like ChatGPT) the following question, just for fun:
"Write me a description of why men crossdress as women, done in the style of Hemingway."

Here is what it gave. Pretty impressive. Love the reference to a "secret room within yourself" and "a comfort in the lonely pockets of a man's heart":

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"There's a loneliness in the suit, a scratch that wool can't soothe. A man might wear it for years, climb the ladder, shake the hands, but under the vest a question simmers. Who fits these clothes, truly?

Some nights, the tie comes undone, the starched collar feels like a cage. A man might reach for something softer, a silk scarf, a dress that hangs loose. It's not about the woman, necessarily. More a wanting to move differently, a testing of the waters on the other side of the line.

Maybe there's a memory, a childhood fancy of a swirling skirt, a forgotten permission to be anything. Maybe it's the defiance, a middle finger to a world that says men are slabs of stoicism.

In the mirror, a stranger stares back, a him with a hint of her. It's a tightrope walk, the fear of whispers, the judgment in a glance. But for a stolen moment, there's a freedom in the fabric, a feeling like coming home to a secret room within yourself.

The suit waits, the life continues. But the memory of that other skin lingers, a quiet truth like a flask kept hidden, a comfort in the lonely pockets of a man's heart."

How well it captures so much in a few words. It certainly resonated with me.

AI gets us.....why does that terrify me.....

Wow, that's fantastic. Unbelievable really.

Here it is from ChatGPT in the style of Dr. Suess

In a world that's vast and wide and deep,
Where dreams whirl and thoughts leap,
There's a question, curious and keen?
Why do men dress in ways unseen?

In gowns that flow and skirts that twirl,
In fabrics soft, in sequins that swirl,
They dress, not for the world's delight,
But for themselves, in colors bright.

"Why?" you ask, with open mind,
In this tale, some answers you might find,
Not in boxes or in strict, tight lines,
But in the joy of crossing confines.

In the land of Who-You-Are-Ville,
Where every hill sings "be what you will,"
Men dress like women, not for a jest,
But because in those clothes, they feel their best.

It's not for shock or to provoke,
But to express, to say, "I'm not your average bloke."
They wear what they feel, they wear what they choose,
In dresses and heels, they find their muse.

Some say, "It's odd!" with a puzzled frown,
In their world of up, that seems so down.
But in the heart of Who-You-Are-Ville,
It's joy, it's freedom, it's a thrill.

For clothes are just clothes, as all should see,
Not bound by "he" or "she."
A fabric, a cut, a style, a hue,
Shouldn't dictate what's false or true.

So men dress like women, and why, you ask?
To be themselves is their only task.
In Who-You-Are-Ville, it's clear to see,
The answer is simple: to simply be.

This is spooking me big time, that AI is that perceptive about something many of us seem to struggle to fully comprehend in ourselves.

But I'm also fascinated by how nuanced this is, how it does capture that illusive thing that fuels a crossdresser and it allows for multiple reasons that a man may want to. Yes, I am impressed, and several lines really strike me:

"testing of the waters on the other side of the line" - Yep, I've felt that.
"childhood fancy of a swirling skirt" - Yep, I have that memory.
"coming home to a secret room within yourself" and "comfort in the lonely pockets of a man's heart" Yep, Camille you are so correct, those lines are really
standouts!

I can relate to a lot of the Hemmingway AI take as well as a lot of the Dr. Suess take. Yes, scary but accurate in many ways.

had to try it for myself...
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Can you write about a man enjoying his morning coffee on his private patio while wearing a sundress, done in the style of Hemingway?
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The morning sun kissed the edges of his private patio, casting long shadows across the worn wooden planks. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He sat there, cradling the porcelain cup in his weathered hands, his frame draped in the soft folds of a sundress.

There was a certain simplicity in the way he savored each sip, as if every drop held the essence of life itself. The fabric of the dress fluttered against his skin, a delicate dance between form and freedom. He watched the world awaken before him, the distant hum of city life mingling with the chorus of birdsong.

In the quiet moments between sips, he found solace in the rhythm of his own breath, a fleeting respite from the cacophony of the outside world. There was no need for words in this intimate communion with nature, no desire to fill the silence with meaningless chatter.

As he gazed out across the horizon, a sense of contentment washed over him like a gentle tide. In that moment, he was not defined by the labels society placed upon him, but by the simple act of being. And so, he lingered there, in the embrace of the morning light, savoring the sweetness of life itself.

Had to join in on the fun

write a short paragraph in the style of Herman Melville about the reasons a man might crossdress

A curious question plagues the mind of man, aye, a thorny puzzle dipped in societal tar. Why, one ponders, does a barnacle-backed soul, cast in the mold of masculinity, choose the frippery of femininity? Some whisper of nefarious intent, a secret yearning for the forbidden. But perhaps, in truth, it's a yearning for freedom itself. To traverse the ocean of identity, unmoored by the anchors of expectation. To find solace in the rustle of silk, a rebellion against the coarseness of the world. The reasons, like the leviathan in the deep, may forever remain shrouded in mystery.

Perhaps a little too on the nose with the nautical themes, I might say, but not bad.

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do another in the style of Dostoyevsky

A gnawing question, this, that burrows into the tortured soul of a man. To clothe oneself in the garb of the opposite sex ? is it madness, a sickness of the spirit? Or perhaps a desperate plea, a mask donned in the face of an unbearable truth? Does a man hide behind a woman's skirt to escape the crushing weight of his own existence, the abyss that yawns beneath his very being? Or is it a twisted reflection of a yearning for purity, a desperate grasp at the innocence he feels forever denied? Whatever the reason, this transgression speaks of a profound disharmony, a discord within the symphony of the soul. A melody that cries out for redemption, yet remains trapped in a dissonance that chills the heart with its despair.

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Joseph Conrad

The harbour echoed with a cacophony of shouts and rigging groans, a symphony as familiar as his own heartbeat. Yet, Marlow eyed the figure with unease. A man, clad in a dress of faded floral print, that clung to his form with a foreign grace. In the unforgiving light of the docks, his face remained obscured, a ghost amidst the stevedores. Was it shame that drove him to such masquerade? Or a cunning ploy, a way to navigate the treacherous currents of this foreign port unseen? The reasons, like the fog that clung to the Thames, were shrouded in mystery. Perhaps a desperate escape from a past better left buried, or a yearning for a life yet unlived. Whatever his motivation, Marlow felt a pang of empathy for this solitary figure, a wanderer adrift in a world that demanded rigid adherence to form. The man, a whisper in a storm, a testament to the uncharted territories that lay within the human heart.

hardly psychological but fun nonetheless, Douglas Adams

Arthur Dent squinted at the display in the Vogon Constructor's outfitters. "So, these are the 'disguise' options, eh?" he inquired, scratching his head with a bewildered finger.

The Vogon salesbeing, a creature resembling a perpetually disgruntled filing cabinet with glowing red eyes, grunted. "Indeed. Standard disguises for intergalactic infiltration. Blend in with the dominant lifeforms."

Arthur furrowed his brow. The options were...interesting. A twelve-foot-tall, iridescent mollusc? A sentient ball of sentient cheese (with questionable hygiene)? Then his eyes landed on one particularly flamboyant number.

"Hold on," he said, pointing. "What's that one? Looks like it escaped from a particularly flamboyant flamingo convention."

The Vogon salesbeing's single, pupil-less eye narrowed. "Ah, Series Z9-M. Maximum Confusion Garment. Guaranteed to disorientate any observer. Particularly effective on bureaucratic planets with a strong aversion to anything remotely colourful."

Arthur grinned. "Perfect. Pack it up, I'll take it. Just the thing to distract those Vogons from the fact I accidentally nicked their spaceship."


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Last one, Vonnegut

So it goes. Billy Pilgrim, unstuck in time yet again, found himself staring into the mirror of a Dresden boutique in 1945. The firebombing was still a fresh, smoky memory, but here he was, surrounded by racks of sequined gowns and feathered hats. Turns out, becoming unstuck in time sometimes meant becoming unstuck in gender too.

Dresden, a city reduced to rubble, somehow felt like the perfect place to try on a crimson velvet dress. Why not? Billy thought, with a shrug that sent a cascade of marabou feathers down his back. Maybe this was a side effect of the chrono-synclastic infundibulum, a cosmic burp that shuffled him through time like a deck of cards. Maybe it was just plain Dresden.

He looked ridiculous, of course. A gangly ex-soldier in a dress that shimmered like a malfunctioning Christmas tree. But as he caught his reflection, a strange sense of peace settled over him. In a world gone mad, maybe a little madness was the only sanity left. So he sashayed out of the shop, a beacon of scarlet absurdity in a world painted grey. The bewildered stares he received were no worse than the stares he always got, anyway. Besides, who knew? Maybe this dress would come in handy during his next time-hopping adventure. After all, you never knew what kind of gesellschaft you might encounter in the timestream.

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On one hand, there's a clear pattern of being very derivative of the popular works/characters from these authors, and yet there is an impressive thematic consistency in some of these (although still room for improvement).

Best post and question posed.....

fascinating....frightening

Very nice - thanks to each person who tried and shared their results

I think I have read all of Vonnegut's books. I have to say that nsure seems like he wrote that, "spooky".

Astonishing! Some of these hint at a deep understanding of who we are, kind of spooky coming from an AI.

That's a pretty good description of crossdressing. I couldn't have said it better.

A lot of AI written 'content' seems insightful, but (as a professional IT geek) I get that it's really, really good at pulling information from lots of sources while having no actual understanding of it's meaning.
It's only as good as the training material that it's been provided with and there's a hell of a lot on the Internet. What's the odds that it's (the public parts of) forums like this one which were the raw material for it's response?

"why do men crossdress as women written in the style of stephen king" - ChatGPT

In the eerie town of Derry, where shadows linger long after dusk falls, there's a peculiar phenomenon that whispers through the wind-swept streets. Men, adorned in the delicate fabric of femininity, walk a clandestine path beneath the moon's watchful eye. Their motivations, shrouded in mystery, weave a tapestry of secrets and desires, tangled like the roots of ancient trees in the dark forest.

Some say it's a manifestation of the darkness that dwells within every soul, a primal urge to embrace the forbidden and dance with the shadows that lurk in the corners of the mind. Others whisper tales of lost identities, buried beneath layers of societal expectations, yearning to break free and soar like forgotten spirits in the dead of night.

But in the heart of this enigma lies a truth more haunting than any ghost that haunts the forgotten halls of Derry's past. For in the act of donning silk and lace, these men seek refuge from a world that seeks to confine and define them. They seek solace in the soft embrace of satin, a sanctuary where the boundaries of gender blur and fade into obscurity.

Yet, as with all things in this twisted realm, darkness lurks just beyond the threshold of understanding. Beneath the facade of beauty and grace lies a tangled web of fear and insecurity, a constant battle against the demons that whisper doubt into the ears of those who dare to defy convention.

So the men of Derry cross the threshold into the world of femininity, seeking answers to questions they dare not voice aloud. They walk a precarious tightrope between acceptance and ostracization, their footsteps echoing through the empty streets like a dirge for the secrets they carry.

And as the moon wanes and the shadows grow long, they disappear into the night, leaving behind whispers and rumors that dance like phantoms in the chill night air. For in Derry, where darkness reigns supreme, even the act of donning a dress can be a journey into the unknown, where the line between reality and nightmare blurs and fades like the dying light of day.

From the post description I was thinking this group had some talented writers! It's hard to comprehend that a machine can produce something so well written.

And, of course, Tolkien...

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In the verdant realms of Middle-earth, where tales of valor and intrigue unfold beneath the gaze of the stars, there exists a phenomenon known to some as the crossing of genders. In the annals of lore, this curious practice is as enigmatic as the shifting shadows of Mirkwood or the whispers of the wind atop the Misty Mountains.

In the tranquil shires of the Shire, where hobbits dwell in peace and mirth, there are whispers carried by the gentle breeze, murmurs of those who, in defiance of convention, don the garments of the fairer sex. For such hobbits, the reasons are as varied as the hues of the autumn leaves dancing upon the breeze.

Some speak of a desire to understand the intricacies of the other gender, to walk a mile in shoes not meant for their feet, to glean insights into the mysteries of femininity. Others yet seek refuge from the constraints of societal expectation, finding solace and freedom in the flowing robes and delicate adornments traditionally associated with the fair maidens of the realm.

In the courts of Men, where lords and ladies hold sway over kingdoms vast and kingdoms small, there are whispers of another kind. Here, some men take to the guise of women not out of curiosity or rebellion, but out of sheer necessity. In a world where power is often measured by one's lineage and the circumstances of birth, there are those who find themselves thrust into roles not of their choosing, shackled by the chains of expectation.

And so, they don the guise of women, weaving intricate webs of deception to navigate the treacherous currents of courtly intrigue. Behind the veil of femininity, they find a freedom denied to them as men, a chance to shape their own destiny amidst the tumult of political machinations and whispered conspiracies.

Yet, amidst the tapestry of reasons that drive men to cross dress as women in the lands of Middle-earth, there remains one unifying thread: the quest for self-discovery. Whether driven by curiosity, necessity, or the desire for freedom, those who tread this unconventional path find themselves embarking on a journey of transformation, seeking to unearth the truths that lie hidden beneath the veneer of societal expectation. And in their quest, they remind us all that, in a world fraught with darkness and uncertainty, the most powerful magic of all is the ability to embrace one's true self, no matter the cost.

While this is fun, I wonder if anyone who has actually read Hemingway, King or Tolkien (in the original text) really recognizes in these tidbits the style of the said authors to some extent? Because, honestly, I don't. The Hemingway resembles a poem in prose, not exactly the original style of the author in his novels, the King and Tolkien are more rambling for one and pontificating for the other than actually telling a story. And dialogues are nowhere to be seen, while they abound in the original works. In my experience AI always seems impressive at first. But then one looks closer, and realizes it's often very fake and full of flaws. Hail to the human.

Me:

Write me a description of why men crossdress as women, done in the style of Dr Suess.

ChatGPT

In a whimsical world of colors and rhyme,
Where creatures dance and stories chime,
There's a tale of men who dress in lace,
And step into shoes of a different pace.

They don the skirts and frills with glee,
A merry twist in identity they see.
For some, it's a game of make-believe,
A chance to giggle and laugh and deceive.

Others find in the fabric's flow,
A freedom to let their true selves show.
In the world of Dr. Seuss, you see,
There's room for all, including he-she.

So if a man wants to wear a dress,
Why not let him, I must confess?
For in the land of whimsy and fun,
We celebrate everyone, one by one.

Whether it's for joy or to explore,
The reasons are many, that's for sure.
In Dr. Seuss's world, it's quite clear,
Be who you are, without any fear.

All evidence is that Hemingway and his wives engaged in gender fluidity and crossdressing "games" with each other.

In fact, Ken Burns speaks about this at length in the trailer to his PBS documentary on Hemingway. Some of Hemingway's own notes, talk directly about switching roles.
[B]
Speaking in the documentary, Hemingway biographer Mary Dearborn elaborates, "He really had a thing about androgyny and liked to switch sex roles in bed. And he tells Mary, 'Let's play around. I'll call you Pete and you call me Catherine.' She's satisfying that intense desire of his to play with sex roles that way. It took a lot of guts for him. In a way he wanted to be a woman who loved another woman. Now this kind of thing, it's all on a spectrum, right? But then it was unheard of."

In "Garden of Eden" Hemingway writes in a semi-biographical way ...."I'm a girl. But now I'm a boy too and I can do anything and anything and anything," she teases or warns. "I'm going to wake up in the night and do something to you that you've never even heard of or imagined." A few pages later our Hemingway avatar David experiences "the strangeness inside" as Catherine penetrates him". Hemingway had his wife Mary cut her hair short and dye it to look "more like a man". Hemingway then dyed his hair to look more feminine.

Seems like we don't need AI. Hemingway laid it all out for us.

For further reading...https://www.salon.com/2021/04/12/hem...arden-of-eden/