[SIZE="2"]I’m not a Baby Boomer per se – more like a cross-generational being, since I was never meant to be here in this form, at this point in time. Try as they might, I will not submit to generational labeling. That being said, I never assumed I was the only crossdresser in the Universe, but evidence to the contrary was scanty at best – I set about collecting any and all examples of MtF crossdressing, storing them in my mental scrapbook…[/SIZE]Originally Posted by ColleenA
[SIZE="2"]These days I completely dismiss DRAG for what it is, a comedic misrepresentation of female appearance, done purely for laughs at the expense of women. As such, I avoid these famous public (and thus sanctioned) versions of MtF, for they have done US much harm – as soon as I don my female attire everyone thinks I’m making a joke, and you can blame Flip Wilson, Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon, Dame Edna, Dustin Hoffman and several others for instilling this idea in people’s minds. I avoid drag like the plague it is, and I had to look in to other cultures for a serious depiction of MtF crossdressing, bereft of absurdity and beautiful in its simplicity…[/SIZE]Of course, men in dresses had been a comedy staple since forever, with such things as Flip Wilson's Geraldine or "Some Like It Hot." But to see the concept taken seriously? Wasn't that kind of a revelation?
[SIZE="2"]Ms. Jorgenson was a TS, so that’s another matter entirely – people, meaning “normal” people, may understand transsexuals, but when a boy dresses as a girl for pleasure, yet remains a boy in all but appearance, this is very hard for outsiders to understand. There is no joke forthcoming, and there may be no hypothetical “woman inside,” so where do we place our intrepid explorer? It took me many, many years to discover the hidden truth about crossdressing – I knew it had to be there, and, since I don’t believe any opinions or viewpoints that I hear or see in the media, I just kept looking. Conformity hides non-conformist activity, or pushes it out of sight, and we all suffer for it. In the end, I just cultivated my own garden and arranged my thoughts in support of this tactile splendor I call crossdressing. There is nobody quite like me, so I carry on…I had heard of Christine Jorgenson, but knew virtually nothing about her, so her story was abstract to me.
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