I know it's transgender awareness week so I should write something on that subject (which I will) but I am in Milan, I promised some fashion pics and, after my last post on my favourite frock, my mind (as is that of just about every TGirl) is focused on fabulousness. So as most of us drown in what seem to be worldwide rains and bad news, I think it's time for some sparkle.
Now, darlings, I am looking for a sparkly, shimmery frock, some
twinkling jewellery to stave off the winter gloom, maybe even a little
leather something in the bag or shoe department. As it happens, my girl birthday comes up this week, and we're heading into party season, and Christmas is coming as well, and as gift giving is very much the thing at birthdays and Christmas, well, I'll just drop that little hint ...
Now Luigi my chauffeur has just parked up the Ferrari in the Quadrilateral, Milan's fashion district, and I am wandering about the outlets with my camera for a bit of inspiration. What do you think of these for sparkly frocks? I've done the hard work, you only need to pick one.
Chanel, ever classic:
Now, Emé has some interesting items...
Long burgundy leather dress maybe, but not with that tie! (ugh! ties are for boys and they're made of slugs and snails and puppy dogs tails, as we know.) The burgundy leather shorts with pop sox? No way!
But then we spot this:
Perhaps that's more what we're looking for this season. Emé is a bridalwear shop most of the year. *Sigh!*
These items from Pronovias, also bridal much of the time. How about the blue ones?
Silver and shiny here at Collini:
Oh, my!
I like the black with gold sparkles or brocade a lot, but trousers are not my thing for a party. Best go with the LBD and sparkly bolero on the right.
What has Valentino to offer this year? The window displays are a bit incoherent ...
But this is what seem to be in mind:
Elisabetta Franchi always gets top marks for her business attire (noted for another time) ...
But then there's this very Roaring Twenties style here. I'd have to lose a lot of weight to look good in these:
There's this sparkly silver and fluffy black item. I don't think I'll ever be daring enough to go around dressed like the model in the poster behind, though!
What for me is a No is something like this where every item - leather jacket, tulle skirt, leather trousers - might work separately but they don't go together so well:
Some interesting bags:
Not sure I like the bags in Louboutin's. Quite like the boots, though.
Milan is probably the most LGBT friendly city in Italy so I imagine that Jim and Jack are delighted with their bags from Zadig & Voltaire!
And now for jewellery ... This lady's covered in it, with sparkly creatures on her skirt:
And this guy kept staring at me ... which doesn't encourage me to enter.
Well, those are some of the things that caught my eye when I was looking for classy sparkle. I didn't buy anything - the fashion shops are for people with money to burn.
It was a typical November day here, slightly foggy and damp, but the bustle of people and the warm glow of shops made it lively and welcoming, as this picture of Milan's fabulous nineteenth-century shopping arcade shows.
I'm home for a couple of days. Because I really needed to wind down with my favourite dress on.
It's been a difficult year because of a relative of mine was in hospital for six months after disastrous surgery. He's been back home for a couple of weeks now. I did his tax return for him in September, which was very stressful, so dealing with his domestic arrangements and residual administrative stuff this month has been OK, if dull. But I've gone home for these two days as, frankly, he's able to cope now and I really need a break. More than that, I really need my favourite dress. It's all very well wearing women's trousers and shirts away from home so as to be mistaken for masculine and thereby avoiding awkward questions, but it's another to feel properly feminine, and for that a dress is the best option.
My favourite dress is nothing to excite interest. It's not glamorous, it's not fancy, it's not daring, it's not pretty, it's not eye-catching. Quite the opposite: it's just a plain, charcoal-grey, three-quarter length, soft jersey dress that I have had for nearly 30 years! Yes, I bought it in the January sales in London's Oxford Street in 1997 for just £11.50 and I have worn it and worn it and worn it. It's apparently indestructible! And it flows with me. So it's my favourite, the one I always pick when I really just need to be me.
I've spent the last ten days looking after this relative of mine who spent six months in hospital and who is now home. That's mainly involved my going shopping and doing a bit of light housework for him. His nurse has visited daily to deal with his dressings and check on his health, which is just as well as the only things I know about nursing come from watching too many Carry-On films and that's probably unsuitable training for real life.
Ooh, you've got a big growth there, Mr Boggis. Don't worry, we'll have it off right away.
Given that this morning he walked to the chemist, the newsagent and the bakery himself, I'm thinking that my presence here is now more for the sake of company than anything useful. I expected to be here much of November but I'll be going home for a bit next week.
I am not obviously dressed as a woman, although I always am. I have to be discreet about washing and drying my underwear here, though, as it's clearly feminine. I got a compliment from him on my shoes, despite their being women's shoes, which made me chuckle inside.
Last night we watched an old episode of Commissario Montalbano, the well-known Sicilian police drama, in which one character was having an affair with a trans woman. My relative turned to me and informed me, as he does every time any trans woman, drag queen, crossdresser or feminine queer person ever appears on TV, that "that's a man, you know." Apart from the condescension of assuming I need such information, and that the actress playing the trans character (Morgana Gargiulo) is actually trans herself, the transophobia is brazen. I guess it wasn't so bad this time; usually he comes out with things like, "That's not a woman, he's got a penis, you know". The fact that this blunt, bigoted commentary from him seems compulsory every time a trans face appears on TV or in the press suggests the phobia runs very deep indeed, like my father's frothing abuse each and every time a black person is on TV. But all my family are like this, and not just about trans or race matters. To them anyone who is not precisely like themselves in sexuality, culture, skin tone, beliefs, preferences or whatever is a deranged pervert. I assume there is a bigotry gene since cultural and generational trauma doesn't seem to me to be enough to explain all this.
Trying to discuss or reason with bigots is something I no longer engage in as it tends just to make such people more stubborn in their views rather than admit they've been ignorant or abusive.
By the way, you've no idea how difficult it is to visit trans sites and blogs and write this one whilst I'm in the home of someone who is always curious as to what I'm doing or about to do. Why are families so nosey?
As I said before, I am doing this stint at my relative's home as I owe him a big favour but after this I'll be reducing contact with family even further, and it's not close even now. They're bad people and it's taken me decades to come to terms with that sad reality. I just wish life had been different. Trans people who have supportive relatives and loving households should count their blessings.
I'd bite my nails with frustration but, being a trans woman, having them nice, neat and long overrides that urge.
Fashion capital
I'm in the fashion capital, Milan, and I've been looking in the windows of the Quadrilateral, the main fashion district, for any weird and wonderful outfits or accessories but I'm sorry to say that they're all now already outfitted for Christmas. I do a Milan Christmas fashion post virtually every year so photos will have to wait till I declare that it's Christmas! My blog, my rules!
Replies
Thanks for your comments, which have been very encouraging and kind. We seem to be in a period when I can reply so do keep them coming.
I'm not at home this Hallowe'en so it's cancelled. Which is slightly annoying as I'd got my cobweb pattern tights and elbow-length gloves specially for this year's witchy doings. Maybe I'll have to be the Christmas Spider or something instead.
Whaddaya mean there's no Christmas Spider?
Of course there is! You know, the spider who lives in the chimney and crawls into Santa's boot and bites his toe as he tries to manoeuvre quietly round your living room furniture ... You've never experienced that? It's OK, I'll pop round this year and make Santa wake the kids with expletive-laden stomping about and crashing into things. Merry Cursemas one and all!
So, as there will be no Hallowe'en photos this year, I'll carry on with my posting of rediscovered photos from past years. This time it's the Great Drag Race of 2010, an event I described in Episode 2 of my 2020 series on my First Steps in Trans Living (series here, with links although it's easier if I copy the relevant text below and add to it). This was one of the events that really increased my confidence. Now I have all the photos that my official photographer, Ange, took. She's a professional photographer and came with some impressive kit. Ange is the first T-Girl I ever met and she's something of a sister to me. Thanks, sis.
Many trans people rely on fancy dress events to get a chance to be out
as themselves without attracting undue comment. Events like Hallowe'en
or Carnival, the school prom or the local drama club, and similar. So
the opportunity I had to be out in public was the Great Drag Race in
2010.
Nothing to do with RuPaul, this was an event organised by Prostate UK
and Prostate Action (now amalgamated as Prostate Cancer UK), which are charities that fund research into prostate cancer and look after sufferers and
their families. A good cause, not just for men and their families, but
trans women too as, even after transition, the prostate may cause
problems. The reason it was a race in drag was to acknowledge the
high-profile work done by women for breast cancer care with events like
the Moonwalk or Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
I'm not a drag queen and, frankly, neither was any other participant,
but here was a chance to be dressed in public, with praise for doing so
thrown in. Win-win! I had various sponsors though my contribution was slight as I managed to get time off work only at the last minute.
It was quite a high-profile event, held in London Fields, a park in
North-East London, and the compère was Peter Duncan, best known for his
TV shows, notably Blue Peter (a very long-running children's magazine programme). A very personable, down-to-earth man in real life.
So although most of the participants being sponsored to run were just
men who'd borrowed something off their wives, some of us like to think
we were a bit more like the real thing. In fact, as I applied my makeup,
one guy looked over at me and said, "You've done this before!" This is my official portrait photo from the event:
(c) The X Foundation
This is my unofficial photo in the official photo spot:
And this is the unofficial photo of the official photo being taken, a metaphoto if you wish:
Stop giggling at the back. I'm entirely innocently holding a furled pink umbrella by my side for this family-friendly event. But, yes, you can see why I've never posted this before! Always check your camera angle, Ange!
Ange did take a good artistic picture of me applying my makeup, though:
There was a general makeup table to sit at and apply such makeup as might be wanted and it was there that another official event photographer wanted to snap me before I was fully in Sue mode and I refused to allow her to as I was very much needing to be in stealth as I wasn't out as trans at this point at all. I know it's a contradiction to be in stealth at a high-profile public event but then trans living is a university degree course in finding inauthentic ways to be authentic. One day I might graduate.
Here are some more photos, looking neat and fresh before I ran the race:
So after makeup and photos the next thing to do was to break a world record. With pep talks from a professional drag queen (whose spicy thoughts perhaps overlooked that this was a family event - oops!), and from Peter Duncan and organisers, and then ten minutes training from choreographer Lisa Lee, we formed a chorus line of 128 queens and danced (or flailed around) for five minutes to Bonnie Tyler's Holding Out for a Hero. Guinness World Records
considered this activity sufficient to qualify for the title of Longest
Line of Dancing Drag Queens and so, dear readers, I am a world
record holder with an official certificate to say so, and if Roy Castle
were still alive I'm sure he'd tell everyone on his show about our
outstanding achievement. Dedication and all that. (For younger and non-UK readers, Roy Castle was a musician, actor and entertainer who had a TV show for children called Record Breakers. "Dedication" was the lousy theme song that he sang at the end of every episode.) This record was broken by a new line of 144 drag queens at the Great Drag Race in 2012. The race itself was 10200 metres overall (six and a third miles),
representing the 10200 people who die from prostate cancer in Britain
each year. It was a warm summer's day and, frankly, running that far in a
wig is no joke. The hair I chose was a cheap but light purchase from
Doreen Fashions (a shop for trans women that sadly now exists only
online). I did wear sensible running shoes but swapped them for
four-inch court shoes for the last lap, and waved my pink umbrella too!
Frankly, such shoes are not for running in - I bruised my toes! Sadly, Ange had got bored by this point and put her camera away so you'll just have to take my word for it.
Some action shots now. The pleasant companion on my right kept pace with me most of the way.
The whole event raised about £20,000 and was the first of several such sponsored races.
It was exhilarating being out in a very public place in this way and
thereby gain more confidence. I spotted another TGirl participating. You could
tell because we actually looked different from the rest. It was her first time
out in public and, incredibly, she came on the Underground dressed
already. I didn't actually talk to her on the day, only subsequently, because of the unwritten rule that you don't point out to a TGirl you may have spotted that she's a
TGirl, even if you both are. She has now transitioned successfully. From small acorns like this, mighty oaks grow.
There's not a lot online about this event any more although I did find this on YouTube which gives a bit of the flavour. I'm in the photo at 1:08-1:11 sandwiched between the red dress and the white camera.
Thanks again to Ange for giving moral support and taking the photos and for the people who sponsored.
Thank you again to those who comment on my blog. I'm still having problems replying but solutions are being worked out...
It's been a strange year this, dominated by the hospitalisation of a relative of mine. He should be returning home today after six months on the wards so I have swapped the dramatic evergreen landscape of the coast for the autumn golds of the big city in order to give him a hand as he readjusts to normality.
Sadly, it's not going to be full-on fem time thanks to the vigilant bigotry and phobias of my family. Nevertheless, my 'masculine lesbian' or androgynous look of women's shirts and trousers that is my everyday attire these days passes scrutiny, and I have some warm tights to mitigate the cooler climate. You may wonder why I would help a bigot and the answer is that he was instrumental in helping me settle in Italy and even made the wise suggestion as to where I should move to, which has worked out very well. So I owe him one.
I'm not sure that I make a great nurse so we have the local visiting one from the hospital engaged to come and change his dressings and supervise his medication but I am here to shop and cook and generally deal with everyday stuff for a bit.
What's struck me so far, as I hinted above, is autumn. The view from my bedroom window here is nothing but a mass of leaves turning gold.
I remember this tree from when I was little and it was just a spindly sapling in the road that people would casually run their cars into when parking. You wouldn't do that now as it towers over the whole house! It's a real contrast with the evergreen pines and turquoise sea of the coast I've left and you'll appreciate the acclimatisation shock.
If you want to see beautiful autumn colours from the Alpine region you could do worse than look at Violetta's fabulous blog: Violetta''s autumn
Milan where I now am is a fashion capital so I plan to use my time out to bring you any attractive or weird outfits and accessories from the designer outlets.
A disturbance in the Force
The arcane powers that run Blogger seem to have hit a patch of instability, eddies in the space-time continuum or something, so once more I am having trouble replying to comments through my usual channel or through the substitute that I found for previous instabilities. Do not adjust your set. I will acknowledge your comment as soon as have found a way or the Supreme Blogging Council have found a fix themselves.
In the last couple of weeks I've been talking about updating my jewellery collection.
Evidently someone was reading as I had a call from a gentleman in Paris who had a special offer on matching earrings, necklaces and tiaras, for rapid dispatch to discerning customers outside France.
Well, that was a stroke of good timing as these sparklies are going to replace my tired old stuff rather nicely.
I always think a tiara is a perfect addition to any shopper's look as they rummage in the frozen food cabinets at the supermarket, don't you? A crown would have been nicer but apparently his employees have been a little clumsy and mislaid it.
Apparently, I should not take calls from one Inspector Clouseau who is also after these items. Presumably he wanted them for his girlfriend? You've got to be quick, Inspector.
Peter Sellers in top form there examining the evidence after a jewel heist from a museum in the The Return of the Pink Panther, probably the best of the Clouseau films.
Seriously, I hope they catch the rather attractively accessorised thief. But thank you, whoever you are, for getting Trump and Putin and Sarkozy and Prince Andrew out of the top news spots for a bit.
As I wait for a relative to emerge from hospital I've just been enjoying the continuing summer as the weather has been wonderful for months. People are still on the beach and I've been using my spare time to explore.
Last time I wrote I was looking over my jewellery to see what is worth keeping and what needs replacing, and this week I'm looking at mending some clothes that are worth it. We live in a throwaway society but actually I'm getting a bit disgusted with that attitude we've developed of ridding ourselves of imperfect items and just buying new ones. The quality of material gets worse each year, so that's another incentive to keep things.
Socks, tights and stockings are probably not worth darning these days, it's true, but a favourite pair of jeans is worth patching even if they're cheap as, frankly, it's actually less hassle, time and, of course, money than going out to find another pair like them.
Definitely ruined. Tsk! That's the second pair this week!
Outdoor events
My potted plants continue to grow in the fine weather. This little lithops has just put out a flower.
This weekend was the Sanremo rally with fast cars zipping all over the place. Next week is the Tenco music prize contest for the best original singer-songwriter. And harvest festivities continue; there are a lot of roast chestnuts to be had around the place.
The best climate anywhere?
I've been exploring the nearby bay and hills of Ospedaletti and Coldirodi this past week. Not a well-known part of the riviera but Ospedaletti on the coast is said to have the best climate in Italy, being uniquely mild in winter and never too hot in summer. The riviera here has a perfect combination of hot air blowing north from Africa, hitting the Alps where they plunge into the sea and creating a subtropical microclimate for a few miles inland that remains springlike throughout the year. Ospedaletti bay is just that bit smaller than neighbouring bays and so it gets the best of this phenomenon.
I especially liked walking past fruit crops typical of this area - vines, olives, lemons and pomegranates all laden with fruit - but also encountering banana groves and other exotic plants.
Bananas at Ospedaletti
Pomegranates at Coldirodi
You'll have to pardon me if this doesn't impress you but we never had things like this in damp grey Britain where I used to live. Lovely oak trees, yes, but no bananas!
Ospedaletti was founded by crusaders who were shipwrecked here, as this mural and statues show.
The church they built is a curious blend of religious building and maritime museum.
It doesn't rain much here so water for agriculture is collected in round concrete cisterns all over the mountainsides. They're useful but not pretty, but occasionally someone makes theirs pleasant by putting goldfish in or plants around or even painting them.
Not a very fem time all in all this autumn but there's a lull between having had friends to stay and before I go off to help a
relative who will be coming out of hospital. As if to emphasize the low fem vibe, I have broken every nail on both hands in one way or another these last few weeks. I take care of my nails as I love having them long and neat, and they're even better when painted, but for some reason I've battered and broken them all. Not at the same time but they've not all been even for a while now. This is distressing. I know the problem will fix itself but that takes time.
Still, as if in compensation, the autumn continues to be glorious with endless sunshine and temperatures in the mid-20s C (that's mid-70s F). I'm still in my summer clothes and nicely tanned. Also, I didn't put on too much weight when my friends were here and we were eating out a lot. Maybe we did enough walking to burn a lot of the calories.
Girly wishlist
Recently, I've been looking out for real Italian leather
handbags and belts. Nothing purchased so far but I'm homing in on
something colourful rather than the usual black, cream or tan.
I also
need to update, replace and expand my jewellery collection and I've seen some nice items
this week. I never buy anything too expensive, just something to
decorate and catch the eye. This is my favourite ring which I bought about fifteen years ago in Kingston-upon-Thames and I've been wanting something similar since but have never yet found anything that appealed quite so much.
It's
also the season of perfume samplers in the run-up to Christmas so I'm on
the look out for a new scent.
More news if I bring something home. (Oh, and obviously presents along these lines are
welcome, Santa!)
Domestic goddess
I've been doing a lot of gardening as everything is growing like crazy and I've planted new cactuses and succulents, which are really cheap at the market. I've found that a pine tree and a palm have started growing in my herb pots. Presumably the seeds were dropped by birds. So I've repotted them and, since forested blocks of flats are all the rage, I shall join that trend and they can join Arnold the Olive, who continues to thrive.
It's harvest season and I'm into mushrooms. I got some nice fresh porcini which I straight away made into a tasty stew and pasta sauces, with my own home-grown parsley and chilli thrown in.
I haven't taken any photos of myself in domestic goddess mode so far because I don't do my hair and makeup properly every day and I do like to look right for a photo. But I do love my home life in a dress or slacks. It just feels completely right and normal.
Local events
This weekend is a local holiday here - yes, they have local and regional public holidays here in Italy as well as national ones - so, given the wonderful weather, I'm planning a barbecue on holiday Monday.
Yesterday, a whole line of Morgan open-top cars rolled into town. I have no idea why, although classic cars and rally cars are a feature of the area with several rallies and gatherings every year. I have little interest in cars - insufficient masculine enthusiasm for sport and engineering, I'd say - but my fem mind observed that there seems to be one rule for owning a Morgan: the driver must be male and wear a cloth cap and the passenger must be female and wear a headscarf. Complete that requirement and presumably any model and colour is yours to purchase.
