Swim season

 I've noticed how Friday seems to be Chief Posting Day on my corner of the blogosphere so I'm acting with the vibe this week.

The next three months are High Summer Season here on the coast when the pools, the beach clubs and the hotels are all full of families needing sun and relaxation. It's my favourite time of year because the weather is beautiful, the colours are intense and everyone's in a good mood.

 

More try-ons

This evening I've got my latest summer dress on but paired with an old pair of wedge sandals and a very old pair of stockings. I'm pretty sure I bought the stockings in the late '90s when gloss was in fashion but they're still in perfect condition.

 

 

Swimming 

I'm ready for the opening of the outdoor pool this weekend. The one sad part is that I can't afford to come out as trans at the moment so I look longingly at my swimsuits and bikinis in the drawer but know I won't be swimming in them. Not this season at least. 

My skin is smooth and hair-free, and this morning I removed the black nail polish I've been enjoying on my toes for the last couple of weeks. I think it'll be back on at Hallowe'en, though, for some witchy fun. The blue polish I tried recently was lousy but the black is great.

 

Slimming

I have more weight to lose, but not as much as before. Earlier this week I got to the lightest I've weighed in over 15 years. I'm a bit bigger again now as I attended a bit of a celebration later and pizza and beer were served. Pizza and alcohol are probably the two least slimming things in the universe so I'll have to swim the effects off over the next few days. At least hot summers reduce the appetite and make you actually want the contents of the fruit basket and salad bowl. The one thing I notice is that my slimming is not having much effect on my breasts, which remain perky and feminine, and that makes me happy.

 

Prickly and perky 

Talking of perky and feminine, I've had two cactuses flower this week. One's yellow and one's pink. Being trans feminine, as I always say, isn't just about the clothes but about the way you respond to life, and flowers attract me.

Pride Month

Next week I'll be posting some more positive stories to encourage us in this Pride Month. The Almighty Algorithm suggested this protest song to me this week and I'm happy to copy the suggestion here. It features the Trans Chorus of Los Angeles, which I'd not heard of before but I'm pleased to have had this introduction to them. There are many trans and queer musical ensembles and choirs around the world and it seems the number has grown a lot in the last ten years or so. It's not an easy task to make a coherent choir from singers whose voices rarely correspond to standard pitches.

"You Can't Erase Us" seems a sadly apt refrain in much of the world at present.

 

News just in: RIP British artist David Hockney, who died yesterday. A champion of LGBT rights, he painted queer subjects even before the decriminalisation of homosexuality. More in my arts post next week.

Have a good weekend.

Sue x

Pride Month - positive press pages

 Certain parts of the world have noisy, aggressive politicians and opinionated media who are transphobic. Other places are improving and supporting trans rights. A few positive examples culled from my reading just this week:-

 

Daily press: transition assistance triples 

In Italy's north-west coastal province of Savona, inquiries to Arcigay (the national LGBT support society) about social and medical transition have tripled in the last four years. In response to this, dedicated medical services are becoming available in local hospitals. Up to now people have had to go to the main hospital in the regional capital, Genoa. There has also been an increase in requests for information from teachers and schools on how best to assist trans students. 

Trans rights are strongly protected by law in Italy, provided you are transitioning. So work still needs to be done to improve trans rights outside the officially recognised transition route. Whilst transitioning in a big city is less socially fraught, Arcigay are seeing how trans people in isolated mountain communities can be better assisted.

(Interestingly, the Arcigay enquiry centre in Savona is financially supported by the Waldensian Church through monies derived from charitable tax relief. The main protestant movements like Lutheranism, Calvinism and Anglicanism arose in the 16th century but the Waldensians are a much older, deriving from Waldo of Lyons in the 12th Century. Despite many attempts to suppress them through violence, as happened to other proto-protestant movements like the Albigensians in France and the Hussites in Bohemia, the Waldensians have kept going, mainly here in the Alps. English poet John Milton's famous sonnet, On the Late Massacre in Piedmont ("Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints ...") is about one such Waldensian genocide in 1655. Maybe it's this history of persecution that makes them support other oppressed groups like trans people. Anyway, it makes a nice contrast to the frothing transphobia of our local Roman Catholic bishop.)

 

Fashion press: Elle magazine

I have praised this mainstream women's magazine many times on my blog. It is regularly, consistently and unequivocally pro-trans, with frequent articles dedicated to trans matters. 

This week, Elle Italia has an interview with US-Chilean trans actress, Lux Pascal, especially on her last film role in Queen of Coal, a biopic about Carlita Rodriguez, the first trans woman to be a coal miner in Patagonia in a totally male dominated industry.

 

Science press

This month's Le Scienze, which is the Italian edition of Scientific American, and its sister publication Mind on neuroscience and psychology, have three relevant articles. 

One is a long piece on vocal cord defects of all kinds. There is a very nicely written page on the different vocal cord modification procedures for trans men and trans women. The tone is as matter-of-fact yet compassionate, as it is when describing other forms of dysphonia (i.e. when your voice goes wrong) and the treatments available. Trans is a thing and science treats it as such.

Another article is short but interesting summary of a study concluding that in queer relationships, communication is key. Nothing new there as far as cis and straight people are concerned, but trans and gay people often assume that if they are with someone like them then the communication battle is half won by their both having a similar queer experience. This is a bad assumption as, in fact, queer relationships have fewer standard scripts to rely on than cis/straight ones as each queer couple is, in many respects, breaking new ground.

Finally, there is a drama initiative in the mountain province of Biella in Northern Italy to help address young people's issues. The young actors are invited to ad lib and act spontaneously rather then follow a set script and directions. This has created much more real and immediate drama. Some of the issues include gender non-conformity. Actors and audience have described a visceral reaction against misgendering, even though here it's fictional. There's nothing like showing bare abuse for what it really is.

 

So there you have some pro-trans stories from my press cuttings this week. It's all steady, solid, accepting, even practical support in the print press, which is a shot in the arm, at least for this trans woman. I have some positive items from the world of arts and music to come in due course.

 

Preparing for summer

I continue to lose weight, I am getting tanned and I am looking forward to the outdoor swimming pool opening in a few days. To avoid any dysphoria like I suffered last year, I have made sure I am fully epilated (but I will take off this nail varnish). I'm still experimenting with new looks, nails and makeup - more on that soon.

I have also been doing a lot of gardening. My olive tree - now five years old - looks like it will have quite a crop of olives this year. And I've been admiring the lanes with their prickly pears in flower:

 

Pretty but dangerous. Maybe that's how we need to be! Happy Pride Month. 

Sue x

Big new boosts for trans youngsters (and older ones!)

 It's not all bad news for trans rights. Here are three very positive news items from the last few days, ending this month on a real high.

 

Scouts and guides

Italy has a large but very fragmented scouting culture and there has always been a number of competing scouting associations. Some are lay or non-religious or non-denominational and others are Catholic and have a religious component to their activities. The largest Catholic association, AGESCI, has around 185,000 members from the age of 8 upwards, and after many years of discussion in committee, it has come all out in favour of LGBT scouts and guides. So if you are a trans girl you can be a girl guide in their association. And trans boys can be scouts. Although I think girls have been accepted as scouts for some time now anyway. 

"We are not afraid of losing members," says the document issued by the AGESCI management committee this week. "For us the acceptance of anyone and everyone comes first and foremost. We make no distinction between boys and girls." They go on to state that homophobia and transphobia have been an obstacle to bringing their scout and guide packs closer together and that they feel that recognition of LGBT rights within their organisation is non-negotiable.

This is a very big step, and obviously a carefully considered one for an organisation that is affiliated to the Roman Catholic church which is one of the fiercest critics of LGBT rights. This move does follow evidence that people in Catholic dominated countries are not prepared simply to take orders from the clergy any more but to act according to their social conscience, as we have witnessed in, for example, recent referendums in the Republic of Ireland and the Catholic cantons of Switzerland where gay marriage has been clearly endorsed by the public.

 

Young people nowadays

It's always been said throughout history that "today's" younger generation is rude, wild and out of control, in contrast to the past. If you read back through opinion pieces, literature, laws and other texts throughout history, this is a repeating meme. It's something the media have always loved to harp on. Logically, this notion can only mean that Ug and Ogga from the Caveman Days had children who were little saints and it's all been downhill ever since. Really?

I read in the science press this month about several peer-reviewed studies of young people's behaviour and outlook, with reference in some cases to crime statistics, historic school records and the like. A very brief summary of the evidence, mainly from the USA, concludes that young people nowadays, far from being on the road to delinquency, are more tolerant, more empathetic, less neurotic and antisocial, more accepting of others (notably in LGBT matters), are less likely to become involved in crime, take drugs or get drunk than in the past; that IQ is rising and that most want to make something of themselves. This is super positive and it may well be that in a post-Trump, post-Putin world, where our young get to thrive, society could be really good.

Just as a footnote on this theme, my grandfather wrote some memoirs of childhood (which he didn't publish, sadly), about growing up in the Nineteen-Teens around the time of the First World War when he and his many siblings used to be pretty wild, playing all sorts of irresponsible pranks and doing dangerous stunts, like picking the lock of the firearms cupboard where rifles for the local Volunteer Training Corps were kept and shooting the fire station bell to make a satisfying clang all over the neighbourhood, or devising a flame-thrower from a garden sprayer that burnt the rose bushes to ash, or riding round on a motorbike wearing monkey masks and doffing their hats to the startled city traffic. Despite this career of violent youthful pastimes, neither he nor his brothers and sisters grew into irresponsible adults. As he said in his defence, given that at the time the grown-ups of Europe were busy gassing and shelling and bombing each other, his generation could hardly be blamed for being a bit wild.

 

Cannes Film Festival

Finally, last week I mentioned a couple of lesbian themed films that opened the nearby Cannes Film Festival. There have been other LGBT films showing there, and very pro-LGBT directors and stars like Pedro Almodovar and Penelope Cruz. 

The one film that seems exclusively dedicated to a trans theme is Cœur secret (A Secret Heart) by Tom Fontenille. The blurb:

Over the last 4 years, Lilou left her secret life behind, becoming a 64-year-old woman who enjoys DIY, gardening, cycling and looking after her grandchildren. As I accompanied her through her transformation [sic], I filmed a family healing its wounds and reinventing a place for everyone. This is my family, Lilou is my father. 

It's not so common to find a view of transition from a child's point of view rather than from that of the transitioner, their partner, friends or support team. It should be coming out in selected cinemas shortly.

 

Long weekend

Tuesday, June 2nd, is a public holiday here so the intervening Monday tends to get filled in with a day of annual leave to create what's called a "bridge". So it's basically a four-day weekend here when life won't be as normal. 

So what's a TGirl to do? Why, get dolled up, of course! I'm just trying out my new black nail varnish and have gone for a vampish look to start with...

 

More photos after the weekend.

I'm also inventing new slimming but filling and nutritious recipes, like this concoction of spinach, chard, escarole lettuce and turnip greens with an egg and some mozzarella cheese, and a chilli pepper thrown in to liven it up. All local ingredients, very tasty and ideal for the season. Here's my dish part-way through cooking.

 

 

Comments

Thank you for all your interesting, encouraging, funny and otherwise worthwhile comments this year. I do appreciate feedback and interaction. The only requirement is to sign up to Blogger, which I've found a very effective way of reducing spam almost to nothing. 

Have a good weekend. 

Sue x  

Why do you want to be a woman?

 Questions, questions. 

I've often been asked "So why do you want to be a woman?"

It's the wrong question. I don't want to be a woman. Being trans is something that I am, that happened to me, that I have no say in, like my genes or skin colour. There's nothing I can do about it. I wish I wasn't trans but there we are. I do what I can with it in the circumstances I find myself in.

"Are you a woman?" 

I'd like to be treated as one.

"What, even though women have worse pay, suffer more violence and are usually second-class citizens?"

Even that. 

"But you have been a man."

We all play our roles in life. Your behaviour as a parent is not the same as your behavior at work or in the gym or whatever other roles you have. You act the part and stay safe.

"But why wear skirts? Most of us women wear trousers."

True, and so do I quite often, but a skirt gives me a more obvious feminine shape, it signals femininity more clearly and, since I've been forced to wear trousers for much of my life, I'd rather have something more obviously different. What we wear is not just for warmth and decency but is also a strong social signal. 

"But can't you wear a skirt for men, like a kilt?"

A kilt is a man's garment and that's not the deal here. 

And so on. I've been interrogated like this many times, usually by women, some out of curiosity, some more aggressively. It's sometimes hard to judge what is interest expressed poorly and what is rude intrusion.

"What's your real name?"

Sue.

"No, I mean your real name."

Still Sue. 

"So, like, have you had the operation?"

Have you always been rude? 

Is this how you normally approach strangers?  

It gets boring, sometimes weird, always uncomfortable, and sometimes nasty. As trans people, I think we've all been there. If you're not trans, please simply get to know your trans person in a normal way, and the answers to your questions will doubtless emerge in due time.

 

Blue nails, and other colours

So I've been experimenting with new nail varnishes and I tried the blue one, a colour I've never used before. But blue is for boys, right? (see conversations above.)

 

It needed two coats as it was very watery, which is one downside of getting a cheap one. The upside of getting a cheap one is that you don't lose much money if you don't like it, and so far I don't like it.

I want to try it with some sporty grey leggings and a matching blue top just to see if it works better in a casual context but the weather's been a bit too hot for that. It should cool a bit by the weekend and I'll try again.

Actually, the weather is reasonable for late May here, about 30C, and not as bad as some other places in Europe, but it hit very suddenly. Even I like a slow run-up to hot weather, or cold for that matter.

Anyway, the plants are loving it and there's a riot of colour in the hedgerows here and on plants clambering over the lampposts.   

 

I think my nails might look better with one of these shades!

The statue of Spring on the promenade:

 

Sue x  

Queer time with Frankenstein

 Is Frankenstein a queer icon?

One of the lesser known things to see in Rome is the Keats-Shelley House, which was almost empty when I visited, despite its being right by the famous 'Spanish Steps'. Keats is the English Romantic poet and the Shelleys are the poet and his novelist wife. Keats' died in this house at the age of just 26; had he lived to old age, might he have been the greatest English poet? I think he could have been. His bedroom overlooks the steps. What an incredible home to live and die in.

But I'd like to talk about the most interesting thing I found in there, which is Mary Shelley's portable writing slope on which she penned much of Frankenstein, aged around 19. The book at the back is a signed copy of the novel.

 

The label beside it posited Frankenstein as a queer text and so piqued the interest of my travelling companion, Lizzy the Lesbian Lobster, who is always on the lookout for queer icons.

 

The label reads: 

Missing narratives …
Mary Shelley’s writing slope

Mary Shelley is an exception to the habit of erasing women from literary history, despite her own efforts to promote her husband’s legacy at the expense of her own. Her most renowned work, Frankenstein, has been and still is being reclaimed by several marginalised groups, from the rise of feminist literary criticism in the 1970s to trans and queer interpretations in the 2010s and early 2020s. In these latter instances, Victor Frankenstein’s making of the Creature was variably understood as a disregard for heteronormative “laws” of reproduction, or as a projection of homosexual desire onto another male body. The Creature has also been reread as a queer character, given his incapacity to adapt to a normative society, or even as a transgender figure, for his body disavows his creator’s expectations. In general, all these readings agree that Frankenstein’s offspring incarnates the queer urge to disrupt society’s rules. 

Personally, I think that's stretching it a bit. If you read the book - and the prose is none of the easiest, so good luck - the poor creature starts very far from being an intentional disrupter but wishes only to integrate and be accepted. Rejected firstly by his creator and then by humanity, his innocence and virtue are broken by suffering through no fault of his own. That I can relate to. A body that doesn't fit norms and perceptions might be another thing that resonates with trans people. 

 

Hungary and beyond

Best wishes to my lovely Hungarian friend Wilhelmina whom I have known since the first day I went out as Sue. The change of government in her country is very welcome within and outside that country's borders. Truth be told, we'll have to wait and see if the new parliament is genuinely willing and able to undo the damage of the previous incumbent. Given the usual attitudes of Christian nationalism as espoused by the incoming party, I'm not sure that there will be a huge move to improve trans rights there, but we can hope that with a bit of EU pressure (and cash, no doubt), things will get better. 

Last month I voted against the transphobic Italian government and I notice increasing voting shifts throughout the West - e.g. Canada, Poland, Holland and now, impressively, Hungary - against extreme populist agendas that don't deliver improvements, only isolation. No, trans people are not to blame for your society's ills and its economic downturns, as populists state. I've maintained here for years in the teeth of general despair that the public at large don't buy the transphobia that contemporary nasty parties have been nailing so firmly to their masts. When the nasties are gone, I think there will be better rights for trans people as new outlooks try to undo the damage of the present. 

 

Propaganda

And talking of bad politics, here is Propaganda Street in Rome. 

Named after the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, Latin for the Congregation for Spreading the Faith, an office of the Catholic Church that promotes missionary work, it is headquartered in this attractive baroque building a stone's throw from the Keats Shelley House. 

So originally the word Propaganda had no especial political connotations at all. Just so you know.

The building has extraterritorial status, like an embassy. So I wonder if, say, you are being chased by the Italian police, if you can run in here and claim asylum. Mind you, you'll probably be converted to Catholicism and you'll have to swap that frock for something like these pink and lace numbers. Tough choices!

Sue x

A trans-resonant fairy tale from Iceland

 Over the last year or so I've been collecting a series of books of Scandinavian folk tales to read on trains, partly because the edition is unusually slim and fits nicely in the pockets of a coat or bag, and partly because they are curious and entertaining stories, a testament to life before heavy industry and urbanisation. 

A lot of scholars wrote down folk tales in the nineteenth century to preserve them, although they often altered them to make them more consistent and readable. The Brothers Grimm (Germany) or W.B. Yeats (Ireland) or Joel Chandler Harris (African-American) are among the best known such collectors.

Very many of these Scandinavian stories are about how to steal valuables from witches, or rescue princesses from trolls who can be made to explode in various imaginative ways. But one tale from Iceland resonated very much and I think you'll see why. 

Before telling you the story, first let's look at the Icelandic notion of the world of Men and the world of Elves. Most pagan Norse tales and religious practices have come to us via the subsequent writings of medieval Christian monks and priests, in the same way that we know a lot about Greek and Roman pagan practices and beliefs because Augustine and others described them in order to criticise them. So why there are Men and Elves (the Hidden Folk) in separate realms has come down to us in this way:

Once upon a time, God went to visit Adam and Eve, so Eve started bathing her children to make them presentable but she only managed to wash half of them before God entered the house, so she hid the dirty ones away. God praised Eve for her beautiful children but since there seemed to be fewer children than he remembered, he asked if she didn't have more. Eve, embarrassed, denied it, but God wasn't fooled and said that those who had been hidden from him should be hidden to men, too. And so it came to pass that Eve's children whom God had seen became the race of Men and those who had been hidden became the race of Elves, remaining invisible to Men unless they wished to be seen. This is why they are called the Hidden Folk.

And so, with that information, we come to the Tale of King Oddur. It's not a long story but I have shortened it and emphasised the more interesting details.

The Tale of King Oddur 

 Once upon a time there was a king who was loved by his people but who thought it a pity that he was childless. One day another king named Oddur came from far away with an army and the king was defeated and died in battle. Oddur then reigned over his kingdom instead. Like his predecessor, he soon became loved by the people, though they also thought it a pity that he was childless. 

One day a stranger came asking for lodging over the winter and King Oddur accommodated him in the palace on the condition that on the first day of summer he should tell a secret about the king that nobody else knew, on pain of execution.

The winter came and passed but on the first day of summer, the stranger was unable to tell any secret that he had discovered about the king. And so he was executed.  

The following winter, the same thing happened: a stranger came asking for lodging over the winter and and the king accommodated him in the palace on the condition that on the first day of summer he should tell a secret about the king that nobody else knew, on pain of execution.

The winter came and passed but on the first day of summer, this stranger was also unable to tell any secret that he had discovered about the king. And so he too was executed.  

So it continued for a further four years. Until in the seventh year, when another stranger came and made the same request. He was duly accommodated in the palace on the same conditions as the previous six. He accepted but also requested that, if the king was agreeable, he would like to sleep in the king's own bedchamber. King Oddur agreed to the stranger's additional request.

For a long time the stranger was unable to find out any secrets about the king even though he always stayed close to him. By night, the king slept soundly and did not talk in his sleep; by day he only talked about known affairs of state. 

On Christmas Eve, however, the king got up in the middle of the night, checked to see if his guest was asleep, and crept out of the bedchamber. The stranger was, in fact, awake and just feigning sleep, and stealthily followed the king out of the palace, through the grounds, across a river and into a different land where there was much revelry. 

For a moment, the stranger lost sight of the king but when he saw him again his kingly robes were being removed and he was instead being dressed in a beautiful dress and ornaments fit for a queen. A king approached and greeted this queen with much affection and the stranger realised that King Oddur in the realm of Men was actually a queen here. The king and queen went to preside over a great banquet at the palace and the stranger was able to follow them in unseen and hide near their thrones.

The king whispered to the queen, "Has anyone guessed your secret yet? This is the seventh and last year that this curse on you could be lifted by a stranger speaking the truth about you. Without that, we will be separated for ever."

The queen looked at the king sadly and said that she had left the latest stranger asleep at the palace and was worried that no-one would ever know her secret and that she would never be released from the curse and be able to live as the queen in her rightful realm. 

That's all the stranger needed to know. He sneaked away and returned to the palace the way he had come and by the time King Oddur had returned to the bedchamber, the stranger was genuinely asleep, snoring contentedly.

King Oddur became more and more preoccupied as winter wore on and his ministers and counsellors could see his worry but not even their best news could cheer him up. The first day of summer came and the king summoned the stranger and asked him if he was able to tell a secret about him that nobody else knew.

The stranger replied that the only thing he knew was that the king had other clothes that were far more fetching than those which he wore in this world of Men.

The curse was lifted. King Oddur, with tears and affection, embraced the stranger, and, without revealing more, called his entourage and told them that he was leaving his kingdom to the stranger so as to return to his true home.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The translator feels that the main character may be transgender, or is at least of ambiguous gender. It's not actually clear as Oddur inhabits two split and incompatible realms in which they have different gender roles. What resonated with me, though, was the feeling that one's female life is the real one whereas in the human world one has to play a fake male role that someone else has designated. And that we are often wanting others to know our true nature so that we can live authentically and happily, escaping what, to all intents and purposes, is a curse. Interestingly, Oddur doesn't reveal more to the bystanders and is content that just one worthwhile person knows of her reality. 

Maybe you feel something similar after reading the story, or maybe it doesn't resonate at all. 

Over the years, I've presented historical and cultural material, much of it very ancient, that to me suggests that gender variance is common to all ages and cultures and should be regarded as a normal part of human experience. Obviously, some experience and see gender variance more than others, but I have never come across any age or place that has ever been totally binary.

Sue x 

The trans ghetto

 This post is about sex workers. It's also about the trans ghetto of Genoa. There is an overlap between the two communities.

This is also the last of my posts on my trip to Genoa in January. The previous three are:

Moby Dick and the Holy Grail (with cake)  (about art, hot drinks, vintage clothing and Columbus)

Lady? Maid? Or creepy old man? (about palaces, food and music)

Old new things and new old things (about shops, jeans and St George)

You may also like to look at my post two years ago about leading female Renaissance painter, Artemisia Gentileschi, whose rape as a young woman influenced her depictions of put-upon heroines, and this compliments today's topic:

Turning the tables on male violence - a lesson from a lady 

I am indebted to the journalist in my daily paper, which is published in Genoa, for some of the historic information on sex work in the city in response to a reader's letter earlier this week. The reader was complaining about certain ladies plying for trade within a stone's throw of the magnificent Rolli Palaces that I described, and what the tourists must think of Genoa as a result. But as I pointed out in my second post, the palaces themselves are full of suggestive art, and as the journalist's reply explains, Genoa is a busy, working port with far more serious eyesores that need attention. Let's face reality, too: big cities have always been a haven for the oldest form of entertainment, and as for sailors ... well, they have always had a reputation on shore! 

In Italy, prostitution has never been illegal. Indeed, sex work is protected under articles 2 and 13 of the current Constitution as it is an "inviolable personal freedom." There was a time when the local brothel was as much a fixture in any town as the bakery or the church and the Madam was a respected member of the community. 

Incidentally, the word casino means "little house", which was originally the brothel and then became a place for cards and other gambling games, too. Presumably a bit like those classic saloons of the Wild West where cowboys and miners would go for a drink, a card game, a girl and maybe a fight. Except here the Madams tended to keep good order in their little houses. The authorities used to tax the workers and the casinos, and there were state regulations governing the trade. Indeed, the prostitutes of Genoa of the 14th and 15th Centuries paid a levy to the port authority of 5 soldi a day which funded new harbour walls. A soldo was a silver coin similar to an English or German shilling. That was quite a lot of money 500 years ago so presumably trade was good. Ironically, given that they'd paid for it, solicitation was not permitted in the area of the harbour itself. A plaque at the old harbour today acknowledges sex workers' contribution to its construction. My journalist points out to the correspondent that the square right by the Rolli Palaces is called Piazza delle Fontane Marose, meaning Amorous Fountains Square, precisely because people would go there looking for a bit of loving. 

This all changed in 1958 when the Merlin Law came into effect, which closed the brothels in order to combat human trafficking and the exploitation of the prostitution of others. The Merlin Law (named after Lina Merlin, the first women to be elected senator, who introduced it) reflects the 1949 UN resolution on the same theme and similar moves earlier in France. Government regulation and taxation of the trade was replaced by this law. It was controversial legislation, beneficial in many ways, damaging in others: a brothel did provide physical protection, greater financial stability and health checks for its employees who nowadays have to ply their trade on their own with greater dangers from clients and disease. Yet current news suggests that trafficking and exploitation still go on - and how! - and yet despite all these protective laws, prosecuting well-connected and morbidly wealthy men for the crime of exploiting (mainly) women still seems to result in lenient sentences for that. You usually have to try other charges, like tax evasion (in the case of Al Capone), industrial espionage, misconduct in public office and the like.

Moving on. The large and ancient ports of Italy - Naples, Venice, Genoa, Taranto and so on - have very old trans communities. Where there are big cities you will find more trans people able to meet up and form a community. And ports, with their exchange of cultures and the social acceptance that results, are more inclined to be tolerant towards different people than a close-knit inland community. So there has been a trans community in Genoa since who knows when. Of course, that doesn't mean that the community isn't full of people who have arrived there after being rejected by family, spouses and friends and many have had to live by sex work in the narrow city lanes, the so-called trans ghetto. 

Back to the past, and spare a thought for Rolandina, a trans sex worker in Venice who died in 1354, the earliest record of such a person. Previously living as male under the name Rolando, her wife died in the Black Death and she then lived as a woman, selling eggs by day and joining the other girls in the streets at night. She carried on her work for 7 years before she was denounced to the authorities and was condemned to death under the sodomy laws. The hypocrisy is that a man could get a light sentence for buggery if he was "active", i.e. a top, the more masculine position. Poor Rolandina, being very feminine and therefore deemed "passive" in her relations, was given the harshest sentence permitted by law. See comments above on leniency towards men in sexual cases.

The best known lady of the trans ghetto in Genoa today is Rossella who had her own run-ins with the law in her early days. She has been the trans community's mother hen for decades and is the go-to barometer of the health of the community. Everyone knows her, she's frequently interviewed and she even has a blog, although it's only in Italian.

I myself am still struggling to find a trans group in this region to socialise with. One problem is that trans life in Italy has this long history linked to sex work and I'm not going to go down that route, even if I could build some harbour walls with my takings. So I haven't made contact with the community in Genoa, I just went to take a look.

 

This photo is one of the classic ones taken by Lisetta Carmi of a Genoese trans sex worker with a potential client and I would like to end this by inviting you to take a look at some of the fabulous photos she took of the "travestiti" of Genoa in the 1960s that I posted previously. 

The 2023 Carmi exhibition in London, "Identities"

And in 2020 on the more general theme of Trans Lives in the 1960s

Both the photos I've put up here are extracts from the fabulous Identities exhibition catalogue. 

That concludes my series of posts on Genoa. I'm sorry they've been rather long but there has been a lot to say of relevance. I will return there for more sightseeing when the weather improves. 

And just as a final word, I mentioned the origins of the word casino. The word ghetto comes from Venice and it meant the foundry or copperworks that was, inevitably, the polluted, grimy end of town. It was there that, in 1516, the government relegated the Jews of the city, thus forming the first ghetto in the modern sense. 

Sue x 

It's snow joke

"I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I feel something terrible has happened."

Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars

I aim to present trans life in a positive way, as I've said many times. Occasionally, something bad happens and I can't ignore it. So today I'd better acknowledge the bad stuff first and go on to the better stuff.

I usually sleep OK; not brilliantly, but OK. In my dreams I am almost always a trans woman who is accepted as such. That's been the standard dream premise for me since I was 5. 

Last night, though, I had a very bad night, troubled by horrible visions: first, a skeletal goat in a cowl standing by my bed; then a serpent convulsing in its death throes, biting itself but also lashing out at bystanders. 

To cap it all, a mosquito bit me. A real one, not a dream one. Mosquitoes in the depths of winter are unheard of! 

If these were ancient times I would take these as visions and signs from the gods, and consult an oracle or sybil about them. But in these less superstitious times I conclude that the traumatising news over the last two weeks has gotten to me. And that climate change is alarmingly real now if there are mosquitoes in January.

I've said here before that the purpose of government is to brutalise, and we see this regularly, such as when you're don't pay your taxes even with a good excuse, when you get burgled but the police don't take any interest, when your social security office is understaffed and you can't get that payment you are entitled to, or when you try to register a change to the gender marking on your birth certificate but you have to go through years of bureaucracy and scrutiny. The list is endless. Or you might want to complain about excessive policing or government economic policy. Then you get shot. Of course, if you kill someone, even inadvertently, your government may put millions into finding you and jailing you. But when a government has enemies, it can freely order the killing of as many as it likes with impunity. 

The story I posted last week about my screaming insane boss shows how hierarchies are often structured to cover up the behaviours and inadequacies of its members, and how bad promotions and choices of leadership can cause so much damage. That bad experience and even worse ones at work, the evil school I went to, the sick religion that was foisted on me as a child, make me chronically concerned about all the harm that is done in the world by a handful of deeply deranged individuals. 

I now live my trans life without reference to the authorities, to doctors, to activists or other people who allegedly act for the public good, our best interests, etc. I don't trust them at all. And when I see ayatollahs killing tens of thousands and presidents threatening, bullying and abusing millions, or dictators invading other countries, and hear their supporters rejoicing at the extermination, then I think I'm right to shun their evil and avoid those in their pay because if I want sanity, security and peace, I'd better look after those benefits myself. 

That said, we have no honest choice but to push back on these evil forces, support those suffering and try to engage the checks on power that are being usurped. Ostracise people you know who support murdering regimes: don't help them, don't buy from them, don't socialise with them, don't co-operate with them, just isolate them. Their outlook and behaviour are vile and that needs to be made clear to them in ways that cause them loss. In so doing, you are not so much losing a friend, relative, supplier, colleague, entertainer or other contact as reducing evil and chaos in your life and community.

My love to my trans sisters who are in the front line of so much hatred right now. Love especially to Hannah McKnight in Minneapolis whose humane and inspiring blogs I have followed for years. Stay strong but safe and know the world supports you.

 

Climate 

 

The view from home on Saturday: sailing under moody skies and choppy seas.

Despite my globally-warmed mosquito, it actually snowed on the high ground yesterday. There was a dusting of white on the mountaintop above home, but it was gone today. Heavy precipitation is expected tomorrow so it may become white again.

Mount Bignone, or Bignose as I call it. 1300 metres high (4265 feet)

This is news because, in the last 40 years, the Alps have rarely had the snow cover they used to. My train journeys this week will pass through the Alps and the Appennines and the dramatic rise from palm-fringed beaches on one side of the train to snow-capped peaks on the other makes this a very panoramic line. 

 

Packing and planning

I'm now packing to go on a city break to Genoa for a few days where the weather looks cool at best, so I'm looking at layers. I have packed some nice thermal vest tops, thermal tights and thick leggings. I also found a bodysuit that I'd forgotten I had. This is the trouble with a female wardrobe - the variety is so great you forget what you've got!

The shopping is way better in Genoa than here so I'll see if anything nice catches my eye.

I'll need to watch my eating when away, though. Since New Year I've lost a very impressive five kilos, or 12 pounds. Maybe by the end of the month it'll be six kilos off in all; that's one stone. But sightseeing is energy intensive so any excess food intake could get burnt off. 

 

Valentino

RIP fashion designer, Valentino Garavani, known simply as Valentino. 

I know I've often poked fun at some of his creations on my blog, especially when looking at his store in Milan's fashion district, but I have to acknowledge he was one of the greats. In some respects, it was his efforts in the '50s and '60s that got Italian high fashion associated with quality.

 

Offline

I'm not taking my laptop away this time so I'll be offline from Wednesday to Friday of this week. 

Stay pretty, stay safe, stay loved. Maybe that's my trans slogan for 2026.

Sue x 

Positive resolutions and dressathon update

 Happy New Year! I wish you a peaceful, worry-free, happy year ahead. Those are my own aims for 2026 anyway. If the world would just comply, that would be dandy.

Actually, in terms of New Year's resolutions, apart from losing weight, finding the ultimate lover, winning the lottery, yadda yadda, you know the drill, I do intend to keep focusing here on the positives and nice aspects of being transgender. It's not easy being trans; trying to find one's way in a world that, at best, merely tolerates minorities or those with less usual circumstances, but I'm finding ways that work for me. If I share anything that helps even one other trans or LBGT+ person in their living or coping or even flourishing strategy, then this blog serves a purpose. Positive blogging is the new cool in this second quarter of the century. 

Sorry, does the word "cool" show my age? Substitute whatever word da kidz say nowadays, then. (Are they even "da kidz" now? I struggle to keep up!) And talking of nomenclature, Lynn over on YATGB and Jonathan on Male Femme and I are discussing the merits of the term Posiblogging. Could we set up a League of Posibloggers perhaps? Or the Goddesses of the Positive Blog League? As a Posiblog Goddess (or Demigoddess, since I am not full time) let me wish you a divine 2026.

 

Dressmas news

So I decided to spend the traditional 12 days of Christmas wearing dresses rather than my usual casual attire and seeing how much time I could spend with makeup on. I struggle with cosmetics that, like many products, can cause me unsightly and painful skin reactions. 

I wrote about my Dressathon choices over Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day here. December 27th was a lovely day: mild, clear and sunny. I sat out in the sun in the short summer dress that you've seen a hundred times before. Really I should wear leggings with it but my current favourite winter tights are just too comfy, so a lot of leg it is in the photo. Those are my new ankle boots that I'm breaking in as they are quite rigid and need softening up. 

 

My chosen perfume of the day was Sì by Giorgio Armani that, thankfully, was only a sample bottle as, to start with, I thought it made me smell a bit like a cucumber sandwich. The aroma did get better with time and was not unpleasant as the day wore on but I don't think I'll be investing in a full bottle of this. Who says TGirls aren't good enough to eat?

Talking of which, I even enjoyed lunch outdoors in the sun, a classic local dish of pasta strips and pesto sauce that's made with basil, pine nuts, cheese, garlic and olive oil. I treated myself to a tiny bottle of prosecco, too, because it's holiday time and because it's worth celebrating being fully feminine. That left one little bottle for New Year's Eve (see below). 

 

The brand name of the prosecco, incidentally, is Maschio, which means "Male" in Italian. Sorry, guys, no matter how much of this I drink, your masculinising potion is not working! 

After four days in makeup, even with the expensive quality primers, foundation, concealers and blushers from Mac, and my gentle removal products from Avène, my skin was very dry and flaky so I decided to give the makeup a rest for a bit. But I did prove that four days with my face on is now possible, which means I could now manage a good long weekend away at some trans event. This is great news after 10+ years of struggling with this problem. 

So I next got made up on New Year's Eve and watched the annual fireworks display (with that last precious tiny bottle of prosecco - yes, I was rationing it because wine makes me fat and I'm tired of being fat).

My camera is hopeless in the dark, especially with moving light displays, so I have no picture of me sitting outdoors that night. Besides, the temperature plummeted, so I was kitted out with puffer jacket, two fleeces, a slip under my long dress and my long boots, all under a blanket. But here's me when I'd come back indoors to toast us all a Happy New Year. 

 

Still, it was a good New Year display with a light show, then a drone show (which we've never had before) making attractive, colourful, moving representations of local landmarks, events, sports, and a gorgeous red rose to acknowledge our winter flower industry. And then, as midnight struck, there was the civic fireworks display which I always enjoy and which is accompanied by as many bangs and flashes as residents can manage from their own gardens and balconies. Apologies to the startled bat trying to go about its evening business whilst illuminated by flashes from every angle like in Dracula's disco. (More on bats below.)

Yesterday, New Year's Day, was really cold with a keen wind and I kept the same long dress, and even the boots indoors. By evening, I finally had to admit that the time had come to turn on the central heating. So for the first time since last April, the radiators are now operating. And as for my gas company who, in the true spirit of the season of goodwill, sent me a bill on Christmas Eve, it looks like the cigars in your boardroom will be smaller this coming year after the many weeks of savings the mild weather has given me. Have a happy new year, won't you!

However, it looks like it's going to be a uniquely cold week ahead and I was hoping to wear another short cotton dress during my Dressmas but that's very unlikely now. I'll try to stick to my Dressmas plans but my lined ski pants are on standby if need be! (Incidentally, if you like skiing, some of the best snow so far this winter is here in the Ligurian and Maritime Alps.) 

 

Dry January

That was my last glass of prosecco for a while. I'm doing Dry January again this year as leaving alcohol off the menu really helps lose weight more than anything. Perhaps that's a pity as someone - who obviously knows me well - gave me a novelty corkscrew for Christmas. 

 

It's a bat! I love it and it gives me the giggles each time I use it and its batty arms unfurl. Apparently, it was designed during the pandemic when bats were bad news so, in a fine example of making lemonade when life gives you lemons (or wine when there are sour grapes, I suppose), they came up with this. 

 

The party continues

In England where I used to live, my main complaint about winter was not so much the cold and dark and wet, which is no-one's fault, but the fact that between New Year and Easter there are no public holidays and no significant public celebrations or activities. Therefore, you have three or more months of doing nothing but working. How delightfully puritanical! By contrast, here in the hotbed of popery that is the Mediterranean, the gloom of winter is combated by a whole lineup of big events. We have another public holiday next Tuesday, January 6th (Epiphany); then Carnival, the Menton Lemon Festival and the gigantic Sanremo Music Festival in February; the Cycling Season opens here in March with the Flower Festival and Sanremo Pride. There's always something to keep your mind off the shorter, colder days. I'll report back. 

Once again, all the best for 2026.

Sue x 

The 12 Days of Dressmas

 How are you? I hope you had a lovely Christmas and that Santa brought you something nice. 

Given the amount of time off there is at this time of year, and given how long it's been since I spent a lot of daily time and trouble on my hair and makeup, I thought it would be a good opportunity to get properly dolled up for as much of the holidays as possible. This is my first report ...

 

To summarise my 15-year old blog in one paragraph: I started feeling feminine very early in life, about 5-6 years old, started dressing as a girl regularly from about 8-9 years old, tried to suppress and purge in my 20s and then finally acknowledged and embraced the fact I was trans and have dressed as a woman every day for the last 30 years or so. I've considered transition and only ever wear women's clothes now, although I now rarely present as female in public, more a sort of andro figure which, truth be told, is not really me but is a compromise that prevents trouble, be it social or medical. The main block to living as a woman, which I did for much of 2010-14, was a bout of eczema on my face in the mid-2010s that made it impossible to wear makeup or remove facial hair. This check on my development as a trans person has been devastating. I've had to be very cautious since, in case the eczema flares up again. But it's been a while and I wondered if I could live as fully as I would like to for the Christmas season, with my nicest outfits that I rarely wear, full makeup, my boldest jewellery and my hair nice and full and long. 

I'm not sure whether to call this experiment after the carol, The 12 Days of Christmas (My True Love Sent to Me) ... Perhaps it'd be the 12 Days of Missmas, the 12 Babes of Christmas, the 12 Days of Dressmas/Frockmas ... hey, how about the 12 Dames of Dressmas? The 12 Drivels of Misnomer. Whatever, this is me being me for as long as I can and hoping that my skin holds out and there are not too many interruptions from causes other than social visits, shopping and the like.

Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve, after shopping and deliveries, and exchanging presents with neighbours, I wore my floral shift dress (you've seen it before, notably in London last year), a black cardigan, black semi-opaque tights, and some black high-heeled court shoes. The weather was wet and very windy so I stayed indoors.

Perfume of the day: Forever by Laura Biagiotti.

Christmas Day 

Although still windy, Christmas Day dawned bright and it warmed up nicely to the point when I almost had lunch outdoors. Without the wind I would have done. But the finer weather meant I could wear a light cotton dress (the same as in July) and some 20 denier nude tights with open toed shoes and go out in the sunshine.

It was so sunny at the front that I had to squint or close my eyes. But let's face it, sunlight is blissful ...

 

Or I could go out back where it was shady but very windy so my hair got blown about ... 

 

Back indoors and about to start preparing Christmas dinner ...

 

And relaxing on the sofa out of the wind ...

 

I do like this little dress which I bought last year and it's unusual to get to wear it in winter but it's so mild at the moment.

Perfume of the day: Crystal Noir by Versace.

Boxing Day

I don't know why the 26th is called Boxing Day in Britain. When I was a kid I assumed it was because there was boxing on TV, which my grandfather always enjoyed watching. Somehow men like punching each other's heads, and good luck to them with that. Here in Italy it's called St Stephen's (I mean December 26th is called that, not punching heads). 

It was another sunny day but with much less wind. After a clear night, it was quite cool to start with, hence my choosing a warmer outfit than yesterday, a very old blue wool dress, the same black cardi as on Xmas Eve and my lovely and very comfortable knee-length boots which always go well with this dress. I also got out some party tights, a pretty silver brocade pair, which are very warm. Perhaps a bit more warmth than was needed in the end as the afternoon was almost springlike and I was happy to open all the doors to get plenty of fresh mild air into my home. 

Relaxing on the terrace among the herbs ... 

 

Overlooking the sea. You can either face the sun and squint (see previous day) or turn your back to the sun and be in shadow. I've had to correct the light to show any detail and that's given this shot a picture postcard look. I quite like this one.

 

I'm worried I'm looking old these days but it's not so bad in the right light! My makeup is much lighter than it used to be - a single layer of water-based foundation rather than the oil-based foundation and powder of yore - partly so as not to aggravate my skin, but also because my facial hairs grow more slowly and are no longer black. I guess that's one rare benefit of ageing.

Lazy time on the sofa. All this posing outdoors sure wears a girl out ...

The silver brocade tights were in fashion about 15 years ago and these are one of two pairs I got at the time (these by Gipsy). I think this style deserve revival as a party accessory. Strangely, the manufacturers call the colour "gunmetal" ... and if this is what guns look like these days then our armies must be very pretty! I think they go well with the blue and black of the outfit.

Perfume of the day: Poison by Dior. 

 

I'd genuinely like feedback on my style and above all on my makeup that I feel needs improvement. 

More on this experiment as it happens. Essential shopping and a social visit are on the menu today so if I'm back in a dress it'll only be for the evening. 

 

What did Santa bring?

Did Santa bring you something for your feminine side? I hope so. 

Very occasionally I've received feminine presents from thoughtful friends but I usually have to get myself anything I want in that line. This year I bought a pretty and unique ring at a jewellery stall in the Christmas market in Monaco. It's not exactly what I was looking for but I do love the way the stones seem to be stuck on my finger rather than to a ring. A rather clever effect. I rarely wear green clothing but I do like green stones or glass in my jewellery.

The colours were just right although I'd prefer not to have had a heart shaped element, which reminds me a little of an Irish claddagh ring, which you wear with the heart on the ring pointing out or in depending on whether or not you have a lover or are looking for one. There's a heart-stopping true claddagh Christmas story at the end if you want to read it.

 

Conclusion

More on this dressing experiment as it happens. Back in the early 2010s I would think nothing of being fully femme for a week or more at a stretch. I'm just wondering if I can recapture some of that. On Boxing Day I wore earrings that jangled and it was such an affirmation, as was my hair blowing about my face in the wind - irritating, yes, but so affirming, too. This is how life should have been ... as a woman, where even little annoyances feel right.

Thanks for reading and for your feedback. 

 

Sue's Fireside Tales continued: Christmas claddagh story

When I was a student, various university societies provided food and drink for the Christmas concert. Our quota was 60 mince pies. So the day before the concert we set to rolling, filling and baking. The president of our society was wearing a claddagh ring that had been passed down to her by her Irish grandmother. After several hours of hard work we contentedly contemplated our fresh-baked golden goodies, smelling of spiced fruit and warm pastry. And the pres went to wash her hands and cried out that her precious ring was missing. We now looked at our pies in dismay. Surely her ring hadn't got baked inside one? Would we have to break them all apart till her ring was found? And then redo all our work or turn up to the concert empty-handed? We decided to wait till they cooled before setting about the miserable task. So we started washing up the mixing bowls and utensils. And then, miraculously, in a tiny gobbet of unused pastry in one bowl was the ring. Never had any of us felt so relieved. 

So it turned out well in the end but I've never wanted to make mince pies again, or wear a claddagh ring myself. And also explains some of my hesitation with this ring for Christmas.

Sue xx