I’ve been thinking a lot about aesthetics lately – oh hell, I always have been doing just that. But this time I’m applying this to me. As I grow older I become more and more confident in my self and my form. I have a vastly improved style due to a steady job and improved income (#capricorngoals). I have been more honest with myself, what looks good, what I like, how I like to look and feel. I remain really femme, but there are some things that give me pause. Things that are too lacy, too frilly. Lingerie meant for display literally makes me want to run, hide, and cry. Event at the thought of wearing it. Anything below my collarbone visible during work hours just makes me disapprove. Thin things, transparent things I don’t even look at. Why would I?
Some of this is my general tendency towards practicality. But I have started to pay attention to what makes me feel good, what makes me feel sexy. And it’s not body-ody-ody as my one friend would say. In fact, things that are too display-centered make me upset. If I consider wearing something sexy for intimacy, I literally want to run and hide. And yet I can be nude and ok. I can wear subtle skirts and the occasional low cut top and be fine. I feel gorgeous when I’m in a knee length skirt with black hose. I feel really gorgeous when I have something tailored or menswear inspired. I imagine myself in suits a lot. I wonder if I could pull that off.
I imagine myself like Oscar Wilde, or dapper. Dandy is too much, but I would love to be properly fitted for suits, button downs, a tuxedo. I can see myself with a cigarette case and a handkerchief at the ready, a lily in my lapel, or a rose in my hands.
At the same time, I am respecting pink, pastel, lavender, glitter, holo/unicorn, etc more and more. I just won’t apply them to me. What I wear will be black. It will be sedate. It will often be modest. It will sometimes be suitlike. It will sometimes be AHS: Coven tributes. It will have subtle jewelry, it will have statement scarves. It will not be body con, pencil, taffeta, tulle, high cut or low cut (with a few exceptions) – it will probably not have glitter, even though I smear that crap all over the rest of my life.
I have always wanted to be in the background. Oddly enough, I don’t do well with focus. I think I would have liked to learn to act because I want to be noticed sometimes, but I want to hide. I want to be with others, around others, and yes, sometimes I want adulation, but I do not want it as me. I want to share something intimate but I want to do it from a distance. I sometimes imagine myself as Drosselmeier, preparing and executing wonderful and sometimes terrifying fantasies, but always behind the curtain, ready to intervene.
I imagine myself as an old goddess, a waterfall of long skirts, breasts spilling from my top, strong and powerful, a snake in my hands, petting it, judging those who refuse to see me. I see myself dancing, making noise, yelling blessings at the heavens and under the full moon. I see myself with smoke in my short hair, paint on my face, river mud on my feet, a hammer in my hand and a forge glowing and ready. I see myself.
At the same time I am becoming more aware of style I am thinking more and more of the phenomenon of drag kings. Could I express something masculine within myself? I don’t think I have any gender questions, but more finely put I have style questions. I cannot, will not cope with looking frilly feminine. There’s nothing wrong with it. But it Is Not Me. Hold up something tailored and dark though, and I am paying attention. When I look at the men I favor there’s such a recurring pattern of look that I wonder if I want to be with them or be them. Artistically, I keep finding my voice in the work of men. Spiritually, it’s nearly all goddesses all the time.
I see myself broad, tall, expansive gestures, my breasts taped back, my voice unbound. I have my shirt sleeves rolled up and my tails tucked in. My body is large, broad. I use my size as comfort. I say things and point out things that would never fly if I was wearing a skirt. I am scented like oud and leather and I keep a handkerchief in my pocket, ready to give out if needed. I make people laugh, I laugh with them, I turn my flaws into sex objects. I show my jaw, my forearms, my shoulders. I use my body as a protector. I show a different kind of manliness. I am a gentleman, I put into the world the masculinity I need.
So here I am at the end. Who knows where this leaves me. I feel that the more I investigate and claim femininity, the more I am also finding masculinity.