Am I Stylish… or Just in Drag?
Clothes, cleavage, and the fine line between badass and an overdone drag queen.
Here’s the thing: I sometimes don’t know if I’m getting it wrong, or if I’m getting it right. That’s the daily puzzle of clothing choices as a trans woman.
I’ll stand in front of the mirror and think, Is this within the normal range of what a woman my age would wear? Or am I dressing like a teenager, like someone’s auntie on the gin, or like I’ve just wandered out of a drag brunch with too much boob on display?
Case in point: last Thursday I wore a blue suit to an interview, left one button undone, and afterwards panicked that my cleavage was basically holding the interview panel hostage. Today I did the follow-up, different colour suit, similar cut, but this time buttoned up. Much safer. Later that evening I put the telly on and saw Sade on stage with the exact same amount of cleavage I had on show. So, is it just that Sade gets away with it because she’s a legend and I was sat in front of a finance committee? Probably.
Hair is its own saga. Cis women can chuck their hair up in a scraggy ponytail, nip out for milk, and still look like women. Me? No chance. Not until surgery takes care of the mid-face laxity, the big nose, and the brow bossing. Until then, every trick in the book gets deployed, layers, feathering, full Farrah Fawcett realness. And then I worry, have I softened my features, or do I look like I’m auditioning for RuPaul’s Drag Race: Cork Edition?
And makeup, oh God. I never leave the house without a full face. Foundation, powder, eyeshadow, the works. Mascara is non-negotiable. I might skip lipstick, but never mascara. Without it, I feel too naked, too exposed. Do most women wear that much for the school run, or to pop to Tesco? No. But right now, I don’t think I’m good-looking enough to get away with going barefaced. Maybe one day, when the surgeries are done and the confidence catches up, I’ll be able to run out the door fresh-faced. For now, it’s half the bloody morning gone just trying to glue myself together.
And then there’s the “too young/too old” thing. My rule of thumb is the Helen Mirren test: if she’d wear it, fuck it, I’ll wear it. She’s 78, divine, and doesn’t give a toss, so why should I? But then I rock up in ripped jeans and my sister goes, “Jesus Christ, Stevie, are you a teenager?” Cue me immediately questioning my entire wardrobe.
But sometimes I nail it. Today, for example. Second interview. Claret suit. Took a photo. Put it on Reddit. People said I looked attractive. And for once, I agreed. Bloody hell, I’ve come a long way.
And strangers do say things. At my clinic appointment in San Francisco two weeks ago, the CT scan lady begged me to come back later so she could copy every single item I was wearing. In the electrical shop Harvey Norman here in Cork, two women left their counter and walked across the store just to tell me I was the coolest-looking person there. A random bloke on a bike once stopped just to say, “You’ve got one cool look.”
So maybe I’m not getting it wrong.
The truth is, for me clothing (and hair, and makeup) isn’t about blending in or being safe. It’s about joy, fun, and making a statement. But here’s the catch: I don’t want to stand out as a caricature, or as someone who looks “overdone.” I want to stand out because I look like a badass trans woman, confident, stylish, unapologetic.
I will happily strut through Cork in six-inch platform boots, towering at 6’2”, hips swaying like I own the place. But the goal isn’t just to turn heads, it’s to turn them for the right reasons. Not because I look like I’ve raided a costume box, but because I’ve put myself together and it works.
Because if I look good, I feel good. And that’s not about blending in or giving no fucks. It’s about giving the right fucks, the ones that make me proud of who I am.
First of all, you look very good and put together. A woman should be able to wear what she likes without being judged... In theory that is. I think time will give you all the answers you are looking for. It's sometimes hard to realize we are learning to be women in a couple of years as cis women have had a lifetime of practice. You didn't have the chance to be 13 and start to put on makeup and get help from your friends or your mom. You get to be 13 at 50 years old and have a very limited time ( if any) to learn. This is not our fault, in fact it is one of the many many things we have missed and feel sad that we did. But it is not other people's fault either. We just have to hope others can appreciate all the effort andlove we put to look good and sacrifices we do to honor feminity.
Second. I think your questionning process is pretty much similar to a cis woman. I know very few women who dont care how they look, especially for something as important as a job interview. My mother used to question herself on this all the time. She was a very classy woman. Always feminine and well put together. I'm sure this has influenced me very much. But she had no idea her son was a young girl learning and observing what it means to be a woman and dreaming to be one. Sure, as trans women, we have an additional worry of hiding our "testosterone damaged" face and body. But when you think about it, aren't we just being women who try to adhere to the same social image of what a "beautiful woman" is?
I am a 57 yo trans woman who's egg cracked about 1 1/2 years ago. I'm out to very few people. And I dress as myself about 1 time per week. I look very manly ( to my absolute dismay) and I struggle with dysphoria and my inexperience in makeup, hairstyling and finding clothes that "fit" me. As I was getting prepared for my appointment with my therapist, I thought about something. What if we had no mirrors? How would things be? Just think about it for a moment.
All of this to say you look beautiful. You will make mistakes. Be kind to yourself. And learn from your mistakes. That's what you did when you re-adjusted your outfit for the second interview. You got this sister. You look fabulous. I wished I looked as good as you.