A Need…

Someone told me that a need is a really strong want.

And I think that is mostly true.

But I didn’t want this dress. I needed it.

We all know the feeling of seeing a dress and thinking that it NEEDS to be in your closet even if you have no idea when you’ll wear it or what the occasion for it would be.

This dress from En Femme was exactly that.

Once it arrived I knew I would wear it for my then upcoming photo shoot as well as for the MN T-Girlsholiday party.

The dress is tight, shiny, and has a VERY high slit. Essentially the dress was made for me, lol.

This is the final set of photos from the November 2022 photo shoot. I have a shoot scheduled for later this month and another for the end of March. It’s going to be an interesting year. 🙂

Love, Hannah


Some of us want to burn down any wall between BOY and/or GIRL.

Some of us want to eliminate the men’s department and the women’s department in a store. Display the neckties right next to panties next to the football jerseys next to hosiery. Who cares. Let’s revolutionize and start over.

I mean, what would we wear if we weren’t told what we were SUPPOSED to wear? What if the anatomy between our legs didn’t dictate what we were SUPPOSED to wear for our entire lives and for everything we do, whether it’s for what we wear to work or what we wear to sleep?

On the other hand, some of us want to preserve the binary. We love that pink represents femininity. We love that skirts are “for girls”. We love that panties are keeping us connected to our femme selves.

And I get it. I see, and to an extent I “agree” with both perspectives. I like being able to wear a super pink dress and just turn my feminine presentation to 11. I like looking as femme as possible. BUT I also hate that I can’t leave my house in boy mode wearing leggings and a knee length cardigan without drawing a few pointed fingers. Really, why are some things “for girls”? If men tried on leggings I swear to God within a week every dude in the world would be wearing them.

And yes I shouldn’t care if I am pointed at because of what I am wearing. And I don’t. BUT there’s a difference between (at least for me) being en femme and being in boy mode wearing “girl clothes”. Hannah is not as recognizable. But HE is. If HE were to bump into a co-worker or a family member or someone my wife knows while I am wearing “girl clothes”, then it becomes a little awkward. My wife would likely get texts asking why her husband is wearing, well, whatever he is wearing.

I do not want to put my wife through conversations and situations and change any relationship dynamics she has because of me, because of what I am wearing. All of a sudden she is the girl with the weird husband that wears skirts.

It would be nice if everyone on the planet was enlightened when it came to gender identity but that’s not the case. The reality is that there are people in our lives that we care about and want to maintain peace with, even if we see gender presentation differently from each other.

The same goes for me. I had a boss that required the two of us to have a productive and cooperative partnership at work. We had to work well together. BUT this particular person and I completely disagreed on everything you could think of. If he only knew. And if he DID know, then it would fundamentally change everything at work. He was a vindictive, petty man. If he didn’t like you, regardless of your work performance, he’d find a legal way to fire you. That was that.

In this example keeping my gender identity to myself was, in a way, key to keeping my job.

And! I often asked myself why on earth would I want to work for someone, with someone, like that? It’s a fair question. For the most part I liked the job and I really needed to keep that job. I suppose it was a compromise. It wasn’t one I was comfortable with. I felt I was being a hypocrite and I was… justifying tolerating working with someone like that. And to some extent I was.

More than likely we will work with or be related to people we don’t see eye to eye with. Not everyone will have the same values or perspectives that we ourselves do. It happens. I have family members and colleagues that don’t have the same viewpoint on the LGBTQ+ community as I have. I work for a college and even some of my students don’t have the same views as I do. I can’t simply refuse to help them because of that. Not if I want to keep my job, anyway.

Again, this is more or less a compromise. And it’s not one I am always comfortable with. I would love to cut all toxic people out of my life but it’s just not realistic. And it’s also not fair to my wife. There are people in both of our families that I would be happy with never speaking to again, but that’s not possible if I want to “keep the peace”. Again, it’s a compromise.

Goodness I got off-track.

I am myself torn between “clothes for girls” and “who cares, clothes are for everyone”.

Sometimes when I am en femme I feel a certain joy in dressing as traditionally as feminine as possible. To be immersed in GIRL and BEAUTY and FEMININTY. Sure, some of my lingerie is designed for people with my body and the anatomy that I have and it arguably fits better than lingerie for cisgender girls but dammit, sometimes I want to wear “girl panties”, not “boy panties”.

And I think everyone reading this understands the difference.

Immerse. Yes, that’s the perfect word for the feeling.

BUT sometimes I hate the genderization of clothes and cosmetics. Why can’t I wear leggings or a skirt in boy mode? Why is it weird for a boy to paint his nails?

I mean, I know it’s because “traditional” gender norms. I swear the most damaging thought when it comes to progress is “but that’s the way we’ve always done it”.

Sometimes I get… annoyed that I can’t decide which of those options I would prefer. Fortunately it’s not something I will ever have to decide. I mean, it’s not like the decision will ever fall to me. And it’s not like this “dilemma” will ever work itself out in my lifetime.

I may not be able to make this decision for the world, but I can make it for myself and I suppose that’s enough.

Love, Hannah

Shiny Things

Like a crow, I am drawn to shiny things.

I love PVC, vinyl, latex, and leather clothes. They are very much my weakness and when I see a shiny dress it will very likely find it’s way into my closet and into my suitcase when I choose outfits for a photo shoot.

When I saw this dress from En Femme I knew it was inevitable it would be mine. It would be silly to pretend otherwise. It fit perfectly and it has pockets for my forms which would circumvent a need to wear a bra. Some outfits are cut in a way where a bra isn’t always going to work and I need a bra to keep the girls in place.

And yes, I know there are adhesives to help with keeping things where they belong but when I have a photo shoot I sometimes go back and forth between outfits where I wear my forms and outfits when I don’t. It’s easier to just pop them into my bra as needed.

I was a little… reluctant to use the pockets for my forms. It sounds silly but it was strange for me to wear forms but not have them against my skin. Do you know what I mean? I slowly got over that with En Femme’s designs, starting with one of the bathing suits I reviewed for them.

I wore this dress for the most recent photo shoot the MN T-Girls did. I love the dress, I love how it looks, and how it feels. I hope you like it too!

Love, Hannah



Just a reminder that there is a difference between looking feminine and looking like a female.

AND! This is going to sound a lot bitchier than I intend it to. Sorry.

Looking feminine, to me, is about dresses, heels, and makeup.

BUT! We shouldn’t “genderize” clothes, shoes, or cosmetics. A heavy metal drummer dude can paint his nails black or any color he pleases. High heels were originally meant for men.

Thus, we shouldn’t get too hung up on associating arbitrary gender norms with an article of clothing or a color.

BUT! For the sake of this post, I am referring to femininity in the binary sense. Meaning:

Pink = girls

Blue = boys

Dress = girls

Boring clothes = boys

Got it? Fabulous.

When I dress up, I am not trying to look like a female. I am trying to look feminine.

There’s just something cringy about saying “looking like a female”.

What I mean is that I am not intending people to think I am a cisgender woman. I am wearing clothes and presenting in a similar style of some cisgender women. But I am not a cisgender woman. I am a transgender woman. To me, cisgender and transgender can simply be adjectives.

I am a tall woman. I am a fashionable (hopefully) woman. I am a transgender woman.

My wife is a petite woman. My wife is a stylish woman. My wife is a cisgender woman.

See? Adjectives.

“Looking like a female”, to me, implies that there is a standard that women must look like. Wearing makeup, a dress, or high heels does not make someone a woman. When I come home after a day en femme I am likely wearing stilettos and a bodycon dress. My wife is relaxing in yoga pants. Our outfits are about as different as can be but we are both women.

“Looking like a female” isn’t the compliment it’s meant to be. And I promise I am not calling ANYONE out. I am flattered when someone says I look like a female because I understand the intention of the compliment.

Let’s celebrate femininity, not standards.

Love, Hannah

Strike a (Juxta) Pose

I LIKE contrasts. I like seeing two things that seem to be polar opposites of one another together. This combination can be something amazing that one wouldn’t have possibly imagined working or an absolute disaster. Sometimes things that seemingly contradict each other just mesh perfectly.

For example!

A hardcore rapper recording a duet with a pop singer with a beautiful voice might create a really amazing, fascinating song. Two artists that are about as different as you can imagine… but somehow, it works.

A heavy metal band performing with an orchestra can sound AMAZING.

Chocolate covered cherries? Yes please. French fries and ranch? Yes please.

Of course, there is also the potential for a collaboration to be an abomination… like pineapple on pizza.

Being bi gender is an interesting and perfect example of contrast. Speaking for myself, of course. I own a beautiful gown and a three piece suit. At a wedding I could be the best man or the maid of honor.

I think a lot of you can relate.

For many of us, our male lives do not give off a hint of our femme selves. I mean, yes, it might make sense in retrospect. When I came out to my siblings, one sister was completely caught off guard, the other said it made sense when she thought about it and recalled certain moments growing up. Like, all of a sudden the pieces fell into place when she bumped into me in the women’s section at Target a few years ago.

If you saw me right now, like RIGHT NOW, I am pretty sure it would be hard to imagine that I am the person in this photo.

But I am.

As of this very sentence, I am slouched on the sofa, I have a few days of stubble on my face, and I look about as lazy as it gets. I look tired. I need a nap, I need coffee.

It’s strange knowing what I look like RIGHT NOW is also the same person in the above picture. That is the power of a dress, of makeup, of attitude.

My fascination with contrast, or perhaps in a more accurate term, the opposite of an assumption, is also reflected in the lives of other t-girls. I know beautiful t-girls who operate forklifts in their male lives. Truck drivers who wear stilettos on the weekend. Crossdressers who paint their nails while watching football.

Of course, none of these things HAVE to be exclusively for men OR women. People can wear whatever they want and people can pursue any career they please. I am writing this from the gender binary/social normality perspective.

Even when it comes to my femme presentation, I like the extremes (if you will) of my wardrobe. Whether it is a very pink dress or a leather look. Posting photos on Twitter can lead to people thinking I am either a bad ass dominatrix or a submissive sissy. I don’t like being… typecast, if you will.

Besides, neither look is representative of who I am. I just like the clothes.

Preparing for a photo shoot is an extension of contrast. A shoot can include anything from a dress perfect for brunch with your mother-in-law or, well, something completely inappropriate outside of a Hot Topic or the dungeon of a dominatrix.

But this contrast is more than just what is thrown into a suitcase for the shoot. It can also be the shoot itself.

A few years ago I really wanted to do a shoot in an abandoned warehouse, movie theatre, or SOMETHING like that. The idea of a girl in amazing makeup and a a beautiful dress in a lonely, dilapidated building really appealed to me. Shannonlee and I haven’t really done anything like that, but sometimes the location we’re shooting in as something that more or less works, like the picture below.

…you know, this photo gets creepier the longer I look at it.

And! To expand on the contrast thing, that photo was taken in the same building as this one:

I don’t know why I like the juxtaposition of beautiful clothes and dilapidation but there you have it.


This also extends to lingerie photos taken in places where it’s not… expected to see someone in lingerie.

Photos such as…

I also have a thing for staircases.

Now, to be clear none of these photos were taken in a public space. These pictures were taken in a rented studio or a hotel. I am not wearing a corset at an office while a meeting is taking place in the conference room down the hall. That would be… uncomfortable for everyone.

Photo shoots are a lot of fun but they can get really boring if I am being honest. What keeps them interesting is a combination of an outfit I am excited about, working with Shannonlee, and the location of the shoot. If every photo shoot was simply standing in front of a white backdrop it would be incredibly dull. Not only the shoot itself but also the pictures.

If lingerie pictures were only, well, sensual, such as lounging on a bed, then they would also get really boring. Not only to do, but to look at.

I like being able to interact with my surroundings. It’s fun to see… SOMETHING and respond to that. Whether it’s a piece of art, a tree, or some random object in the studio.

Goodness I look evil in that final picture. Well, perhaps crazed, not evil.

Sexy lingerie + professional settings and beautiful clothes + decaying buildings are visually interesting to me. It’s always fun to see the location that Shannonlee picks out for a shoot. She is also drawn to warehouse type settings and she always has an eye for a shot. Often she’ll direct me to a spot in a room and I don’t quite see what she sees but when I view the end result I realize that is right every time.

I’m always thinking about potential shoots and locations so if you have a suggestion I would love to hear it!

Love, Hannah

Showtime, Baby

I have a lot of clothes and I have a lot of pictures of me wearing clothes (and a lot of pictures of me NOT wearing a lot of clothes).

Sometimes there’s a photo of a dress that I don’t necessarily like but I love how the photo turned out and it changes my perspective on it. There are also outfits that I love that I can’t seem to get a good picture of. This isn’t the fault of my photographer, mind you. Shannonlee always does amazing work… especially considering her model.

I am not saying I am a hideous monster by any means, but I am not a model… not really. I mean, I do modeling but I can’t bring myself to calling myself a model. Does that make sense? I don’t know how to pose or, well, HOW to model. If a good picture is taken it’s a combination of Shannonlee guiding me, her talent, the outfit, and sometimes a bit of luck.

Not to get into the specifics of anything, but when I am doing a photo shoot for En Femme there’s an agreement that some pictures taken are for En Femme to publish and use for marketing and I don’t necessarily have the permission to post them on my website or social media. The publishing rights, if you will, are En Femme’s.

And that’s absolutely normal. That’s showbiz, baby.

Sometimes Shannonlee will take a photo for En Femme that I absolutely love… but I can’t post it. And that’s okay, it happens. There will be other photos that I like. Luckily we usually take so many pictures that even if I am not able to share that specific one there are others similar enough that I like that I can post.

BUT not always.

We did a shoot for En Femme in the summer of 2020 and one of the outfits I modeled was a cute top and skirt. Loved this look. We took our normal amount of pictures and when it came time to send them to En Femme I was a little crushed that there were only a handful that I liked.

Again, this isn’t the fault of Shannonlee. If my head was tilted in a certain way my jawline may have looked more masculine than I like. Perhaps the angle of the shot made my shoulders looked too blocky. And so on. Essentially the only photos of the outfit that I liked would be sent to En Femme and I wouldn’t have the right to share any of it. There were no leftovers, in a way.

Again, this is absolutely normal. I have written things for transgender magazines and websites that I am not able to share on my own site so it’s part of business, I suppose.

I’ve always meant to wear the outfit for another photo shoot so I could post it. So I did! This was one of my looks from the most recent MN T-Girl’s photo shoot. What I love about these photos is how much fun I am clearly having, especially in the last one where I am cackling like a loon.

Preparing for photo shoots is tiresome. The studio is booked in advance, settling on a date that works for Shannonlee, scheduling my makeover, deciding on outfits, and coordinating the details with the other girls who are coming is a lot of work. The day of the shoot is a lot of running around and preparing for things going wrong. By the time the shoot begins I am already exhausted.

But once it does begin I’ve kind of done everything that CAN be done. It’s showtime, baby. I may as well have some fun. I shook off the stress of the morning, I tried to push the hectic workweek behind me, I tapped into the fun and bliss that Hannah represents to me.

And I think you can see the joy in these pictures. I’m glad I have photos of this outfit that I can post… but I am also glad I have this happy moment captured.

Love, Hannah

Halfway to Heaven and Just a Mile out of Hell

I like spring and autumn. They are what I call transitional seasons. Winter in Minnesota arrives with the energy of a relative that you sort of like but you know they tend to quickly wear out their welcome. Winter lingers. Winter is stubborn. You are never quite sure when winter will end… or begin. Autumn is, well, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Once we limp our way out of a long, hot summer we know that autumn is essentially borrowed time until winter barges in with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

Spring is similar. Winter takes its time leaving. It is not usual for Minnesota to see snowflakes or to see a large snowbank in a Kohl’s parking lot still melting in April. Spring has to share a few weeks with winter until summer comes in fast and hard.

Our state has a reputation for long and cold winters. But we are not thought of as having humid and sweltering summers. We do and it’s unbearable at times.

Thus, I enjoy spring and autumn, the calm, if you will, before the extremities of winter and summer.

And yes, this is a website about, well, whatever this website is about. You have not inadvertently stumbled upon a weather blog.

As a bi-gender person, my physical appearance is either going to be boy OR girl (in the binary sense). In a way, I am either summer or fall. I am Doc Martens or stilettos.

When I transition from him to Hannah, I am straddling the line between two worlds, if you will. I slowly leave HIS life as I take baby steps… and then strut into HER world. This is a physical transformation but it is also an emotional and mental change as well.

Most of the days that I am en femme are Saturdays. Not every Saturday mind you. I tend to plan Hannah’s day, whether it’s for a photo shoot or for meeting up with the T-Girls, for earlier in the day. My wife and I like to unwind after a long week on Saturday evenings so I make every effort to spend that time with her. Thus, Hannah’s day begins rather early. Or, in a more accurate sense, the “process” of Hannah emerging begins early.

Friday nights are a mixture of omg this was a very long week and I don’t want to do anything this weekend and omg I can’t wait to spend tomorrow en femme. It’s a combination of not wanting to do ANYTHING on Saturday AND getting excited about all the things Hannah has planned.

My alarm sings way too loudly and way too early on Saturdays. It’s almost cruel that the first thing I see in the morning is my reflection. I immediately get discouraged about the seemingly insurmountable impossibility of turning THAT into Hannah.

I slip out of my nightgown, put on leggings and a comfy t-shirt, and head downstairs in an effort to get as far away from a mirror as possible.

I have my coffee and start to wake up. Coffee is… hot, comforting potential. A cup of ambition, as Dolly Parton said. I start to feel like MAYBE I can pull off looking somewhat cute. I set down my mug and get to work.

I undress and I am a blank canvas. This is not to say I am about to create a beautiful painting, mind you. As anyone who has picked up a paintbrush knows, a canvas can be the foundation of a masterpiece or a disasterpiece. It could be meh. It could be inspiring.

All I know is it’s time to get to work.

Shaving, foundation garments, my corset, my lingerie, my stockings, my heels, my dress, my wig, my jewelry, my purse… all set.

As I do these things, whether shaving my face, tucking, or pulling the laces of my corset, I am looking into the mirror. I am constantly moving so I don’t have time to really think (or reflect, lol) on how I look.

But eventually the dust (and glitter) settles and… there I am in the mirror.

And I look terrible. But I knew I would so it’s not toooo soul-crushing.

What I mean is that I am wearing a cute dress, my corset and forms have teamed up to do their best in giving me curves, and I have legs for days.

But HE is looking at me. I still have his face. Bags under my eyes, a slight blueish hue on my jawline, every wrinkle and crow feet that the years have given me. It’s not until my makeover that I feel better, that I feel femme, that the transformation, be it physical, emotional, and mental, is complete.

Makeup is amazing. My makeup artist is a gift from God. She is so good that my iPhone doesn’t unlock for Hannah… but as soon as I remove my foundation and eyeshadow it recognizes me.

Hannah struts out of the salon with the confidence of a four year old in a Batman t-shirt, with the confidence of a drag queen in platform stilettos.

It’s a sharp contrast to how I feel when I am leaving my home as I drive to my makeup appointment. I am, like spring or autumn, in a transitional state. HIS face, HER body. Halfway to heaven… a mile of out of hell. Almost beautiful but there’s work to be done.

Now, this is not to say that Hannah is happier than he is. I like both of my genders, both of my lives. Hannah’s world and Hannah’s reflection is one of beauty and bodycon dresses and stilettos. His life is quiet. Both worlds make me who I am. I need both halves to be whole. I will never choose one over the over and I don’t have to.

But goodness do I hate that drive to the salon. I hate catching glimpses in the rearview mirror. I hate the weird, unsettling, and dysphoric reflection.

Going out into the world en femme isn’t easy, especially the first time. It takes a lot of courage to wear makeup and a cute skirt and killer heels. But as hard as that is to do sometimes, it’s nothing compared to what it takes to interact with others in this weird state of girl body and boy face.

As my artist finishes my foundation, contouring, and eyes, she hands me a mirror before she picks up her lip liner and lipstick.

“How does that look?” she asks.

I look amazing. After all, she does amazing work. But there’s also the feeling that every trace of him is gone.

Not that I dislike HIM, mind you. I love him, lol. I like both halves of me. But my goodness I don’t need to see that tired old man when I am wearing a dress.

I tell her I look amazing and I thank her for all the work she is doing.

I’m sure she can hear me breath a sigh of relief.

Love, Hannah

Strawberry Girl

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back in July I wrote a post about, essentially, living life to its fullest and acknowledging that we are on borrowed time.

And I don’t necessarily mean WE as t-girls or crossdressers of member of the LGBTQ+ community. Like, all of us. This borrowed time is not necessarily feeling that a asteroid could plummet to the earth tomorrow and wipe out humanity. This feeling of a ticking clock can also extend to not being able to do… something in the future.

I was reminded of this over the weekend. Although in some ways I feel young and strong I also can’t ignore that my body is approaching it’s fiftieth year slowly and stubbornly. Although I don’t see myself needing a walker anytime soon, I do recognize that I am not as quick or as nimble as I used to be. I don’t bounce back as easily, if you will.

I spent Saturday in heels. Every parking lot and sidewalk that I ventured on was covered in ice. Fortunately I made every perilous journey from my car to a store without incident. The next day I took my dog for a walk and I slipped on the ice and landed hard on my knee and wrist. I slowly and painfully picked myself up and was relieved I could walk and nothing seemed broken or sprained.

I tend to think a million thoughts at once and I couldn’t help but be reminded that the day is coming when five inch stilettos will not be an option. Of course, not everything is about Hannah. I was thankful my wrist was only bruised and I would still be able to pick up a paintbrush or type on a laptop.

My point is that the things that make up my life, the things that bring me joy, whether it’s strutting in heels, going on a hike with my dog, or painting, will eventually become impossible.

Who can say that I will be as fortunate the next time I slip on the ice? This is Minnesota, after all.

I rarely reread the things I post on my website but I do think about the post I mentioned earlier. Not because it’s a brilliant piece of writing or anything but because the koan I wrote about is, more or less, something I try to remember in many parts of my life. Strawberries have become a symbolic reminder about life being sweet and short.

And YES! I know this is all very cliched and corny and cringe. I make no apologies.

After I wrote that post last year I decided I needed to buy a dress with strawberries on it. So I did. And I decided I should wear it for a photo shoot. So I did.

I am finally getting around to posting the pictures from the November photo shoot the MN T-Girls did. I hope you like this dress.

Love, Hannah

Everyday Lives

I am so used to being who I am that sometimes I lose sight of the uniqueness and strangeness that Hannah’s life is. It’s so normal for me to do what I do. I’ve gotten so accustomed to everything that makes up Hannah’s world whether it is reviewing lingerie or organizing MN T-Girl events or scheduling makeovers or setting up a photoshoot.

You know, things that aren’t part of my boy world. Things that aren’t a part of most people’s lives, regardless of their gender.

Sometimes I take a step back and look at, well, everything and I am reminded that although things are normal for me, they are also very different than what most people do or think about.

I was reminded of the contrast this weekend when I had coffee with someone I’ve been looking forward to meeting for a few years.

I woke up early, had coffee while scrolling through Twitter, shaved, put on a stocking, tore it, then put on another and then another. Tucked, cinched my corset, hooked my bra, put my breast forms on, wiggled into a dress, slipped on my wig, zipped up my knee-high boots, clipped my earrings, and strutted out the door.

After my makeover I visited a few stores and then I went to a coffee shop to meet the legendary Sybil, a fetish model based in the Twin Cities. We chatted about, well, all of this. Balancing commitments, professional careers and marriage and things that make up a life… or, in our cases, lives.

Anyone listening to this conversation would have been understandingly baffled and unable to relate to what a normal day was like for Sybil or myself. This unique life of different worlds and different genders is something many of you may be are able to identify with as well. Normality is relative.

After coffee I went home, changed to a boy, took the dog for a walk, and then ran an errand. I returned home, ordered a pizza which my wife picked up after running her own errands, and then spent an evening decompressing on the couch together. I was asleep by 9pm.

There’s little overlap in my two worlds. I like the relatively clear guardrails (in Sybil’s words) between HIM and HER. It requires a mental and emotional balance and discipline to time management that I’ve developed over the last ten years or so.

I like strutting around in a tight leather dress. I like zoning out on the couch eating pizza with my wife. It’s weird to think that I did both of these things in the same afternoon.

Love, Hannah


Sometimes I will post something and I feel I am able to anticipate the likely responses the photo or link or article will generate.

Some of the expected comments can be fun, others can be polarizing and divisive… and others can be the equivalent to setting a room on fire and quickly closing the door behind you.

I love the diverse readership this website has. It’s encouraging that regardless of what is posted there will likely be some sort of interaction with it. Not that I need the validation but I do like sharing content or thoughts that connects with others even if it’s just others also sharing their love of high heels.

There are some readers who will email me after certain types of posts that, well, yell at me when I discuss certain topics. It would be almost funny if it wasn’t so intense.

Actually, what IS funny is when someone sends a very very very long and angry email about drag queen story time that they obviously put a lot of work into and I just delete it without reading it, lol.

Sometimes if I have an admittingly shallow post about how much I love lingerie, I’ll get emails that tell me I need to stop being so superficial and be more serious about gender identity.

If I discuss legislation that targets the LGBTQ+ community, I get emails calling me a woke bitch and I should stick to talking about dresses.

Thank God for the block and filtering options that Gmail has.

One particular trigger for some readers is anything that has anything to do with transgender youth. Some of my more… opinionated readers will send me clips from Fox News about doctors “mutilating” children who have undergone gender affirming medical care. Some articles that are forwarded to me are about drag queens grooming children. These things are simply not happening.

Anyone undergoing any sort of medical treatment when it comes to gender identity has likely gone through years of therapy and counseling. These procedures are not taken lightly. A person getting the genitalia that coincides with their gender identity is crucial and even life-saving in some situations. Someone’s choice to proceed with that is their choice and is not something that someone just “decides” to do.


I can’t relate to needing to transition. I can’t relate to needing different anatomical features that better fit their gender identity. I don’t feel dysphoria beyond simply not feeling cute sometimes. Because of this, I can’t relate to someone who really felt that it was necessary to undergo medical care regarding their gender identity.

BUT I know that for others it’s important and unquestionably necessary. Who am I to say to what is right for someone else? Who am I to say whether or not someone should make a decision that only impacts themselves?


I have known who I am for over four decades. Over the years I have changed the terms that I identify with and have come to a stronger and clearer understanding of who I am and what is right for me. It’s a journey, remember? One that almost all of us begin very early on in life. One that likely begins in childhood.

From the moment I tried on “girl clothes” I knew. But I also knew that although I had the option to change my gender legally and medically, I knew that it wasn’t right for me. Decades later the needle on this hasn’t twitched at all. Knowing this, I also accept that for others the need for a change is indeed there and has also likely been there since childhood.

A teenager, even someone younger, knowing that their legal gender isn’t right for them is absolutely a reality for many. And it’s a reality I know exists even if it’s not a feeling I can relate to either at the age I am now or when I was younger.

Again, it’s not for me or for anyone else to decide what is right for someone else. And! It’s not as simple of a decision where someone, regardless of their age, can wake up and legally change their gender and start on medication and schedule surgery as easily as setting up an oil change. These steps take months and even years of therapy and medical appointments. These steps are crucial in helping someone making sure that this decision is indeed the right direction for them.

Simply put, changing one’s gender (legally) and changing their body (to fit one’s gender identity) are not easy things to do. They require the help and recommendations of many, many professionals.

If a fourteen year old kid feels the need to change their gender I absolutely cannot relate to needing to do that… but I also know that they themselves know what is right for them. AND I know IF they proceed they will work with many trained and qualified professions in determining if this is indeed appropriate for them.

Today I am sharing a petition that a parent in Arkansas asked me to bring some attention to. This is in response to to a proposed bill, HB1156, which will require transgender students to use only the bathroom based on the gender on their birth certificate. This is a relatively new bill that is a somewhat modified version of a proposal that thankfully did not pass in 2021 called HB 1749. This bill would have legally forbidden teachers and public figures the use preferred names or pronouns for transgender students.

This parent pointed out that if this bill passes, it will also increase problems with gender dysphoria. Gender dysphoria is a legitimate medical problem, and is included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Trans youth with gender dysphoria often have trouble coping at school already, and it can lead to anxiety, depression, self-harm, eating disorders, drug use, and even suicide.

Some of my readers are convinced that someone using a bathroom is entirely for deviant and nefarious and sexual reasons. I mean, do they not know what a bathroom is REALLY used for? When I am out en femme I always use the ladies room. And I use a men’s bathroom for the same reason I do when I am in male mode. I am not there to expose myself or harass anyone. I am there because I have to pee. Trans students are using the restroom for the same reason. If I was forced to use the men’s room when out en femme it would be very uncomfortable for everyone involved.

And pronouns are a big deal. I’ve been called male pronouns as Hannah and it stings worse than I could have imagined. If I were transitioning or living fulltime and I was constantly called HIM I think it would impact my self-esteem in pretty terrible ways.

And pronouns AREN’T a big deal at the same time. I am happy to call someone by what they want. Liz instead of Elizabeth? No problem. They instead of him? No problem. Mistress Pain instead of Janet? No problem, Mistress.

In her email, she writes I have created a petition on Change.org to try and prevent this bill becomes a harsh reality. Please help me fight this, and help our children to be safe, accepted and comfortable in Arkansas schools. With every signature, we hope to raise awareness, in the hopes the bill won’t pass. It is slow going and I am reaching out to others to help spread the word.

Please consider giving this petition a signature. I did!

Due to the sensitivity of this and due to the pattern of trolls when it comes to discussions regarding gender identity for those under the age of eighteen I have disabled comments for this post.

Sorry, not sorry.

Love, Hannah