It’s Not and Who Cares

I know I overthink and I used to feel that I overthought my outfit whenever I would go out en femme. Buuuut I kinnnnda think many of us consider countless aspects relating to our dress, our heels, our… everything when we go out.

I think about where I am going, what I am doing, who I might be meeting up with… it can be a bit of a puzzle when I am spending the day doing casual adventures but later I am going to the theatre or something. Both parts of the day have a different vibe and unless I am going to change somewhere I might be overdressed for the mall but perfect for watching a play.

This past Saturday I had plans that would begin around 5pm and I scheduled my makeup appointment for 9am. That’s a long day. But it was on purpose. I wanted a day out, plain and simple. I scheduled a wig consultation but otherwise I was as free as a bird for hours and hours.

I knew I’d be walking around a lot so I took that into consideration when I chose my heels for the day. I had recently splurged on six pairs of stilettos and I knew I wanted to wear one of my new treasures. It came down to two different pairs. One was a black patent stiletto with a lot of buckled ankle straps and the other was a pair of baby pink stilettos. I had a feeling I would be shopping and trying on clothes and I didn’t want to constantly unfasted and refasten alllll those ankle straps so I went with the pink.

Pink can be a tricky color to pair since there are so many shades of it. I had narrowed my dress down to two options.

The day before I went out I tried both of them to make sure they still fit and I decided I would make up my mind the next day. After I cinched my corset and slipped my forms into my pocket bra I stepped into the bodycon dress and the zipper was not having it. The forms and the corset made me a little bigger, in a way. I didn’t want to wake up my wife for her help so my default the pink dress was my outfit du jour.

The heels and dress matched wonderfully but I was as pink as it gets. I know a six foot t-girl is going to stand out no matter where she is, but if you add four inch heels and a dress like this you need to abandon all hopes of blending in.

You have to own it.

You’ll turn heads and it’s best if your own is held high when they see you.

And they will see you.

I went to see my makeup artist and she loved the outfit. I told her I was afraid it was too much pink but she shot that down. And with that, my confidence went up.

After my wig consultation I popped into a bookstore and on my way out a woman was leaving the shop that was next door. As we walked to the parking lot she told me she loved loved loved my dress. I thanked her and I admitted I was afraid it was, well, too much, too formal, too pink.

She waved her hand and said “it’s not and who cares”.

It was one of those moments that just really speak to you. I dress for myself and I give little thought to what others may think, but at the moment I wonder if I spoke my real thoughts. Those thoughts being that maybe I am overdressed, maybe I should tone it down a little when I am out. Maybe I should do more to make myself less of a spectacle.

What I mean by spectacle is that as a six foot (and then a little more) tall transgirl I am going to stand out. Perhaps I shouldn’t… well, add to that?

This is a difficult world for many of us. And not just the gender nonconforming community. The joy we gain from things we love are the same things others want to ridicule for their own edification. It’s frustrating that others find happiness in dulling other’s sparkle, if you will. If someone likes a singer or romance books or whatever, let them. Why make the effort to mock them? Let them like things.

If dressing to the nines while browsing a bookstore makes them happy, c’est la vie. If dressing to the nines makes YOU happy, then do it. I happily painted the town pink the rest of the day.

It’s not too much if it makes you happy.

And if someone else thinks it’s too much, then who cares.

You have the freedom to listen to, or not listen to, anyone’s opinion.

Love, Hannah