This weekend in New Orleans I was part of an amazing performance weekend for the Palimpsest Novel book tour.  Performing on stage with the likes of Catherynne M. Valente and S.J. Tucker was such a joy, with the audience decked out in finery, masks, steampunk gear, and maps writ upon their flesh.  Trains of heaven had snaked us from Chicago to the Bayou, and I was in bliss having never been to the city before and getting to do it surrounded by some of my favorite people.

But neither the show itself (including me spinning poi on stage for the first time in 3 years,  me doing arial ropework involving a really powerful piece about emotional angst and rape, or doing ropework on the floor that involved the painfully cathartic work of destroying a novel ripped from the bound author' hands) is not what I want to write about today.  Its about my green corset.

We all have that one piece of our wardobe that has seen so much, done so much for us, with us, against us.  It has been there during the hard times and the good.  It has seen us fat and thin and every shade between.  It has laughed at us, supported us, held us.  It might be an old brooch or a favorite pair of shoes, a scarf or a coat.  I have a number of these, and this corest is one of them.

Green Corseted as a Woman

I got this corset from Morganna Femme Couture many years ago as a custom piece.  I loved it, though snapped the front busk quickly, shipped it back and the second held.  I tend to be hard on my clothing.  It is emerald green silk duploni and it used to fit like a glove- I could tightlace down to a 38D-28-42.  It was amazing.

I gave away most of my corsets, or sold them, or traded them, when I gender transitioned.  Firstly, no longer having breasts, over-bust corsets were silly to own.  Secondly, though I still identify as a drag queen, its been hard to get "girly" when trying to train folks to call me he.  I apparently confuse, baffle, make it hard for folks. But I had to keep this one, my orange and black PVC one by the same maker, and my leather waist cincher from another creator.  I could not would not part with them.  But neither could I wear them.

I have worn a corset "out" twice since transitioning until this weekend.  It was Dark Odyssey Winter Fire 2008 for the formal dinner.  Stockings, girdle (the one shown above), super-tall stripper platform heels, layers of black satin skirts and crenolines (long in back and short in front), tight orange and black corset, custom orange and black tall anime wig from Peacock Blue... eyeliner, glitter in my beard, and a flat chest under a black shirt.  People were baffled and yet had fun... but those who had known me as Bridgett (above) tripped over their tongues, unsure how to address me.  The femme fag boys were very supportive and loved it, and me. It was good.

The second was a drag piece for the Baltimore Erotic Arts Festival- where I came out in full drag queen/fetish model (for how different are they really?) glory, danced, stripped... then ripped off my fake boobs, got fully naked, removed my makeup, and got dressed into men's garb before a "mirror" (held up by my friend Graydancer) all to the song "Unpretty" in the 2nd half by TLC.  I walked away in my own skin, comfortable, hand in hand with my refletion.

But I haven't had the stregth.  Emotionally.  The whole drag queen thing is a lot of work, and currently rocking an amish-style beard I realized I need it.  The beard.  I don't get she'd.  Ever.  Ok, except on the phone once in a while.  I love being being high femme fabulous for an evening, but if it means I have to shave it all off which will lead to me having to juggle the depression and frustration of getting she'd again... I just don't have the strength right now.

So the corsets have lay quiet, borrowed by friends or just bundled and safe.  They lay fallow.  They were untouched, unheld, pulled no skin tight and forced no lungs to contort.

Wearing my Green Corset as a Man

Until this weekend.

The night before leaving on the trip I had a hair-brained idea and put it in my bag.  Black boots, black trousers, black shirt unbuttoned under the corset showing my chest fur.  Hat, goggles, key on a necklace, leather fingerles gloves.

It was good.  I've put on a lot of girth since going on testosterone, so instead of closing it it was open 4+ inches in back, and yet the look was still very dramatic.  Perhaps moreso because most folks in the audience had no idea I had ever lived, loved, and dressed as a woman.  Had no idea that once I was the woman above.  They saw a bearded young man with a 32" corseted waist wasped in and gasped.

I could only wear it for an hour.  Costume chaanges, and I was out of practice.  It was good though, if hard.  I kept fearing that people would know, would care, and yet I knew I had to.  For me.  And in the name of art.  I'm still femme, and sometimes, I need to accept, that that means my love for corsetry needs an outlet.  I won't be shaving my beard any time soon, nor my legs, but the boning is needed, the cotortion of flesh.  I need to feel it, to see my waist cinched in, to feel my power over my form, to feel light as I dance and laugh.

My love of corsets has not faded.

Technorati Tags: clothing, corsets, ftm, gender presentation, insecurity, queer, trans, transgender, transition, transmasculine

Insecurity is a horrible, nasty ole icky thing that most of us would like to believe that we left behind –along with bad haircuts- in high school. In reality, bad haircuts can follow us for decades, and insecurity follows suit. It is an insidious beast that rears up at the most inopportune moments and causes us to act in ways that we never would otherwise.

And, y'all it is really ugly.

Living out in the hinterland, as I do, isn't exactly conducive to meeting fabulous queer femmes. So lately, I've made it a bit of a personal quest to meet and get to know more local(ish) femmes. It really hasn't been a positive experience. The cattiness of many (not all) of the ladies that I have met really astounds me. It seems petty to go into any kind of detail, but let me say that it ranges from constant corrections of grammar, to comments about how femme or unfemme other femmes are, to offhand nasty comments about exes/old friends/current friends/random people/total strangers, to deliberate and obvious attempts at peer pressure.

I don't feel personally victimized because I don't allow other people to dictate my self-worth, but it is uncomfortable to be around people who do.

I know we all like to kvetch in harsh detail to our very dearest friends, but when we share those same grumbles with people we barely know it is inappropriate. It comes off as catty, rude, and callous. It causes people to think that we talk that way about them when they are no longer around. It creates tension where there shouldn't be any. It is uncomfortable. And, well, it makes us look like assholes.

After encountering all of this femme-on-femme animosity, I contacted several femmes I know across the country and asked if they have had similar experiences, and nearly everyone said “yes.” I’m going out on a limb here and saying that this particular type of behavior appears to be somewhat normal for the femme community. I would venture to say, based on my observation and experience, that it is almost expected. When the femmes I met behaved in these appalling ways, no one corrected them, made a statement to disagree, or even frowned. Everyone just went with it. As if we all agreed that why, yes, it is completely okay to be an asshole.

It isn’t.

Why do we do this? We certainly don’t hate, or even really dislike one another. I think we can all agree that it is nice to have community, and that none of us are looking to pee in the community pool. We all tend to think that the other is pretty/fab/glam/amazing/awesome. We all have a gender identity in common. We are all basically sisters. So, again, why are we so cruel to one another? Are we so intimidated by one another’s fabulousness that our insecurities cause us to become unparallel jerks? If so, can we stop? Please?

This type of behavior is appalling in adults. It is ugly, and as a group it makes us seem childish, churlish, silly, petty, and overall just self-centered. And, I am the first to admit that I fight my own insecurities everyday. I am guilty, at times, of letting them rule my actions. When someone says something to me that seems catty and/or somewhat mean I want to say something back. Something nasty. I have nice, wide, long, mean streak myself, and trust me, I have some words that I would just love to throw in anyone’s face who has stuff to sling about me. . .But, I try really hard to never do that. Because, that type of behavior doesn’t befit me, a femme, a lady or anyone really. Whenever you are lampooned because of someone else’s insecurities, try to remind yourself that it isn’t the person speaking, it is their issue. And, then, take a deep breath, walk away, and do the damndest to forget about it.

As we are all still reeling from the results of Prop. 8 and other marriage legislations, I have been reading what the LGBTQ community at large has to say. Most of us are still recovering, regrouping, and reminding ourselves that we have to get up and keep on. I am impressed by many who have found positive outlets to voice their opinions. But, I have seen a few –small but definitely established few- who are turning to petty anger to cope. I’ve seen and heard talk of sending gay porn to churches, of sending hate mail, of people using their rage to fuel negativity. Please, let’s stop this. Not one single person who is against gay marriage is going to view gay porn, and then suddenly think: “Why yes! These people should definitely have equal rights.” In showing them something that we know will be offensive to them, we are only underlining to them why we should be marginalized.

We have to rise above, hold our heads high, and demonstrate our grace.

Can you imagine what we could accomplish if we could put aside petty differences and actually talk to one another? And, I’m not just talking about people for gay marriage and people against it. I’m talking about within the GLBTQ community as well. We need to grow up, put down childish things, and start acting like the adults we are.

Technorati Tags: CommUNITY, insecurity