What I Wanted To Wear: Tied Up
I’ve been attracted to ties for a long time, well before I came out as trans. Over the years I’ve put together a collection of office-appropriate ties, skinny punk boy ties, bow ties, and even a silk ascot for… I don’t know. The kind of events one wears ascots to.
My last job, however, was client-facing, with a formalized dress code. I had not yet begun transitioning, and in an effort to find clothes that looked like they actually fit me, I resorted to pants and shirts from the “ladies” section of the store. Everything I’d ever learned about a great straight-leg pant from watching What Not To Wear crowded into my head, but I didn’t see myself in any of them. I bought voluminous slouchy cardigans I could hide in. With my short hair and chunky shoes and femme-presenting significant other, my coworkers pegged me for a butch lesbian, and I let them.
They were nice. I wasn’t afraid, exactly. But they didn’t get it, and it seemed easier to cross-dress every day than to explain, somehow. My weekends were already full of double-takes and “excuse me”s as I tried to correct people into reading me as male. The idea of doing it every day — and not just with my coworkers, but with an unending stream of new clients from all walks of life — just seemed exhausting.
Now I’m working from home, and I have no need for ties except for the occasional job interview. I’m getting closer to being read as male reliably. But there’s still a moment of hesitation when I’m getting dressed, or when someone uses the wrong pronouns, or when my spouse and I get addressed as “ladies.”
I ask myself: How much do I want to have this discussion right now? Is someone going to look me over and ask “what are you?” today? Is it going to be a good day, where I get “sir” from the clerk? And there’s no guaranteed answer, no single moment in life where I flip the switch from “feminine” to “masculine” and it always works.
I’m lucky, because I live in a progressive area, and because I tend to be read as a lesbian rather than face many of the safety issues trans women have to deal with. But it’s also a little disappointing to think we live in a society where merely being misgendered and scrutinized is considered lucky.
I still feel self-conscious when I wear a tie. It feels like I’m actively daring the world to read me as male, when most men’s clothing is considered relatively neutral by onlookers. But even as it makes me anxious, it’s also a declaration that I rarely get to make otherwise. Here I am. I dare you to call me sir.
I still feel self-conscious when I wear a tie. It feels like I’m actively daring the world to read me as male, when most men’s clothing is considered relatively neutral by onlookers. But even as it makes me anxious, it’s also a declaration that I rarely get to make otherwise. Here I am. I dare you to call me sir.
I still feel self-conscious when I wear a tie. It feels like I’m actively daring the world to read me as male, when most men’s clothing is considered relatively neutral by onlookers. But even as it makes me anxious, it’s also a declaration that I rarely get to make otherwise. Here I am. I dare you to call me sir.
I still feel self-conscious when I wear a tie. It feels like I’m actively daring the world to read me as male, when most men’s clothing is considered relatively neutral by onlookers. But even as it makes me anxious, it’s also a declaration that I rarely get to make otherwise. Here I am. I dare you to call me sir.
