Number 191

 Nora Goes Gown Shopping

For those who don't know, my oldest child, Emma, is getting married to Henry this September. They have been together as a couple for about five years, and I wholeheartedly approve, so it's all good. Emma, ever the planning junkie is way ahead of most, if not all, of the different wedding details that must be considered (which I also approve of wholeheartedly). As I trust her judgement and character, all I've had to do so far is provide her with the necessary funds to pay for things as they come up. There's a long standing family joke that goes something like this: As her parents, we (Rebecca and I), would pay for four years of college and one wedding. As with most comedy, there's an element of truth there. In any event, as I said above, it's all good.

 There is one detail, however, that Emma could not handle on her own: my wedding attire. She could offer suggestions, hints, and/or advice, but ultimately, this is one that I have to take care of myself. And, to be frank, it was scaring the hell out of me. Ultimately, what it came down to, I finally realized, was how completely our culture had mind-fucked me into believing that I didn't have the proper womanly 'figure' for a dress. In terms of being a trans woman, that was a moment of what I term "reverse affirmation." In other words I felt a moment of kinship with cis women everywhere for thinking that my body wasn't good enough. You know: too fat, too skinny, too tall, too short, boobs too big, boobs too small, etc., ad infinitum.

A couple of weeks ago, Cindy and I went to Boston to visit with Emma. We had a wonderful time. Emma, who graduated with a degree in architecture, showed us the skyscraper that she is building. (Ok, technically, she's 'only' a member of the design team, but still...) I marveled to think that the little bundle that used to fall asleep on my chest had turned into this amazingly competent young professional (who knew how to drive in Boston, to boot!) We also visited the Salem Witch Museum, but that's a story for another day.

One morning, we decided to go gown shopping. It was time for me to suck it up and face my demons. Besides, Cindy, who was aware of my trepidation, would be there to help. Heck, she might find her own dress, too. Also, Emma would be there to ensure that anything we chose would not embarrass her or violate the wedding aesthetic she's aiming for.

Off we went to the local Macy's. And what do you know?! I found my dress.

First things first. We had a good time. After getting past a small case of nerves, I settled into the activity at hand. Initially my eye went towards the blue dresses (my favorite color), but Emma quickly (but diplomatically), shot those down - blue was NOT in her wedding color palette. Finally we selected about five that might work, so it was off to the dressing room. Secondly, in terms of size, I had many dresses to chose from, so my fear of being the 'wrong shape' just kind of vanished (yay!). Cindy had a few choices herself, so we decided to share a changing room. That worked well, because, as it turns out, putting gowns on (and taking them off), is quite challenging for one person! Then, the best part of the whole experience occurred. After I had the first dress on, I went out to show it to Emma - and the rest of the women (strangers) who were waiting their turn to try on their choices. In other words, my gender dysphoria was ready to pounce at the first sign of anything transphobic. Instead, perfect strangers ("perfect" being the operative word), gave me spontaneous and encouraging feedback. It was a complete surprise and wonderfully affirming.

The dress I chose was not my first choice, so I had to go back and forth a few more times. It got easier and easier each time. There were a couple of near misses, but when I tried this dress, I knew it was the one. Cindy found her dress, as well, and Emma approved of both, so there was a lot of winning going on.

As a trans woman who began the gender confirmation process after my 50th birthday there is still a great deal of learned, gender-based behavior that I am still trying to deconstruct. It's not second guessing my decisions as they relate to my gender identity: it's more a getting used to my new reality. All within the context of my self identity - which never really changed all that much - and our culture struggling to come up with new understandings of gender. And blah, blah, blah. Listen: Here's the bottom line - I look great in the dress. See you in September.