Sharp Dresser

Maybe my life would have been different. If my grandmother hadn't had lung cancer, maybe she'd still be alive. She died of it before I turned five, my third granparent to do so.

She was always fashionable, with the latest clothing from Saks and other stores. At some point some of her clothes fit me, and if I lose some weight, maybe they will again. I especially like the sweaters she knit herself. Maybe if she lived longer, she would have taught me how to dress, either by example or by gifts.

However, alas, she did not.

Instead, I learned sharp dressing from my grandfather, well, except for that awful beret. Suits, ties, nice shirts, slacks, sportscoats - suave. I want that presence when I dress. It's not about being butch, or a butch, because I'm not. It's not about being a man, because I'm not. Rather it's about expressing myself through my clothes. To quote my new friend Brian, "Putting on a tie is a spiritual experience."

My everyday attire consists of sandals (Tevas, specifically), jeans or cargo pants, t-shirt, maybe sweat-shirt or coat, and a backwards baseball cap.

When I dress in "men's" shirt and tie, "men's" pants, wide belt, and "men's" shoes, I feel myself: confident, caring, sharp. On Shabbat, I am in appropriate attire to marry the Queen. On other occasions, my demeanor is reflected in my clothing. It says, "I am fully present."

Not that wearing women's clothing cannot be equally empowering; it's just not for me. When I wear it, I feel nervous about looking too everything. As a result, I am not myself. So don't ask me to dress up girly, unless you want me to be in drag.