Nov 29 | The Grey Waistcoat (Letters from the Coast)

I tried on the grey waistcoat with three or four different shirts before I settled on the gloriously soft Banana Republic sweater and added my grey trousers.

Which earrings, I fretted. The oddly reserved side of me that only came out in front of the mirror said I should choose the sedate violet drops I had made – one of my first pieces, in fact.

The other part, the one that comes out on nights where I haunt the Red Room downtown with Vancouver’s Goth population, said, “Hell no! Scale maille all the way!” And so I choose the chain maille Aura 2 units with the stainless steel scales attached. I’m all monochrome today, we need some sparkle up in here.

Now, the hair. Last night, I slicked it up with product and raked it back along the crown of my head with a comb. I quickly discovered that it wouldn’t stay in place, and laughed remembering my bit part in a production of Grease years ago, how the guys always kept their combs in their pockets and it became a running joke that they would whip them out and use them whenever something embarrassing happened.

I was going to have to pocket the damn thing now!

This time, I don’t want to add product, but I do want that swept back look. I fiddle for ages before combing it back and then braiding it. Having a Chelsea means there’s nothing to hold a clip or claw in place, so that’s out.

I check myself over again. Is this really appropriate? I think, as usual. I mean, this is a family lunch.

Quite practically speaking, most people could give a crap what you’re wearing in my family. Plus I always overthink this kind of stuff. I’m balancing somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. Waistcoat adds butch, but the powdery grey soft sweater adds femme.

Today’s ensemble…at least from the neck up!

I’m still me, I think. This is not inauthentic. It’s not a disguise or a compromise. That’s what matters.

 

Like anyone I slip into a particular role depending on what group I’m with. On my mother’s side of the family, the role is comfortable. I’m myself, for the most part. Topics of conversation are more muted than the ones I have with my friends, and I’m not exactly what you’d call “out.”

Social media has changed the landscape so that I can make proclamations without having to deal with reactions in real time. Although I’ve never written a terribly explicit post about who I am (“You might not know this, but I’m bi and nonbinary…”), I have made reference to these identities as belonging to me while sharing articles about relevant topics. Most of my cousins also know, and I know that some of the older generation knows from being told by them, which I don’t mind as my family is pretty safe about that kind of stuff.

I have been more or less out as bisexual for most of my adult life, but it’s been a much more tentative journey since I’ve begun untangling my sense of gender.

I’m out to my friends, and I’m mostly out at work. But I’m not out to my mother or my stepfather, and while I’m out on social media I have no sense of who really understands what this means, as I don’t insist on my pronouns. As I’ve stated in an earlier post, mostly this is to avoid emotional labour on my part, but it means that things sometimes feel a bit illicit.

For example: Last weekend, I bit the bullet and took advantage of several sales online to purchase some clothes from Haute Butch. Like claiming my pronouns, it felt both liberating and a little frightening.

On the one hand, while women who fully claim a butch identity can come up against harassment, it definitely doesn’t come close to the rage that erupts when bigots see a masculine person wearing stereotypically feminine attire.

On the other hand, “full-bodied” folks like me, who have stereotypically feminine bodies (and in my case, almost archetypally feminine!), can find it difficult to fully embody this look in a way that feels beautiful.

I always walk a weird line between feeling butch and femme. I slide up and down the scale, but most often tend to rest in a place like the one I’m in now, which is why I think I love this waistcoat so much. While it’s cut to accentuate my curves, to me it still adds a pinch of genderfuck to any outfit. I’ve layered it over collared shirts and Tshirts and tank tops depending on whether I’m feeling more demi or more girl.

I noticed that I am increasing stepping away from my dresses and skirts again, although I don’t want to get rid of them. A night out with my spouse nearly always elicits a more femme look, because I enjoy making myself attractive to him and he’s straight. But on my own, and more and more at work, I find myself occupying this new role, the one I chose myself rather than the one that society allowed me to play within.

Fashion has become a playground for me to experiment with feelings I am still learning to fully articulate.

Thank God for this waistcoat.

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