Baltimore, MD (1990)
When I was a little girl, my mother loved to dress me up in Laura Ashley dresses, elaborate bows, and shiny saddle shoes. And I resisted, hard. I was content wearing my older brother's hand me down clothes, and play catch with him and my dad. My less-than-amused look says it all.
|"The dress works fine, but let's save it for my girlfriend next time."|
Indeed, I had tomboyish streaks growing up, but I've always been kind of an old-school fag at heart. Mom instilled in me a love for dance music, fine dress, and meticulous grooming - though she may not love how I present myself now.
My dad forced me to watch AMC, where I discovered a bevy of effete "bachelor" characters in glamorous old films, who were my idols. My favorite character on the legendary "The Kids In The Hall" was (and always will be) Scott Thompson's inimitable swish, Buddy Cole.
When I came out at 13, I embarked on a journey in search of identity comfort. As a Catholic school girl in a single-sex environment, I felt pressure to be feminine. When I got to college, I attempted stone butch. Then God help me - I had a sneaker phase. 10 years after my foray into faggotry, I'm happy and comfortable with ambiguity.
And I delight in answering to, "Are you a boy or a girl?"
Nothing is ever easy when people view you as different. It takes a while to get to a good place, and 99% of the time it's a terrible and arduous process. It can tear people apart, cause unimaginable pain, and seem like it's taking forever.
But nothing is more "worth it" than feeling comfortable in one's own skin.
Or wingtips. Or stilettos. You know what I mean.
And, as for floral dresses and shiny shoes? ISO W4W.
Sofia Coppola (in "The Godfather, Part III")