Plated hair and leggings. The scratching sound of a blade dragging along the ice to stop. Dark mascara and glossy eyes. Floating along the ice that had been freshly laid but still wet where hired boots had been rushed onto the rink. Music filling the wonderland and Christmas trees hanging from the roof.
I wore my new bobble hat, gloves and ripped jeans and got as close as I could to what made me feel right ice skating at Christmas but I was lacking the mascara and the dusty purple coloured leggings I imagined I’d have worn. Poker straight hair may be falling from the rim of my bobble hat in a cute winter warm look.
I love gliding around just allowing the ice to take me at an easy pace. Dodging around those wobbling and holding the hand of someone wobbling even more so and those with a wet mark down their thigh from an earlier fall.
Despite seeing those women looking and expressing the way they want to be I didn’t feel jealous of envious, well may be a little envy. I felt that I was some way along the path towards that sort of thing.
A yearly skate on the ice has become almost tradition for me, finished by a mulled wine and some Christmas market food but each time I feel a little more along the way to enjoying the skating how I want. At the moment it’s a bit of a journey and to some extent a challenge to step outside my comfort zone for comfort. I see other women the way may be I’d like to be and may be one year, next year, it will be the mascara and soft berry lipstick.
Earlier in the week Sarah in work approached me, “Have you seen this app? It turns you into a women, look at John.” She showed me a swipe-full of staff that had been changed gender. “Let’s do you.”
Sarah lined the phone up with my face and allowed it to process me. It softened my face up with light foundation with a blush of red warming my cheeks and dark mascara, upturned lashes with a digital eyelash curler. It plonked different hair on my head, which seemed pointless given my hair is approaching half way down my back at the moment but in a ponytail so we’ll let that little android off the hook. It was certainly a women in the finished process. In fact it made me look a little like Victoria Derbyshire, how it got to that I don’t know.
“There you go! How about that.”
“Can you turn me into a man now?” I joked. Kevin laughed from his desk.
The funny thing is, she clicked a button and the fabrication disappeared and I returned on the screen. I hadn’t felt that deflated and masculine for a long time. I’d come falling straight back to earth and hit a soft brick surface.
The thing is that app makes a women by softening features and rounding the face and then hiding everything else with thick virtual makeup. It’s an over-idealised image to make you appear female. It’s a night out with the girls look. The problem with these things is they can give a false let down. It can take away what we made the best of with what we have in a heart beat, but it doesn’t have to.
It didn’t take long to realise this and I didn’t latch onto the deflation. I reminded myself of what I have, how far I’ve come but more importantly how far I can still go, if I want to.
The difference between reality and idealism is something to try and go with and find somewhere between rather than fighting it and expecting the ideal. We are surrounded by idealistic images of what a women is, especially around Christmas with clothes expertly hung on size eight models, so it’s easy to get hung up on wanting to be like them and feeling a failure or false when we feel we can’t achieve that perfection.
Sometimes we might even buy those clothes on sale just for that reason and then realise they just don’t hang well on us and feel that we’re not achieving that perfection. The thing is most women go through this too. They, I say they when really I should say we but we need to differentiate without having to use that Cis word, they go through all the same fears, doubts and hits to confidence.
We all do for the same reasons. We have gender identity specific issues to deal with but we are all hit by some of the same things and we can share these things with other women if we can for support.
With the worry about how I look I also worry about whether I lead my future in the right way. Alone. A fear that may be I won’t meet anyone else now, especially if my gender identity continues to progress. I enjoy my own company but it’s always in the back of my mind that in the years to come, will I regret not returning to a real loving relationship.
Several years ago I headed down to Cannes on a holiday on my own. In the evenings there were hoards of people walking the promenade in June lit by warm street lighting. French locals playing chess on a mobile table, small arts stalls and flash young men burbling past in hired Ferrari.
I would wander to the edge of the promenade that divided the walkway from the beach. The small wall was topped with a slightly sloped plane that formed a bench the length of the bay. I sat with a copy of a Stephen Fry autobiography and hooked over the top a clip-on book light and read page after page amongst the noise and life in the south of France. At that time I enjoyed every minute. I felt like I had time to do it. All the time in the world.
Would I do something like that again if I was living full time? Sometimes people have opinions of a woman spending time alone. That said we live in a time of self confidence and adventure. Going out and doing the things we want to do and may be we, The Gender Dysphoric, should lead the way. For now, I’ll do whatever I can.
Until next time,