Cross

I spent most of Halloween ignoring the huge parade through the gayborhood, ignoring The Brother and Gay/Not-Gay Boyfriend/Not-Boyfriend, and just quietly talked to a conservative crossdresser from the suburbs who wore a red plastic French maid's dress trimmed in cotton lace at the neck and hemlines to keep him cool. He was alone and eager to talk, especially because I asked lots of questions and was a captive audience. He spoke with a kind of detailed particularity that was both fascinating and alarming. In the same measured, calm voice, each word distinct and separate out of his throat, he told me that he was 5'10", 195 lbs., with 13" forearms and 24" thighs, and he was wearing the Bali 3300 bra and Cristian Dior Rouge 644. He talked about his body the way some guys talk about car engines, and when I said as much to him, he lit into a red-rimmed smile and told me he worked as a machinist.

From the beginning of our conversation, he used the words transgender, transvestite, and crossdresser nearly interchangeably, and at some point I stopped to ask him about that and played dumb to get him to define each term. Surprisingly, he really couldn't--the definitions he offered were muddled and overlapping and seemed to focus on physical expression only, not an underlying gender identity. Something about his muddiness really clicked for me. The thing is, I've never trusted what crossdressers typically say to explain their behaviors. The standard line is about embracing their feminine side, about being brave enough to transcend gendered stereotypes and temporarily live as their more nurturing, softer selves. Frankly, I think that's bullshit. While straight male crossdressers obsess about outdated, exaggerated female forms that take hours to put together, real women in sweatpants and greasy hair are doing the housework and running errands and taking care of all the other responsibilities crossdressers have put on hold in order to shop for size 12 stilletos. The guy I was talking to fucking did a "dry run" of his eye makeup two weeks ago. There's nothing nurturing about this kind of behavior, it's narcissism at its finest.

Which is not to say that there is anything wrong with narcissism per se. I indulge plenty of my own oddities. I'm clearly selfish. I just want people to call shit like it is. What I liked about this guy is that I think he was more honest than most. He admitted that crossdressing for him is a sexual impulse. In sixth grade, while dressing up as a woman for Halloween, he first realized he got off on this when the bra he wore all night chafed a raw spot on his rib cage and he liked it. He's collected vintage bras ever since, and of course he rattled off dozens by brand and model number. Throughout the night he reached down to finger the abrasion where his garter belt and the edge of his girdle met.

I suspect though that crossdressing is far more than a sexual fetish. I think these men, for all of their conservative values (and they are REALLY conservative--Republican voting, gun carrying, total warhounds), are at their core self-loathing and unable to voice the real face of their desires. Perhaps, had they had more liberal inclinations or grown up among families who weren't card-carrying members of the NRA, they'd eventually admit to being gay or trans. Instead, they walk around pretending that crossdressing is merely a hobby, merely an escapist pastime that takes up only a fraction of their real lives. At night, they drive to bondage and fetish clubs on the Eastside or in the Valley, and during the day they hide out in the suburbs, purportedly thankful that they don't live among the liberal freaks in a place like Weho.

In the end, what I learned from Halloween night is that I don't like a Republic man in a dress any more than I like a Republican man in pants. But I do appreciate the opportunity to have talked to this man, and more so, his patience and kindness with my many questions.