Dangerous Minds - A mini-archive of cross-dressing history

Vintage glam from 60s Kansas

One of the few websites that I regularly visit is the estimable Dangerous Minds, a treasure trove of music, film and other cultural ephemera. What has always impressed me is their regular feature of transgender related articles so I thought it might be worth listing some of those I've enjoyed on the off-chance that you're lacking a little something to peruse of an evening

So for a by no-means comprehensive listing, feast your eyes on these...

Portraits of 90s Drag Queens by Michael James O'Brien
                                                                        Found photos from the 60s Kansas drag scene
Vintage Drag photos from the 19th century
                                                                                             Vintage photos of Drag Kings
The transgender women of Boogie Street 
                                                                                                        Transgender kids camp
Nan Golding's photography
                                              The Drag Queen Stroll - NYCs Meatpacking District in the 80s
Ageing 'Frisco Drag Queens
                                                                                                           The NYC Drag Explosion  
Ricky Renee - 1960s Quick change artiste
                                                                                    Men wearing their girlfriend's clothes
Grayson Perry - Rebel in a dress
                                                                                                                     Popstars in drag
An interview with Jayne County 
                                                                                                    The Queen - documentary
Transgender women of Paris in the 50s and 60s 

The Pink-(ish) Panthers

I have to confess that I'm not one of those who usually follow the exploits of international jewel thieves but I was intrigued to come across a reference to a gang known as the 'Pink Panthers' when reading an Evening Standard article on the recent Hatton Garden robbery.  Some of the perpetrators have apparently just been sentenced but what caught my cross-dressing eye was their modus operandi

In one [Paris] robbery, which lasted less than 20 minutes, the gunmen disguised themselves as women, sporting wigs, skirts, stockings and high heels.

 That's all fairly innocuous I suppose, but when I thought about it, I got to wondering whether the article really need to say more than 'the gunmen disguised themselves as women'? The items of clothing mentioned was interesting as well, particularly the stockings an high heels. Which then led me onto the idle speculation that it must be quite tricky to conduct a high speed smash and grab in high heels, especially if you're not used to wearing them ("Are you crazy? You really expect me to walk over a security grating in stilettos???"). So having had the idle thought I wondered if there were any photos about on the net to show these glamour pusses in action and maybe a fuller description of exactly how they were dressed at the time.

Well as it turned out I couldn't find any so I had a little look around to see how the robbery was reported generally.

Most took the standard line, presumably repeating each others report, although the Daily Mail said 'the gunmen wore silky wigs', although how they determined this isn't noted. On the online news site Bustle, they reported it pretty much on a factual basis. although their headline focused on 'Cross-dressing Robbers' and was apparently written by their Fashion & Beauty reporter! The Daily Mirror reported their trial under the headline "Criminal Gang wore 'Fishnet stockings and heels as they stole £75m of jewels in heist of the century."  

So now they're wearing fishnets, the cheeky harlots! Well it is Paris and they were probably not going to get much of an opportunity to get out a great deal so why not? Actually, to be fair to the Mirror, they probably picked this up from a quote as noted on the BBC website



A lawyer for one of the defendants, Eric Dupond-Moretti, told Agence France-Presse: "It's an exceptional case with unusual aspects. In television series about heists, they wear bulletproof vests. Here it's fishnet stockings and high heels."  BBC Website 28.2.15

In many of the reports it seems as though it's the fact that the robbers were in female clothing that was  the interesting part. They'd robbed the same store a year previously dressed as decorators but for some reason this was rarely mentioned - and certainly no thought as to whether there were any silky wigs involved in the earlier event.

Although you can't be sure, I suspect the truth is a little less titillating than the reports hint at. Why dress as women at all? The NY Times has a reasonable explanation

"Such painstaking surveillance may well have led to the decision to wear wigs at Harry Winston: women, even fake ones, glimpsed through a security camera might appear less threatening to weary workers."
The Heist at Harry’s Doreen Carvajal December 12, 2008 The NY Times

So would they really need the full-on tranny experience for a 20 minute, action packed event with subsequent getaway (which some reports suggested was by motorbike, although others mentioned the slightly more demure getaway car)? A French news channel had a video reconstruction of the process of the robbery in which the beige burglars seem to sport wigs and even heels but where the fishnet stockings (not tights) and the skirts are replaced by the far more practical trouser/cardigan ensemble. Still chic and elegant but surely far more practical for the job in hand?

What the best dressed burglars are wearing in Paris this year

 

Beards, Bums and Ads

Maurice and his expertly applied 'crap' makeup!

There's been one of those little things bugging me for a while now. Not bugging me in a bad way, just a sort of niggly, occasional irritant when it pops up on the box (which it seems to do quite a lot at the moment) namely "What is it with cross dressing stubble in TV Adverts?"

It's one of those strange things that when you're engaged in a hobby or a pastime like cross dressing you become much more aware of it in the general course of daily lifeand it seems to me that you can't spend very long before you're very aware that the media is awash with the subject, whether it be documentaries, drama, music, art.... or advertising. Such a fascination for the subject must be indicative of something I suppose, but that strikes me as being a far bigger topic than my little 'shower thought' which is basically about the very manly issue of stubble!

Stubble has an interesting place in men's lives. It has both negative and positive connotations of course; negative when associated with sloth, idleness and decay (the man can't or is unwilling to take pride in his personal appearance), positive when of the 'designer' variety (the 'action man' whose life seems too full and who is too independent to follow the norms. But at the same time keeping his stubble in check and tidy, like some sort of urban wildflower gardner). 

But recently a subset of the 'negative' stubble seems to have been popping up quite a lot in television ads featuring cross dressing and it also seems to be a sub-set of that modern trope 'the stupid man'. In these adverts the cross dresser is usually overweight, usually on the dim-side of the spectrum and pretty much always resplendent with a degree of facial hair. Their choice of clothing usually left a bit to desire as well. The number of these characters popping up in adverts would suggest that they are quite an effective tool in the advertisers armoury so I thought I might try to pull a few of them together for a quick overview

 A good example of the genre would be Barbara & Maureen, the 'Bounty' kitchen paper ladies. 
They had a whole series of ads a few years back which seemed to focus on the competition between the two 'ladies' as they compared the relative cleaning properties of their paper kitchen towels. I can only think that the thought process amongst the ad executives went something along the lines of ... 

Nice outfits too!

"In the ad time available a straight competition between our towel and theirs is the most effective way of putting the message across."  - "But women aren't stupid - having two women compare kitchen towels is daft and unrealistic."  - "Hmmm... usually if we need something daft and unrealistic we'd have men do it. But for kitchen towels??" -  "True, having men give a toss about kitchen towel absorbency is unrealistic as well." - "Hang on, Blue Sky Thought time... what if we have two men do it dressed as women?" -  "Like it. Sort of idiot types who would obviously never normally use the stuff. Post Modern Irony Time? We can laugh at them whilst still absorbing the core message (see what I did there?)" - "Yes, but we have to be careful. We don't want regular guys in dresses. That might be a bit too creepy. They mustn't look as though they're enjoying dressing either. Crap dress-sense - I'm thinking 70s grannies with those floral pinnies and furry boots with zips they used to wear - No glamour either. To be on the safe side make them a bit plump. And for God's sake make sure there's plenty of stubble about. These guys definitely ain't gay, they're just slobs who've blundered into the wrong wardrobe and who were too stupid to realise it." -  "Duncan I salute you. Another winner! Time for a celebratory chablis methinks"

Pound to a penny that wasn't too far from the truth. Of course the added bonus is that it then becomes an inherently comic advert (men in dresses, what a hoot!) with the potential for a whole series of them as these guys/gals get into ever more implausible scrapes. All the time side-stepping why these (obvious) guys might be in pinnies in the first place!

The apparent success of this series seemed to set off what was almost an avalanche of badly dressed and hairy trannies all inhabiting this wonderful world of harmless cross dressing where facial hair immediately signifies a safe, non-sexual protagonist. Still rather dim and still rather self deluded. Hairiest of them all (and not just by a whisker either)  is 'Maurice' the BetVictor 'babe' who's found yet another way of buttonholing his betting mentor, this time as an implausible WAG at a football match. In fact WAGS come up again as an aspirational , presumably because their iconic 'ultra-femme' status. Here the joke basically comes down to the theme of "...quick, give me a tip before they clock I'm not a WAG!". Again, despite the beautifully applied make-up it's the hair that stops this being a sexually threatening scenario, although to be honest Maurice does come across as a very threatening and disturbed individual and if I was Victor I'd have security there at the double.

A more passive and aspirational WAG is to be found in an advert for Piri Piri Pot Noodles where Brian luxuriates in a fantasy world of lace, perfumes and personal pampering. Whereas Maurice is using his cross-dressing primarily to access Victor, Brian really does buy into the role. He's developed a soft voice, feminine  mannerisms and a coterie of genetic females who seem to accept him readily as one of their own. However you can't go too far with this sort of thing so he's been reined in with with a few comforting signifiers - his name (surely she'd be happier as Bryony?), his size (pleasingly plump but definitely not WAGishly thin) and his stubble (it's OK guys, she's not a 'trap', she's a comic creation!). Brian is unique in this group though for being an unashamedly 'romantic' fantasy figure, albeit one that probably only exists in Brian's own head. In contrast the Just Eat takeaway chefs are just down and dirty!

Doh! Doh and triple Doh!!

We've all got better things to do with our lives than actually cook food haven't we? Apart from revelling in the unique culinary charms of a Peri Peri Pot Noodle, the Just Eat chefs are on  mission to get us to do more interesting things like waking up next to a stunning blonde following a 'memorable' night on the town and a night of energetic jiggy-jiggy! Only that's no blonde, tht's one of my fellow workers in a wig and nightie. Now who feels slightly awkward...?

That's actually the second crossdressing escapade the chefs were involved in - one of their other adverts was far more upfront suggesting that a take away was the ideal solution when you are planning a weekend of crossdressing. The image of the chefs bumping, grinding and rubbing their stockinged thighs whilst declaring  "...we all know there's more interesting things to do with a weekend, don't we gents?" is a sight to behold and I can't think it did a great deal to persuade any women out there to rush for the pizza delivery number. Which might explain why I couldn't find a copy of it on Youtube either. Despite the beards and 'tashes maybe they stepped just a step too far over the line with that one...

Well this confuses things!

Some last inconsequential musings from me then. 

Firstly I wonder if Conchita Wurst winning the Eurovision song contest last year has affected these sort of ads much? There was a huge outcry from some when a bearded crossdresser won and part of me wonders whether it was the beard that offended. How could an obvious man look so good in a dress. Surely the beard had to go? Does not compute, does not compute!!!   So what with drag queens appropriting the beard maybe we're not so safe as we thought? Just having a cross-dresser sport a beard in the next big TV ad might not be enough to ensure that we all know it's just a gag and not something more sinister and unsettling.

Dave - getting the balance spot on in so many ways

Which then led me to wonder whether the 'phenomenal' recent MoneySupermarket advert was mindful of this when it was in it's planning stages? The cross-dressing here is reduced in scope to tight shorts, high heels and shaved legs. The female anatomy is caracatured as in drag, but here it's the bum rather than the boobs that get the padding. Our hero Dave is steely eyed, determined, clean-shaven and every inch the man from the waist up though. No slobbery an definitely no stubble - designer or otherwise - and any 'drag' element seemed to be unloaded onto the person of Sharon Osbourne who looks on admiringly. Our man can pout, preen, thrust out his groin and shake his bum like a hopeful pole-dancer, has already made numerous appearances on talk-shows and has a string of imitators all of which is something none of the others have ever achieved. 

Safe advertising cross-dressing seems to arrived and I wonder if Dave's padded orbs are the shape of the future?

"Each of the men dress in high heels and the video maker noted that some of them were walking 'too well'

  - Oh dear, maybe it's not all that safe out there after all!

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3022952/Friends-stag-wear-denim-hotpants-high-heels-recreate-twerking-Money-Supermarket-ad.html#ixzz3bQZbt9lY

Addendum:
I came across this lovely little ad the other day for Sloggi bras, a bra so comfortable you'd almost insist your man tries it on for size - but only if he's sufficiently inked, hipster and bearded enough of course!

I'm not so sure...it looks as though he's going to stretch it and then she wont look so smug...

(Outing 3): And to round it all off...

...was the trip to a restaurant.

Tina and Julie seem to be regulars at a Soho eatery called Balans. There are two on Old Compton Street, one a cafe style the other a 'proper' restaurant and that was the one where we were heading.

The second time out on the street seemed slightly less intimidating although a little voice in my head was still hoping it wasn't too far as we were actually on the pavement and consciously avoiding people's gazes was getting a bit tiring. It wasn't as it turned out and in we went. Balans seemed fairly busy, lots of couples at tables around the entrance and again another slightly self-conscious moment as we stood there waiting to be seated. Would my knobbly knees protruding from underneath a shortish skirt put the discerning diner off their starters? I felt a slight urge to shuffle in a nervous sort of fashion but luckily the staff were pretty quick to spot us and we were led through the admiring diners (cough! cough!) to a table for four in the rear dining area. With the extra space available Tina suggested that it might be interesting to both sit with our backs to the wall so we could see what's going on in the restaurant and on the street outside, which seemed a good idea but thinking back on it must have looked a bit odd... certainly not the usual set up. Blending in again.

Of course that's when I realised I was in a spot of bother as the old contact lenses I was wearing meant I was suddenly very long-sighted and had no chance of reading the menu (or the prices). In a slightly embarrassing display of public helplessness I had to ask Tina to tell me what was on the menu and as I had no chance of remembering what she was telling me I plumped for the first item on the menu - also on the assumption that it was one of the cheaper options as well, if I'm being honest. However any notion of thrift was blown out of the water as we went for a large glass of the house red each so maybe I shouldn't have bothered.

Did I detect a slight hint of disdain on the waiter's face when taking the order? I'm not sure really - it might well have been his natural expression and certainly none of the other diners seemed to be remotely phased by us (well me really. I took it as read that Tina would be totally at home whereas I assumed that I just looked like an obvious newbie). In fact looking around everyone seemed far too preoccupied with their own friends to be noticing me, something I mentioned to Tina and which strangely slightly deflated me. After all you expect you're going to bring the walls down about your head by going out wearing a dress and what happens.... Totally ignored ;-)

Food eaten, wine drunk off we went back to Lolas at Muse for the rest of the evenings entertainment - which was a very good drag act - and then back upstairs where we messed around with a few photos, including the detail bellow.

So, what had I learned on my first proper excursion out in a skirt. Pretty basic stuff really

a. It's quite a nervy thing to do but it's not terrifying
b. I find that I have conversations with people far quicker than when I'm in drab. Women seem quite friendly too, probably because I'm not perceived as being a 'threat' in any way
c. It's actually quite nice wearing a skirt - at least like the one I was wearing. Breezy.
d. No-one seemed inclined to beat the bejabbers out of me, which was nice...
e. I did miss having pockets when dressed. I'm cack-handed and handbags throw me. 
f. Good shoes that fit and that preferably stay on your feet are essential
g. errrr..... I think that's about it really. Other than that it's quite exciting and I'd like to do it again...

Mission accomplished. Take a bow!

 

(Outing 2): So, getting back to my original story...

...which was really about how I felt when I finally went out properly onto the street dressed up and expecting the unexpected!

OK, a couple of weeks have passed and again the invitation is extended to go to get a quick drink and maybe even a quicker bite to eat before the main acts are on.This time Tina is on her own as Julie's having a quick break in France so it would just be the two of us... but this time I'm feeling much more prepared. Gone are the high heels, the 'not quite old enough to be vintage' cocktail dress, the opera gloves, new wig and glasses. In their place is Alexandra Mk II the all terrain, multi-tasking comfort-tranny designed to get in and out of a hostelry with minimum fuss.

Let's get ready to Ruuuummmmble!!

The improved version is wearing contacts (not themselves without issues it has to be said...), a wig that at least pretends to behave, thick tights, flat pumps, t-shirt, baggy jumper and lightweight skirt with all the essentials carried around in a sensible and hard wearing ruck-sack. Oh yes, there's the casual girl about town scarf draped over the shoulders in a 'this old thing?' sort of style. So there I am ready to go for it and take in the whole experience. Up we go and out onto the street.

I'll be the first to admit that walking round Soho isn't exactly the hardest place to go out dressed in feminine garb. In fact it has to be about the easiest but even so for a beginner it's as much about the potential embarrassment as it is any fear of possible physical or verbal grief so it's still very much a 'gulp and plunge right in' moment as you leave the confines of the club.

So, what did I feel? Not fear that's for sure, more a sort of worry that in my slightly heightened state of anxiety and tension I might actually do something stupid. Like walk out in front of a car or a speeding rickshaw. Of course I'd be fine if I was taken to hospital because I had indeed followed the folk-wisdom of my mother and made sure I had clean undies on, even if they were rather lacy and decorated with a pink bow... So I made sure to look before stepping out to cross over - and that's when instinct kicked in. I found myself going into a sort of avoidance mode - not looking directly at people, more through them as though I was desperate to meet up with someone just behind them. I found I wasn't looking at faces either and was aware of people around me more as a blur than as a solid shape. I was pretty sure that people were noticing and looking at us in a casual 'Oh look there's another tranny'  sort of way but if they were I couldn't have identified who it was. Of course walking with Tina was a big help because you can go into a sort of mindless small-talk mode that gives you another excuse not to engage with others. And here's another odd thing... in my eagerness not to find myself bunched up in the middle of the pavement crowd with it's possibility of shoulder bumping and mumbled apologies, I found myself actually walking down the middle of the road, possibly the least obvious place for us to walk if the intention was to blend in. In fact for a short while it felt rather as though Old Compton Street was briefly becoming Alexandra's red carpet!

Anyway, The French House is literally just round the corner from the club so we didn't have far to go before we entered the pub and the fun of a new set of experiences and issues. For a start you're pretty close to people and I was all set for some delicate soul to swoon away or recoil in terror at the sight of me trying to force a passage through to the bar. Fortunately there was a bit of space inside and as the trainee tranny I was more than happy to offer to get the drinks in.

Now that's a thing to think about as well. What sort of voice should you use when out and dressed - your normal bloke voice, a slightly modulated campier version , the full blown "I'm a laydeee!" parody (which I find very difficult to get out of my head sometimes) or the gruff male+ basso profundo 'It's OK I know I'm a man and all of this is just a bit of post-modern irony. Normally I have a beard and did I mention that I'm married?"  version. All this goes through your head and basically you have to run with whatever comes out first, which luckily for me was pretty much my own voice. Illusion shattered straight off then for the rest of the punters!

And here's yet another odd thing. When I'm in drab I'm a very ordinary middle-aged, white, male, hetero with very average looks, personality and dress sense. Nobody would normally strike up a conversation with me without some reason but shove me in a dress with a dodgy wig and some badly applied make-up and within minutes I'm talking to a couple of complete strangers at the bar, a young man and woman who were enjoying the fag-end of what had obviously been a very enjoyable afternoon in the hostelries of Soho. What was even more interesting was that they were actually Guards musicians who regularly did their stuff at Buckingham Palace, Horse Guards Parade and other ceremonial events. We had a very enjoyable discussion about (surprise, surprise...) gender, clothing (he commented on the campness of his bandsman's outfit for one thing) and how I was finding the whole cross-dressing experience. It was a really nice way to start the evening but Tina had an eye on the clock and it was soon time to drink up and set off for my biggest test to date - dinner at Balans Restaurant!

Pubs are one thing, but how would I hold up in the sophisticated environs of a fine dining establishment? Quickly knocking back my Ricard (when in The French House etc.), I followed Tina out into the evening and on our way further up Old Compton Street...

(Outing 1): Well then, first proper time out in public. How did it go?

Well surprisingly well really, all things considered. Of course technically it wasn't my first time out in public as I had gone out for a quick drink in a Soho pub a couple of weeks prior. But this time it was.... well... proper I suppose.

The first time I went out had been a real spur of the moment effort. I was at this little club called Muse in Soho for its Wednesday night crossdressing-fest known as Lola's. It's very handy as I can get changed on the premises and lurk underground at the bar all evening in a 'timid trannie' sort of style and for some reason on this particular evening I'd decided on a lace evening dress with a pair of court shoes and a new wig. As it turned out this wasn't the best choice I could of made, although there was no way I could have anticipated this before the event. Wigs, like shoes, seem to need a few wearings before they are really comfortable and as this was its first time out, this particular wig seemed to perch on my head in a very alert manner. A bit like an eager terrier The lace dress was more appropriate to the late 50s than the 2015s and as for the shoes... oh dear.

They'd seemed fine and the ideal replacement for the pair I'd ruined tripping over the podium of some whipping stocks in a dungeon in Sutton (not as racy as it sounds). I'd gone down like a sack of potatoes and found that I'd snapped a heel clean off. Of course this was bad news at the time and it had then triggered a long-term search for some replacements, the result of which were nestling on my feet as I posed casually against a pillar. Then, just as I was getting a little too comfortable Tina, accompanied by her friend Julie, came up to me with an innocent air to her "Coming out for a drink before it all starts?" - Ha, such a simple question but of course my ever alert and wickedly sharp intelect immediately detected the heavy sub-text, namely 'Have you got the guts to go out in public? Well this is your chance. It's all up to you now." 

Well what could I do. I'd been going to Lolas with the intention of overcoming my natural reserve so I decided it was best not to think about it but just say yes, put on a coat and follow the two girls up the stairs and on to the the very public space of Frith Street, Soho. Which is what I did - up the stairs and out onto the street to then stride manfully (?) in their wake to 'who knew where' for an excuse of a drink. And that was when I also found out that the shoes were a little problematic. They'd been fine for standing and posing in but when it came to walking I found that they just didn't fit. Which was bad news because they flapped badly and seemed determined to fly off my feet and as a result I found I had to clench my toes together, shuffle and walk very, very slowly. And with rising panic I could see my two guides and mentors merging into the crowd ahead - very worrying for me as I hadn't got a clue where the pub was or where we were going. So it was with a mounting sense of anxiety that I started wondering 
a. Had I gone too far to turn back? 
b. Could I survive the humiliation of being the 'obviously amateur' cross-dresser on the mean streets of Soho? 
c. Would my toes hold out?

However, just as I reached the point of no return Tina must have realised I was lagging and emerged from the crowds to find out what the problem was. With her and Julie each side I was then accompanied into The French House like a crippled merchantman being escorted into Valetta harbour by a couple of valiant destroyers. Of all the emotions I expected to feel on entering a public house dressed en femme, relief wasn't one of them. Fear, anxiety, embarrassment maybe. Relief definitely not...

Well we had our drinks, a photo or two was taken and most of my internal dialogue was spent around the issues of the return journey. Could I make it bck?; Should I take the shoes off?; Should I sacrifice myself and insist my colleagues go ahead without me? (I'll be fine... just listen for the single shot...). Well, drinks were finished and then off we went back into the evening with me acting out my biggest fear the obviously inexperienced and rather pathetic looking trannie clip-cloping her way down the road. I'd never wanted to be that  trannie, but there you go. Still I got back in one piece feeling relieved and rather pleased with myself but it definitely wasn't the way I'd wanted it to be. I'd been caught on the hop, unprepared and I'd let the circumstances get to me. The next time I went out I'd actually plan for it, be prepared and definitely not be wearing ill-fitting shoes. Which is sort of what happened the next time I went out with Tina, a couple of weeks later....