Living life as a Dressed Oyster?? Preamble and digression...

I suppose when you're looking in at the weird and wonderful world of cross-dressing you would probably tend to initially clump us all together under the most common sort of label, possibly something like "Oh look, a bunch of trannies!". And to be honest, for your average stag do, Scaffolders Social or White Van Rally that would probably pretty much do. I mean why would you over-complicate things? 

Google Image 'A Bunch of Trannies' and this 
is what comes up. Slightly unexpectedly...

However, the trouble with such a harmless piece of banter is that nothing is more likely to inflame a cross-dresser's passion than to be incorrectly labelled. Criticize our skirts, ridicule our legs, mock our wigs... yes indeed such comments will dig deep and the barbs draw blood. We will slink away to lick our wounds and try to re-build our shattered egos. But should you dare to mislabel us then be prepared to face the full wrath of our potty mouths, the sudden thrust of surprisingly un-ladylike biceps and the stomp of a size 11 platform shoe on your instep. All of which will no doubt be captured on a passing phone only to come back to haunt you when humiliating footage of your good self being tonked by a raging cross-dresser surfaces on Youtube the following day. And you will wonder where it all went wrong. You will wonder exactly what it was you said. You will wonder how you seemed to be in complete control of the humiliation process only to have it suddenly flip. You sir will have been guilty of mis-labeling your opponent and for that you deserve all the sniggering upvotes your humiliation deserves...

Oyster Tranny? Apparently Tyranny is 
too hard to spell....

Now if I'm being honest, the only reason I'm venturing into the tricky waters of cross-dressing nomenclature is because I've just invented a new category of cross-dresser specifically for myself. Let it be known that I am now officially (subject to any legal challenge or any obscure EEC regulation of course) to be recognised as an 'Oyster Tranny' or, if you prefer, 'A Dressed Oyster'. (pause for muted fanfare)

Of course as a new and controversial sub-category of a much maligned parent group I couldn't resist Image Googling the term itself and am intrigued to show the following as the definitive, logarithmically determined definition of the term 'Dressed Oyster'. And lo and behold it looks like a dodgy 90s album cover. But it's actually a dodgy 70s album cover that's way ahead of its time (Blue Oyster Cult: Tyranny and Mutation (1973) to be exact)

OK, bearing in mind that no two cross-dressers can even agree on what shoes are permissible with a pair of black tights, this is my personal take on some of the current cross-dressing tribes and terms in common-ish usage.  After all if I wish Dressed Oyster to join them I should be clear about where it sits. There will be omissions, there will be points of debate, there will be squeals of indignation but for what it's worth, this is my personal pocket-sized take on our diverse, divided and divisive community. All to be taken with a pinch of salt of course (usual riders apply)

Drag Queen: Usually gay, flamboyant and acid tongued. Likes torch songs. Critiques the patriarchy but only lives for performance.

Outfits to Die for??

Panto Dame: Usually gay, flamboyant and acid tongued. Likes torch songs. Critiques the patriarchy, loves the prince but only lives for winter performances. Confuses children and Americans.

Tranny Psychos:  Mainly to be found in vintage movies and tv shows (sic). Wears women's skins, becomes their dead mother etc. Usually has a wig that falls off at awkward moments and an inability to apply lipstick or remove 5 o'clock shadow. Not ladylike at all!

Hairy Panty Wearer (HPW): Occasional part-timers grabbing a fleeting instant of make-believe. In the cupboard. Which is kept in a closet. Conveniently close to the wife's undies drawer. Where it may stay for the rest of their lives until they either explode or become...

Transvestite (tranny, TV): In the words of Madness, HPW's who venture 'One Step Beyond!!!' and actually resist the Act of Onan long enough to put on a few clothes. In the early stages this may closely resemble some of the beardy-men cross-dressing adverts on the telly, but without the faux innocence. The happy hunting ground of the guilt-ridden and those attempting to live a double-life.

Cross-Dresser: A 50 year old transvestite who shaves their legs and watches Youtube make-up tutorials for 18 year olds. Committed to the cause but have usually left it a bit late in the day to regard themselves as a...

TGirl:  A cross-dresser who has mastered the short skirt, the high heels and the selfie. These can be seen as the slicker elder sister of the 

TGurl: A cross-dresser who has mastered the art of the funky wig, the Doc Marten and the selfie. Even 'younger' manifestations can be seen in the

Sissie: Frills, white ankle socks and metres of shiny material draped artfully over petticoats and knickers. Usually instructed to dress in such a manner by legions of strict females so can't really be held responsible for their awkward predicament. Honest. And then there are

Adult Babies:  Nappies and bottles where gender is pretty much defined by the pink or the blue ribbon on your bonnet. The Trans no-mans land, especially as genetic women are often adult babies too. Confusing, so best back quietly out of the nursery to visit

"I know my place girls..."

Transgender: "Q. What's the difference between transvestite and transgender? A. About 18 months"  Cross-dressing may be an early stage in accepting a gender dysphoria and an essential stage on the route to transition. Or it may not. Tricky one that. Also I've a sneaky feeling that a lot of TGs regard TVs as a bit of an embarrassment and a barrier to their being accepted by the world in general. The Rubicon of gender has been crossed and they are now women so no longer cross-dressers and as I've little experience of the world of Male to Female (MTF) TGs I can only offer the following wildly inaccurate guidelines based on the famous vintage 'Class' sketch (and I can offer no thoughts at all on Female to Male (FTM) Trans Men. You're on your own there). 
Here we go then...

• Transgender (no-op):  Happy with the name change and the new wardrobe. And the laser of course. Bit squeamish about scalpels so retains more than most. Secretly looks up to Post-Op. Bit worried they bricked it.
• Transgender (pre-op):  Being a Pre-Op TG seems to be both a declaration of intent and the planting of a flag. Also the drawing of a line in the sand. And the determination to face a Brave New World. It also means you can secretly look down on Non-Op for bricking it whilst looking up at Post-Op for having finished everything, especially given how slow everything transition-related seems to go.
• Transgender (post op): Looks down from lofty peaks. Life is tough on the mountain but at least she's there, unlike those unfortunates lacking her experiences or bloody-mindedness. Officer class.

And then there are a few other groups where you really have to think about a bit that come under the heading GenderQueer. A bit like all the smaller parties and individuals that appear on polling sheets at the general election

Bigender. Too much of a good thing?

Gender fluid: Can't make up their mind what to wear and have exceptionally large wardrobes.

Androgynous: Boring outfits

A-gender: No gender. Really boring outfits

Bigender: Not someone with strong views on which part of an egg should be eaten (see Gullivers Travels) but someone with two distinct personalities, one male, one female. Very convenient but sounds a bit Jekyll and Hyde-ish to me 

There are probably lots more classifications and tribes out there but at this point it all starts to get a little 'People's Front of Judea' vs 'The Judean People's Front' for me so I'll call it quits for now. Anyway, this is all well and good but such a long diversion has totally undermined my original thought  regarding my own specific sub-classification of Oyster Tranny. So I guess I'll have to address that less than earth-shattering topic at a later date...

Coping With The Female Gaze - The Mo Shoot

"Two hours!! Two. F*****g. Hours."

I admit I've never been the quickest at changing, make-up, hair and all that malarkey but I hadn't realised that maybe I'd been taking quite so long. And although Mo seemed to be absorbed on her computer, tweaking an image here, replying to an email there, it seems I may have been slightly indulgent in the time allowed me. 

Oh dear. I think I'd been enjoying the luxury of stress-free dressing-space a little too much.

"Subtle and inconspicuous..."

It's been quite a while now since the actual event but it was only a couple of weeks back that we'd been discussing the shoot, with Mo mentioning how long she'd been waiting to actually get started. If her emphatic expression is anything to go by time has obviously not dulled her memory of the occasion.

So, to recap, this was my second photo-shoot and it took place not long after the first one with Bex but an altogether different affair. For a start I had already met and chatted with Mo several times before and I was aware of her body of work, not only photographing cross-dressers, but also Romanian workers in Britain and the homeless of Kings Cross among others. I enjoyed it too and Mo is one of life's inquisitive people, open and welcoming to everyone she comes across which must be a great boon both as a photographer and a human being. She'd mentioned that it might be interesting to do a session with me but,with a typical British reserve (though an un-typically tranny one), I'd hesitated and tried not to appear too eager until I was actually invited to her flat at Borough Market, next to Southwark Cathedral and London Bridge. 

Bex had chosen my outfit for her shoot but Mo was more than happy to photograph me in whatever outfit I arrived within so I decided to go all out vintage with a recently acquired dress (or two) from the Lindy Bop sale. The main dress was quite a colourful number with flared skirt and netting and I also had a backup that was more of a pencil dress sort of style, just in case something drastic happened to the first one. I'm not sure what that might have been but you can never be too careful..Of course this added layers of complexity as I also needed a multitude of accessories, make-up that was way beyond my skill levels and a wig made up into an appropriate vintage hair-style. Thinking about it all I'd say Mo was actually lucky to get away with two hours but finally, finally, I was 'ready for my close up Mr De Mille' and Mo could start clicking away.

"Sunlight, people, fresh air... yikes!"

Mo's flat has large windows that overlook the market and there's a lovely yellow sofa that is made for posing on so I was more than happy that the first session meant I could sit down and catch my breath. Or as much as I could in a corset anyway. Mo was experimenting with light levels, shade, silver discs, ring-flashes and other mysterious and arcane devices and I could sense I was as tense and lock-jawed as a parent letting their 'lively' son drive them on the dodgems for the first time. The camera may love some people but it has to work it's socks off to show me any affection and I started to feel sorry for Mo striving with intermittent clouds and a rigid mannequin for a subject.

But nevertheless the morning morphed into afternoon, as it tends to, and maybe I started to relax a bit. We had photos not only on the sofa, but on the stairs and in the corner of the room before Mo casually asked "Do you want to go outside for some pictures?"  Oooooh! Decision time... middle of the day, a busy market full of barrow boys, city types and tourists, dressed in vintage outfit with a dodgy hairstyle and uncertain make-up. To be honest I think quite a few women might have balked at the prospect but as this was the year of living interestingly I decided to go for it and before I had a chance to back out off we went.

Stepping through Mo's front-door into the street was... surreal. A bit like an out-of-body experience where the dress, shoes, gloves and hat-veil that I was aware of in the periphery of my vision actually belonged to someone else. I just happened to be in the cockpit, safely tucked away and quietly observing. Very much like the body hi-jack in "Being John Malkovic" in fact. Of course it helped a lot in that Mo was there with a camera so obviously that would lend a whole air of legitimacy to it, wouldn't it? Well of course it would. Obviously. Must be an art-house project. Or something.

"Quick change before I go!"

So, having squared everything up with my brain, off we went swanning around the market, pausing here and there for a few photos. Plonking myself  down on a table outside a cafe, leaning casually against a pillarbox, underneath the arches, up and down ancient stairs, you name it I posed there. Then of course there were the sudden and violent gusts of wind that are obviously tricky to deal with in petticoats and and swing dresses, so much so that whilst I was holding them all down the hat went bouncing off down the street with Mo in hot pursuit. I was slightly concerned to see that Mo was leading me into a local estate, presumable for something a bit more 'urban' and 'gritty' although it was actually to get a nice bit of The Shard in the background, but we emerged unscathed before heading back into Southwark Cathedral for a cup of coffee and a cake in the cafe. By now I was feeling rather blase about strolling around in my subtle and inconspicuous outfit and had relaxed enough to ask if Mo would take a few photos of me in my other dress, back at the flat. A quick change (really quick this time) and Mo obliged with another quick session in her front room.

So an interesting contrast to the session with Bex a few weeks before. Soho and Borough Market. My choice of outfit and an outfit selected for me. Two sites as opposed to wandering and selecting locations as the muse arose. I don't think either of the photographers were interested in 'pretty-ing up' the subject (me!) but I think both are intrigued at an attempt to gild masculinity, however unsuccessfully, with certain notions and cliche's around 'femininity'. I'm looking forward to one day seeing both bodies of work in an exhibition setting and maybe having the opportunity of talking to them with regard to what it is that intrigues them as they look down the viewfinder!

"Nothing that a nice pot of tea wont fix..."