Brief aside: Due to mental health concerns, I am largely avoiding the news. I intend to keep blagging but the content over the next little while, best guess a few weeks, will be either personal, humorous, or adorably clumsy animal .gifs.

Weddings used to be mine fields for gender dysphoria. I hated them. The closest I came to liking them was at a Latinx wedding, because they played cha-cha-cha and samba during the reception instead of pop music.

I hate pop music, too.

Anyway, dysphoria, weddings. Awful thing The First: Forcing me into a men’s suit. I’m barely five feet tall and a ~115 pounds. There is not an adult man suit made on this planet that will fit me. These ill-fitting suits gave me plenty of reminders that something was wrong–though my last wedding attended prior to transitioning was still years from actually coming to terms with my gender. I kept looking at the women, thinking I was attracted to them (which was only occasionally the case), but most of the oggling was actually, “what would I wear to a wedding, given the choice? Her top plus her shoes with something different for the legs.” But men’s suits? Might as well ask me to wear an angry boa constrictor.

Now I have fun with weddings. I try to do something that’s still punk, even though I’m going formal. Think LBD’s with knee-high gladiator heels, or dress shirt and lady vest with shiny spandex pants and polished boots. Rainbow accessories are a must–any Queers suffering at a straight wedding ought to find refuge with me. I’m on the lookout for a rainbow underbust belt. Smoky cat’s eye eye-shadow is a must–can’t forget our busy evening of smouldering at straight people.

Awful thing The Second: What is with all the gender segregated traditions?

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