Whenever I have gone out dressed as a girl, I never seem to do it in the sensible way. Let me caveat that. I’m a outsized girl who has hardly ever been out so I possess a limited experience. Combine that with my lower confidence because I worry about some of the stuff you hear from other girls who go out more often. Large groups of teens, disapproving women, sniggering men. And I'm not sure I'd know how to deal with that yet.
So sensible to me, probably wrongly, but as a starting point in the journey to being a public girl, is to get dressed up in a nice dress and go to a safe t-girl bar or nightclub, dance away and then return safely.
But the other night, for reasons I still can’t quite explain even to myself, caution got thrown to the wind and I took another risk. I went to a place where the general public are found. Brazenly I might add. OK, so I mitigated it a little. Admittedly I was wearing low heels, girl jeans, a blue top and a purple cardigan. Possibly this might have meant that people didn’t clock me as anything more than a boy. But when you know that the shoes were v girly, the top had lots of pretty detailing, I carried a handbag, my wig and breasts were in place and there was a whole load of make up going on, it was probably quite obvious really.
I’m probably making it sound braver than it actually was. The trip out consisted of walking 300 yards to the car, driving for an hour to the hotel I was staying in, walking into the hotel, checking in and walking to my room. But it seemed more than that at the time.
The whole car journey was spent thinking about how I would react if someone said something. Or was negative. Or even horrible. I obsessed with the fact that I might see someone I know. As I pulled up at the hotel, I nearly gave in. In fact, I had brought my boy clothes with me in case I chickened out. I really couldn’t help but wonder if I was making a really bad decision.
But the words of comedian Dave Gorman came to me. In his Googlewhack routine, he makes a decision to do something crazy and he says [and I take artistic license due to memory problems], “I thought fuck it, I’m Thelma and Louise going over that cliff. I’m Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I’m David James fucking Gorman. And I’m just going to do it.”
So I opened the car door and got out. I put one very nice heeled foot in front of the other and I walked into the lobby. The receptionist in the hotel clearly realised who and what I was, but was genuinely kind and lovely. I felt such a relief as I got my purse out of my handbag and paid. I really smiled.
I regularly stay in hotels, arrive late and want Rhiannon time. It takes a while to transform and means I’m often up late: this girl is not good at doing late! This night was different and fantastic. I got ready first, went to the hotel, was already dressed and ready so got to my room, watched some crap TV, drank far too much diet coke and relaxed. It was how the world was meant to be.