Trying to kick the Cinderella Syndrome

Today was honestly fantastic. My partner and I went to a Renaissance festival with the kiddo. I was excited to be out of town and not have to run into anyone, so I decided to get dolled up for the occasion. I haven’t gone out femme a lot, so it was really something to look forward to for me. I definitely have been blessed with the boobs so most of my outfits are something feminine as an undershirt, throw on the Gender Dysphoria hoodie and call it good enough, but I wasn’t happy with that today.

I wore a nice wig (alopecia is a bitch and new growth is unflattering), did my face, had my partner help with the eye makeup (I still tend to lean too hard on old scene kid makeup habits and she likes to poke fun at it), got it all set, wore a nice pink v cut shirt under a blouse that was dark on the bottom and see through up top and a pair of bleached white skinny jeans. Wet got there and went to a show, I was getting a little nervous so I decided to have a mead and get the hardest most awkward part of the day out of the way.

The bartender scrutinized my ID something fierce, studying intently the picture of a cadaver splayed out in multiple security features with various opacity. Vacant sunken “kill me I’m already dead” eyes, a beard that hadn’t been shaved in months, basically bald if not for a few wispy Homer hairs that defiantly stayed behind. He looks back at me. I’m wearing prescription shades because my eyes are terrible and it’s very bright. He finally found what he was looking for, something to verify on this ID without being overt about things.

“Can I see your eyes?” He makes a gesture to pull the glasses down.

He smiles, “There you are! You look gorgeous today!”

I got my wristband and from there it all had to be easy, no more ID or any of that.

We had fun, took the kid around to see things, they got to fight with some foam weapons against this adorable person with an androgynous fit and a furry tail, the highlight of their day.

Also got to ride a horse, dig for treasure, all the fun things you can take a kid to do at a renaissance fair.

I had forgotten my phone, so I don’t have any pictures like I had wanted, but it was a good day.

Came home, cooked some dinner, watched a classic movie with my partner, told them goodnight, and I’ve been sitting here for an hour and a half out more trying to convince myself to go take a shower and end the day.

I don’t want to though.

I’ve waited so long, dreamed, hoped, cried, worried, so much, so so long. I get to have my night at the ball, and it’s midnight already.

I know it’s silly, but I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to take it all off and have to look at myself, with the cruel unadulterated eyes of dysphoria.

I spent my life with my only makeup being the cinders my oppressors pushed me into while mocking me for wanting to be pretty. I want more than these rags I was given, the rags I never thought I could be better than, the rags I bitterly still hide in most days.

I want to wear something gorgeous, I want to look like it was made for me, I want to drink, and dance, and socialize, but I want most of all, to not have to go back at the stroke of midnight.

It’s not that easy. I don’t have an army of rats to make me fine clothes, I don’t have money, or means, but there are things I do have, even if I can’t always remember them.

I really need to start getting an actual wardrobe, because it is apparently more important to me than I realized.