I like men’s clothing.
I wish this were my big Ed Wood-like announcement in the form of writing rather than a poorly shot and performed film about transvestism, but it’s not. Everyone in my life has known that I’ve liked men’s clothing for a long time.
Ever since I was a little girl I’ve never thought strangely of wearing a bowtie, suspenders or suit. If spotting a colorful tie or loafers while thrift shopping, I must add them to my collection, a collection that also includes top hat (collapsible), fedora, two tuxedo jackets and several fitted pants.
This love of men’s clothing could have come from the fact that my family owned a casual and formal apparel store, but they specialized in women’s clothing, not men’s. My comfort in wearing men’s suits could have been cultivated by my mother’s encouragement to be whatever I wanted to be and not let anyone make me feel bad about myself.