Black Friday & Cyber Monday Gift for TG

 Here's a pair of slutty videos to help with holiday gift shopping!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lLXG9EoELU

http://youtu.be/FiYaZHxzqCc

You can buy the Tranny: Boys Will be Girls graphic novel at Lulu

 

Kate's Gorgeous Gams

So darlings, maybe you've heard the buzz -- Princess Kate Middleton brings back pantyhose! This T-Girl couldn't be more pleased with this fashion development. I think sheer nylons are glamorous and sexy, but I've clearly been in the minority with this opinion for some time.
This young royal has a lot of class and wears her clothes well, and she looks smashing in stockings.

 Not everyone is so pleased as I, check out Lindsay Mannering here, she's down right pissed about the whole thing! Hell, I love it. I know I feel great when I go out in sheer nylons, heels and and short dress. I do hope it catches on!

She's a classy little thing, huh!
And as you can see from the photo below, guys dig chicas in nylons. Well, most dudes do, as far as I can tell. Between trannies and gawkers, I guess guys have missed pantyhose more than women!

Vela De Amor - Oaxaca City

Saturday night and cabbies are pulling up to the Salon Abcdiel at the corner of Bustamante and Zaragoza in the city of Oaxaca, disgorging their cargo of attractive young indigenous women, some in cocktail dress, others resplendent in full length gowns. The revelers and their dates are attending the Vela de Amor, part dance party and part beauty contest, held in a big concrete masonry hall with the odd Moorish detail, a few blocks to the south of Oaxaca's lovely Zocalo, the Mexican baroque town square renowned for it's stately beauty.

This is the Mexico never seen from the perspective of U.S. based news coverage, focused as it is on the violent drug war in border cities like Juarez. The city of Oaxaca has it's own problems—five days before the party at Salon Abcdiel, federal police clashed with the local teacher's union in the Zocalo. Several were hospitalized. Mexican President Calderon was visiting new Oaxacan governor Gabino Cue, sparking protests, what with the Oaxacan political scene still smarting after a 2006 popular uprising.

Oaxaca is a poor state in southern Mexico, and has suffered under more than 80 years of rule by the PRI (People's Institutional Revolutionary Party) until Cue's recent election. By and large the drug war of president Felipe Calderon has a far lower profile here than in the north. The city of Oaxaca sits at the confluence of three valleys, a cultural and artistic jewel with some of the most delicious and interesting cuisine in the country. As in other parts of Mexico, tourists are staying away in droves. This is rough stuff in a city with no industry other than tourism and Mezcal, the mysterious smokey distilled agave spirit that typifies the soul of Oaxaca, and has never penetrated the U.S. Market.

Back a the Salon Abcdiel, the revelers are well aware of Mexico's grave problems, but this is a night for other matters. The salsa band works their poly-rhythmic tattoo of horns, percussion and guitar into the air and the shaking booties of the assembled. Two hundred pesos (about $17.00) gets you in the door and the ticket counter attendant hands you a small case of beer. Walk it to the enormous cooler at the side of the hall, full of ice and beer. Hand it to a beaming waiter in white guayabera shirt and black slacks, and he hands you back an ice cold beer. It's understood that you can return through the night and drink your fill from there on in.

A glance around the cavernous room reveals the band onstage at the far end. There are ten smartly clad musicians onstage, their energetic steps and virtuosic riffs emanate from the stage. Folding chairs line either side of the hall, as if the party was preceded by a revival meeting. The center of the room is left for the dance floor, with a few couples tentatively working the salsa or mambo at the early hour of 11:00 p.m., when the party is just getting some lift under it's dance legs. Groups of stunning indigenas chat, drink and eat with their friends.

Upon spotting a claque of my friends, I join them—no sooner do I sit down, but the mistress of ceremonies greets me with a plate of Isthmus style seafood tostadas. Indeed, the Vela de Amor celebrates the people and culture of the nearby Isthmus of Tehuantepec, the narrow waist of Mexico where the Atlantic and Pacific come closest.

The celebration centers around the beautiful Zapoteca women in their party dresses and nose bleed heels—classic beauties with their brown skin, high cheekbones and flat noses. But these are girls with a little something extra, maybe the shoulders are a little wide, some waists a bit too thick. Yup, these are dudes in dresses, the Muxes of Oaxaca, accepted since before the Spanish conquest as a third gender, especially on the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. In traditional Zapotec culture, many families had a Muxe son, who from youth might exhibit more female traits and would be raised as a girl.

And here I am just before midnight, one of four non-locals from the north lucky enough to score an invite to the party. The other three are my friends, and indeed are all at the party on one invite. One of my fiends is an art professor in the U.S. and a part time Oaxaca resident. She has entered the world of the Muxes as a photographer, carefully building relationships and trust in order to document Muxe lives. I hear about the party from her, and in fact arrive separately sans invite. Given the nature of the event and the fact that there is still a lot of machismo running around out in the streets, the security was on the heavy side. So it was that an armed, uniformed guard was about to turn me away for lack of an invitation.

The aforementioned mistress of ceremonies dances quickly to my rescue, a robust Muxe mincing across the floor in her heels with a shock of curly jet hair and gleaming eyes. She smilingly rebuffs the security guard, takes me by the hand and pulls me into the party—after all, I am the only cross dresser there from El Norte, why not give a T-girl a chance to get in on the fun? At 6'4” in heels and my real-estate-agent-goes-jungle mini skirt ensemble and eighties metal hair, I somehow make the grade and am granted entry to the Vela de Amor.

Okay so maybe I am a wee bit nervous with this. My Spanish is good not great, and I am very clearly an outsider, so I employ my status as a journalist to strike up conversation and to get some photos. Of course the girls are gracious with my requests for photos. Across cultures, transgender women love to be photographed, part of their reward for all that work getting dolled up. I am surprised and delighted as others approach and ask if I would photograph them—gay couples, family groups including Muxes. The Salon Abcdiel is filled with a warm feeling of community. This is a safe space where not only the Muxes, but the larger LGBT community of Oaxaca can come to be themselves and enjoy life.

At midnight, the band leaves the stage and an emcee announces it's time for the beauty parade. Waves of Muxes carrying banners sashay across the floor to a traditional promenade over the speakers. Two groups are created at each end of the hall, last year's court and this year's court. Clearly the decisions have been made as to Queen and courtesians, this is simply the official presentation. This years queen regally struts the length of the hall in a black sequined gown finished with a layer of sheer magenta, radiating warmth but still haughty as could be. The crowd cascades applause upon the Queen and her court, the feeling in the room building to a rock concert cresendo of buzz and good vibes.

After the presentation, the band wastes no time getting back to work and neither do the queens and their community in filling the dance floor. And man can these folks cut the rug, lyric and stylish as they pirhouette across the room. I count myself one lucky girl to get in on the Vela de Amor.

Mexico is a country with huge problems, not the least of which is an ingrained culture of corruption. But it is also a place where people are ingenious in their resourcefulness, and relentless in their embrace of living life to it's fullest. Their art, culture, cuisine and historic legacy all brim with a singular zest for life that is always becoming itself in utterly surprising, even surreal ways. No matter what political woes beset this land and culture, the people of Mexico will always find not only a way to live, but a way to celebrate life.

Note from Fiona: Yes, this is the second Muxe Vela article I've posted here, but this one is sort of slanted to a general audience, and was a very different scene from the Vela I wrote about in Juchitan.
And I don't know what the official name of this Vela was, but it was around Valentine's day, so I decided to call it the Vela de Amor!

Tranny Hose

When did women stop wearing panty hose? As far as I can remember, by the late 90s, fewer and fewer legs were graced by their sheer gossamer sheen. For me, it was the nylons that drew me into the fascination with the ultra feminine image, at a very young age. I saw stunning, gorgeous women at church each Sunday, dressed to the nines. I loved everything about them, and maybe because I was short, I mean I'm like four years old, it was easy to notice all those sexy high heels and stockings.
When I first got the idea I should try dressing up, of course the first thing I did was raid my mom's stocking drawer--to me, nothing said sexy like the sheer perfection of a stockinged leg, and nothing offered the tantalizing rush of violating gender taboos with such pulse raising force.
As I came of age, and was interested romantically and sexually in girls, of course I was attracted to girls in short skirts with stockings, the overt glamor of it all just knocked me out, the stunning display of feminine wiles so formally presented, the smoothness of the stockinged legs simulating the silky smooth delights that waited for the lucky explorer beyond the hems of the skirts.
When I was in junior high school in the early 70s, girls were wearing panty hose and short skirts, and as a young fella going through puberty, I loved it. Needless to say, I tried on my sisters panty hose at home every chance I could get. I even would get caught in the act sometimes, and I think I purposely courted this danger of discovery, part of the thrill of my early dressing.
As the 70s wore on, college girls were dressing down. My own inner tranny was weaker in these days, as I was in the full flush of young adulthood and my concerns were in other areas, mostly. I did notice a lack of dressed up girls, but of course was happy to date a variety of very cute dressed down hippy girls.

As the 80s dawned and I moved into an urban adulthood, I was not actively dressing yet, but I was delighted that women were begining to get really dolled up again. Maybe it was Madonna, who knows, but lots of gorgeous gams were on display with sheer panty hose and very high heels, and again I loved the look. Indeed, garter belts and stockings made a comeback too, no complaints here.
But, by the late 90s, bare legs were hip and fashionable. Panty hose became scarce. Aren't all those girls cold?? Sure, you still see some short skirts and dresses with panty hose these days, but it's the exception rather than the rule. I will say this, the manufacturers of panty hose must be happy that there are plenty trannies to go around, there will always be a niche market -- for Tranny Hose!

Girls of New York

I was in Manhattan for the first time in three years last week--it's always a thrill to get to the big Apple, if for no other reason than to see what all the glamorous chicas are wearing.

So it was with great delight that this T-Girl noticed that throughout a hot summer day and into the enchanted early evening, great numbers of gorgeous gams were on display. And the girls were wearing their skirts short! Nobody wears a little black dress, very short, & very high heels with the panache and impunity of the Girls of New York!
Here I am in my little Miss Goth black dress, bequeathed to me by my lady love. I'm wearing it with some darling strappy heels I got on sale from Victoria's Secret.
I never have had the pleasure of hitting the streets of NY in this little number, but it's seen it's share of action in San Francisco and Portland.
XOXO

Fiona

Catholic Trannies - Blessing of the Muxes

A few months back, I posted about attending the Muxe Vela in the town of Juchitan, Oaxaca. The muxes are the transgender people of Juchitan, who have a tradition dating back to pre-Columbian times.
They are largely accepted in their region, the Isthmus of Tehuantepec in the southern Mexican state of Oaxaca.
The Vela are huge parties/pagaents celebrating their culture.
On the morning of attending the Vela, we stopped by one of the local Catholic churches, where a mass was said in honor of the Muxes and their splendid event.
Here are a couple pics I got there, including a great pic of their banner.
I hope to return to Juchitan some time soon for another Vela, and to be sure I will keep my eyes and ears open for some in the city of Oaxaca too -- I went to a Vela here in the city also last fall, and it was some kinda party! Queens and more queens, quite a variety!
I have to say, I'm not comfortable (yet) being a girl in Oaxaca, which has aspects of a socially conservative place, but the Velas -- they are another matter all together!

An American Diva at the Muxe Vela in Juchitan

Las Autenticas Intrepidas Buscadoras Del Peligro

Just before one a.m. this morning, I felt the warm breeze off the Laguna Superior kiss my face as I lifted it skyward to bask in the moment. I was standing smack in the middle of El Salon Guixhi in Juchitan, groovin' to the funky Latin sounds of Grupo Kautivador from nearby Oaxaca City with near 2000 revelers at the 34th annual Vela Muxe sponsored by Las Autenticas Intrepidas Buscadoras Del Peligro (The Authentic Intrepid Searchers of Danger).

Las Autenticas are the Muxes of Juchitan, a town of 70,000 situated just inland from Laguna Superior, on the west coast of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec in the southern Mexican state of Oaxaca. The Muxes are the splendid queens of the Isthmus, where by tradition they have been seen as a third gender since before the Spanish ever set foot in Mexico. Perhaps it's not surprising that transgender and gay lifestyles are accepted in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, a traditionally matriarchial society.

The Muxe celebrations are called Velas, and this was the big one, where this year's queen would be crowned. As I looked around the grounds (an outdoor venue with three stages), I was delighted and amazed with what I saw—the Muxes of Juchitan in their traditional dress, other Muxes in gowns, party dresses and priceless princess/hooker outfits, and the people of Juchitan: gorgeous women of all ages, dressed to the nines, likewise the men in their stylish white guayabera shirts and dark pants, others in jeans and sneakers.

And I saw dancing! The third band was insane, with stacatto bass grooves piling up behind Cuban inspired funky piano, a little guitar spilling over the top all held into place with thick baritone sax hooks and polyrhythmic super tight drums. Two young women in pencil skirts and spike heels spun each other around in salsa perfection a hairsbreadth away. A group of four exuberant teen girls in traditional dress (huipil vest with embroidered tropical flowers on black velvet, flowing flowered skirt, garland of flowers in the hair) danced, holding hands and piroueting in time.

The Muxes themselves are distinctive in surprising ways. They were split between traditional outfits and party dresses, but held certain qualities in common. Most were not wearing wigs, but had grown their hair long and wore it largely in traditional braids (although local women and Muxes both use clip on braids). Their makeup had a natural look, more like good skin care than heavy drag makeup. The eyes were the exception, with many featuring two tone, heavily applied sparkle eye shadow, running right up to the eyebrow.

Very few wore pantyhose or stockings, underlining the difference between trannies here and there. As someone familiar with various drag and crossdresser scenes in the San Francisco Bay Area and Portland, Oregon, I'll tell you that queens in those scenes love their wig hats, makeup and stockings, hell, all that fem gear is a big part of the fun. But these girls were different. Sure, they were out to look their best at all times, but that's a clue. Many of these girls are girls all the time. Have been all or most of their lives. With acceptance into the culture, they've largely dispensed with some of the more arcane regalia of super fem, i.e. nylons and wigs. Sheer nylons are not de riguer as they once were on certain occasions, and why should that be different in Juchitan?

I can tell you this, one thing the Muxes share with their crossdresser, drag queen and transsexual counter parts in the states is a love of high heels in all their sassy strutting glory. Big shoes of every imaginable sort and detailing were on proud display as the Muxes sashayed about the venue.

Earlier that evening, the crowd had parted for the red carpet entrance of last years coronated queen, Darina I, vamping her way towards the stage surrounded by synchronized male dancers in sparkly devil eye masks. A few ceremonial speeches from her and her court of stunning queens, and the too loud sound system thumped out “I Will Survive” while the truly fabulous contestants for this years crown each made their entry, wave after wave of giddy crowd support greeting the parade of blinding red dresses. The muxes moved with a surety, grace, sass and self confidence that comes from living in the heart of acceptance. Did I mention this was only the largest of three major Muxe Velas happening last night? Can you imagine a small city in the United States hosting such a cavalcade celebration of transgender and gay lives? Hats off to the many great gay pride events of course, but the centuries old acceptance of these other modes is unprecedented.

So there I was, a full head or more taller than 99% of the crowd, I have to admit to a pinch of self consciousness. To say I was a point of interest is an understatement. There was a smattering of white faces in the crowd, including one or two blond girls in huipils, but honey I was the only white queen there at about 6'5” in my heels, and I did feel a smashing in my red sparkly minidress with a local purple flower accessory in my wig hat. Self consciousness not with standing, I too was moved to dance a turn or three. The magic latin funk grabbed me and shook me just a little. I wished my wife was still at the Vela—I'd dropped her and my two kids off at the hotel an hour earlier—I wanted to dance with my sweetie.

Meanwhile, I was maybe a bit envious of the fantastic beauties who walked the red carpet that night—dishing and dolling their was down the run way, this years contestants fantastic in their blazing red ensembles! But I did revel in the same attention that made me self conscious. Sure I got some outright sniggering from doofy teenage boys, but I exchanged smiles with a number of lovely Muxes, saying high to my sisters across the cultural divide. The women (the ones born that way) of Juchitan were beaming their welcome, all dancing eyes and hilarity at my outrageous, near preposterous super tall white girl thang, smiling at me, talking me up and repeatedly snapping my picture. I caught a couple of journalist types grabbing shots of me too, with their big important looking cameras.

At the band break, when space opened up on the dance ground, I found myself inadvertently skipping down what was left of the red carpet, and was caught off guard by the flash from the camera of a white journalist gal grabbing my moment for posterity, or at least for a moment's consideration for her story. By and large, I felt a sincere welcome from Juchitan, maybe there was a bit of surprise at the middle aged white amazon in their midst, but I was accepted with good grace as one of their own, as one Oaxacan woman in a huipil assured me, “You are an Autentica”.