A raw, reflective exploration of gender, identity, and the unspoken power of clothing choices. Written from the perspective of a transgender woman navigating life, partnership, and presentation, this essay unpacks how what we wear shapes how we’re seen—and how we see ourselves. From childhood dreams of fashion design to the subtle messages encoded in a simple dress or pair of jeans, it’s a philosophical wander through hormones, history, and the hidden language of everyday attire.

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My partner is home over the next few days and, recently, while she’s been at work (she’s a cis woman), I’ve enjoyed wearing what I want — dresses, skirts, a bit of makeup — and, yeah, I’ve felt better. My car’s off the road at the moment, so there’s nowhere I can really go to explore myself in my better-felt attire. So, I work from home. I potter. I breathe a bit easier.

Now, my partner knows all about me being transgender. I’ve been on hormones for over ten years, and they’ve done their job. Over that time, I’ve found myself somewhere in the middle — an intergender space, leaning more toward “less typical male.” Not out of pure choice, more out of circumstance and survival.

Because really, for ten years, that’s what it’s been — survival. Trying to pack away the old traumas, understand myself, and piece together a life that felt halfway safe.

But now I’ve survived, I want to start living. I want to network, build a business, and live more in line with my truth. The world runs on a binary engine, and I’ve learned by simply watching — watching people, watching the way they dress — that a bandana, two earrings, and cut-off jeans makes me look more like a pirate than anything else. The in-between doesn’t always translate.

And so, I’ve learned: I’ll have to move closer to the binary. I’ll have to choose a lane, or at least a clearer silhouette.

Hormones have brought me home to myself in many ways — I feel more woman than man, most of the time — but presenting that outwardly, dressing that truth, has its own set of challenges. Many women’s clothes are re-imagined from the traditional male wardrobe, and with my more masculine frame, those pieces can sometimes amplify what I’m trying to soften. Oddly enough, it’s the more traditionally feminine garments — dresses, skirts — that help me blend in as a trans woman. And when I blend, I feel better. Not because I want to disappear, but because I want to feel right.

I’m still learning my craft, so to speak. So I don’t wear dresses or skirts around my partner just yet — not because she’s unkind, but because she sees things sharply. She’ll see the flaws, and gently, sometimes not so gently, steer me toward what she thinks looks better. That “help” can come with an edge — one even she may not be aware of. So, for now, while she’s had 40+ years to learn how to dress, style her hair, and move through the world, often in private — I’ll give myself time to catch up. The dresses go away when she’s home. Not forever. Just for now.

While in the shower earlier, I started thinking about clothes. About the choices we make. I once nearly trained as a fashion designer. But my parents and grandparents made it very clear that was “for poofs.” So, at 16, I ditched the course and toddled off to resit some O Levels. I never truly wanted that — I knew, even then, my path lay somewhere in the frills and silhouettes of femininity. Fashion design would’ve helped me understand me.

This was the 80s. All I knew back then was that I wasn’t a New Romantic. And if I wore makeup, people would instantly read me as a “woman trapped in a man’s body” — someone who “wanted a sex change.” That’s all we knew back then. No nuance. No space. But deep down, I’d have happily worked in fashion. It kept my feet close to the fire. Still, I chose the biker jacket, the white tee, the blue jeans. Proof that I was a man. The man I so desperately wanted to remain  — even then I felt it was a battle I would never win all the while nature whipped around my insides, demanding I play the male role, do my part one day n reproduction and fall in line.

Anyway. Why did I start writing this?

Ah yes: pants.

I realised recently that not too long ago, it was totally taboo for women to wear trousers. Yet now, trousers are the go-to legwear for everyone. Ask a thousand people on the street what they’d wear in a fire or to get their jobs done — they’ll say trousers. Every time.

Fair enough. Times change. But I wonder about the phrase so many women use: “I dress for me.”
Really? For you? Or for the version of you that the world accepts?

I wear dresses to feel less masculine. My partner wears dresses to feel more feminine. Softer, maybe. Or perhaps there’s something else at play — a desire to feel attractive, not in a sexual way, but in a self-affirming way. Or maybe it’s about projecting a maternal energy around younger staff at work. I don’t know. I asked her once — she just said, “It’s what I choose. Sometimes it’s a dress. Sometimes trousers and a nice top.”

So much of it is unspoken. Unconscious. Autopilot.

Somewhere deep in the brain — probably the limbic system — there’s a little selector box. Every morning, before our conscious minds even catch up, it’s already picking today’s outfit. Studies even back this up. One in particular — Durante, Li, and Haselton, 2008 — suggested that women’s clothing choices shift around ovulation. Revealing clothes. Different energy. Especially in women with unrestricted sexuality. The study suggested it was about female-female competition — nature’s way of saying now’s the time.

It’s been rebuked over the years, but I’ve asked the “I wonder if…” question more than once. Most women roll their eyes.

Still, it makes me think — when I wear feminine clothes, what coded or uncoded messages am I sending?

Some might shout “cock in a frock.” Fair enough. If that’s your read, go for it. It’s water off a duck’s back, sweetheart.

But here’s the truth: I’m solely attracted to women. I adore my cis partner — she’s the foundation I build my life on. My one and only. So when I wear a dress, it’s not about attracting anyone. It’s about reflecting who I am back to myself. And at 55+, I reckon whatever message I’m sending out is being read pretty accurately.

It makes me think, though: how much of our behaviour is driven by hormones, unconscious impulses, Mother Nature herself?

We like to think we’re rational creatures. But really — have we even scratched the surface?

So maybe, just maybe, if you’re a cis person reading this, take a long look in the mirror. Ask yourself honestly: What message am I sending out with the way I dress?
Be real about it. Clothes speak — whether we want them to or not.

Growing up in the 70s and 80s, watching the cultural tides rise through the 90s and 00s, I saw women reclaim power through style. Power dressing. Repurposing male clothing to shift the balance. And yet, sometimes the arc ended up right back at the beginning — pissed on the floor outside a club, one shoe missing, little more than a short dress and a smear of mascara left.

So yeah — whether you’re male or female, cis or trans — if you go through life without a little philosophical awareness, a bit of mindfulness about how you present, what you signal, and what you suppress…

Life can end up being a bit pants.

And too much of that? Well — you end up like me: a sad middle-aged trans person, writing philosophical nonsense just to kill time when I should probably be out living.

Whatever “living” is.

Maybe it’s just being comfortable in your own skin. Maybe that’s enough.

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Durante, K. M., Li, N. P., & Haselton, M. G. (2008). Changes in women’s choice of dress across the ovulatory cycle: Naturalistic and laboratory task-based evidence. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 34(11), 1451–1460. https://doi.org/10.1177/0146167208323103