Getting a job looking like a drunk rocker is hard enough, getting a job looking like a drag queen is a whole different ball game.
Jobless and having a brother to support was very scary way back in 2004. I was, and still am, a rocker at heart. Nothing pleases me more than head banging to the Rock Gods of old, but I was in a situation that forced me to change my image and attitude to life. I had lovely, long brown hair. I was the envy of every girl who crossed my path due to my lovely ringlets and volume that my hair had in abundance. Imagine Brian May and Axl Rose in their prime and you get the idea.
Interview after interview started to draw me to the conclusion that rockers just do not get the good jobs. And I really needed a decent job. The money from my role at the greyhound track was not anywhere near enough to sustain myself, let alone my brother as well. Then it happened, I was dragged kicking and screaming to the barber who had a field day, and an evil cackle, as my lovely locks fell the shop floor…
It worked, however, and now I have forged a career. This blog however is not about my glory days, it is about my gender identity issues and the transition from male to female.
The purchasing of a wig was far less challenging and painful then I imagined it would be. To top off the experience they had a style that matched my natural hair when it is allowed to grow to considerable length. I was very pleased with the kind gentleman who was not fazed at all in helping me with choosing and how to use my purchase. It was hard to gauge how I felt when I was wearing the wig inside the shop, but once home something magical happened!
It was as if the clock had wound back fifteen years and I was the gangly teenager that used to give his all in the name of an alternative lifestyles. I felt like I had been transported to a happy place where memories were once again present experiences. While all this reminiscing and head banging was happening, it seemed different from before. At first I could not quite place the sensation I felt. It soon became apparent that while I was remembering the young man from times gone by there was a young woman screaming for attention in my head today.
For the first time in my life I looked at the person in the mirror and there was a smile. Smiling does not come naturally to me and seeing my smile in the mirror was very odd, but satisfying. This sounds ridiculous, but it is the truth, I actually smiled at what I saw. There was a distinct lack of makeup and a six o’clock shadow had crept across my face, but there was happiness. There was almost crying, and I never cry, unless my entire being is shifted into an unknown situation. This was not unknown, it was more like a situation that had been hiding from itself.
The vision in my head for all these years is now real, there is another milestone on this wonderful journey conquered and a smile is now allowed. It will take many years for my hair to grow back to the length it once was, but a goal has been set and visualised that will not be taken away from me.