Adventures in Clothes Shopping

Since I will be traveling to Houston on Wednesday, I went clothes shopping yesterday. To this point, I've only managed to purchase two badly-fitted pair of men's jeans and a couple of long-sleeved polos, which I wear in addition to my stash of graphic t-shirts. (A large section of my old closet is filled with women's clothes that I need to donate.) It isn't that I couldn't afford new clothes; I was just avoiding the fitting room.

Yesterday, I thought, "Screw it!" and I went in search of better fitting clothes in the men's department at a major chain. I want to look decent when I go out to be with my sister as she has her surgery. I think that graphic tees and baggy jeans aren't the way to go. I wanted to try on some other pants and find something that truly fit. I wanted to stock up on some polo shirts.

I grabbed a few different brands of jeans in my size, a few polo shirts, and a nice button-down short-sleeved shirt and headed to the fitting room in that section of the store. Only one dressing stall was open, and it was at the very end of the row. Perfect. A young wife was waiting for her husband while he tried on clothes, and she gave me a double-take when I marched into the dressing room with my stack of things. The sign over the entryway says only "FITTING ROOM".

In the 10 minutes or so that I spent trying on clothes, more people gathered outside the entryway, waiting for a stall. It was snowing, raining, and sleeting outside, so indoor activities were popular yesterday. Shopping was high on that list. The parking lot was full. People were chattering in English and Spanish as they waited. When I was done, I folded up my things and walked out of the stall into a small crowd of people. All the chatter stopped. I'm being serious here. There were open-mouthed stares when I headed out, but I just walked past them like I owned the place.

Though I live in the sprawl of the Washington, D.C., metro area, my town is rather small and still contains many old-fashioned sorts. I live just below the Mason-Dixon line. If I'd been shopping in DC, no one would have batted an eye. It's a gender-neutral fitting room. I hesitate to put that in writing, because now there could be a movement to shut that down and put "MEN'S" and "WOMEN'S" over the doors. Another way to categorize and label folks who don't necessarily fit into one gender or the other. Like having a place to pee, having a place to try on clothes should be a right. It was my right to make sure my clothes fit before I spent a large sum of money on them.

I did manage to find a style of blue jeans that I really liked and which fit me well, so I grabbed another pair in a different color from the rack. The shirts all worked out, too. So I ended up with some nice additions to my wardrobe for the trip. Like most guys, I don't need a lot, but I do need a few shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans for a 5-day trip.

Thank goodness I no longer have to play that game of trying to accessorize or wear make-up (to which I developed an allergy) or take several pair of shoes. It's a relief, really. I'm learning to let go of all of those expectations that were placed on me in my family. I'm finally getting to relax into being who I've really always been -- just a guy.

But it does scare me, going into Houston. I've changed my appearance sufficiently that I might get challenged going into a women's bathroom. What will I say if I'm challenged? Put on my best girl voice and make nice? This is the place that passed a bathroom ordinance last year by scaring people, by saying that men dressed as women want to go into women's bathrooms to prey on defenseless women and children. It could happen. I'm really not being paranoid - just practical. I hate it that this has happened to the place where I grew up, but it has. I figure me putting myself out there means more people get to see folks like me NOT preying on anyone.

The bottom line, though, is that I'm going to be there for my sister. She needs me and the rest will just fall into place. At least I won't distract her with my baggy britches and teenage boy t-shirts.

Hey - you don't know my sister!

Peace, Jude