Lovely photo. I wonder what an expert transformation service could do for me? Of course, I can only wonder, because there are more important things…like a roof over my head, and an occasional bite to eat.

The last time I went anywhere as a woman, it was a Halloween night out with friends. We dropped in on some of their friends, and I waited on the walkway to their front door while my friends knocked to inquire if our surprise visit was welcome. It was a dark night, the nearest streetlight was several houses away, and their porch light was off. Nevertheless, a couple of guys walking by on the sidewalk “made” me from several yards away: “Hey, look at that guy! Doesn’t he look great?” From that experience, and from being aware of my definitely male build, I am convinced that no amount of cosmetics, prostheses, or even surgery could ever make me look authentically female.

So, I compromise. I go out in a (usually) modest pair of stiletto heels, with shirt and trousers tastefully coordinated to match—not loud and flamboyant, but not drab, either. (Occasionally though, I go out in these 80’s bad girl rocker boots, which I really love…)

I get all sorts of responses. Usually, I get ignored. When I catch a woman staring, I will sometimes ask, “Do you like them?” Next time I catch a guy staring, I think I will do the same. :3 Once while in the grocery checkout queue while wearing the bad girl rocker boots, the next guy stood back a far way behind me; I think I must’ve terrified him. In another pair, a woman once remarked to me somewhat sourly, “Nice boots.” So, I just said “Thank you” and went my way. At the local neighborhood pharmacy, I have the whole staff wondering what I will wear in there next.

Anyway (sorry for the ramble), I also live in a large apartment block. I usually change shoes to avoid traumatizing the neighbors, but occasionally I do not, because I am sick of hiding. I have been “sprung” any number of times.

I’ve had no actual nasty comments, but one woman nearly fell on her face bending over to look at my shoes (I just kept walking right past her, while offering a sour “Hello, Sara!”). I’ve had an occasional sour look or quick snort and head shake.

One woman emerged from her apartment as I was walking by, walked with me in her block-heel boots, and remarked, “We sound like a couple of high-heel horses.” She didn’t seem to appreciate my rejoinder about “Here comes the cavalry!”

I seemed to put one poor Ethiopian woman into shock as she remarked more to herself than me, “Oh My God, high heel…” followed by something about how I seemed to manage them well. Feeling caught out and a bit foolish myself, I had no response for her.

I used to be terrified all the time, making the usual excuses while out shopping. And, funnily enough, it was on those occasions when I got the nasty remarks (though that was many years ago–things have changed, somewhat). So, I just didn’t shop there, any more. But I got used to shopping for myself, tried shoes on in the store, and treated the whole thing as no big deal, which made it much more difficult for other people to raise a ruckus.

And, at my apartments? It’s just as you say: “What can you do?” Well, I can brass it out each time until I get to the point where I mentally shrug my shoulders and just go with it. Ultimately, I guess I am just too old and tired to care how they respond, any more (though I do still hope not to get assaulted over it).