IN SEARCH OF A LITTLE WHITE DRESS
Since I can remember myself, I was ridiculed and yelled at and admonished, especially when I wanted something irrational and ridiculous. One of those things happened to be wanting to look pretty. To look like a pretty girl. My mom would make me these amazing dresses (she is a fashion designer, well, she hardly does it now) when nobody could buy anything like that back at the time in Soviet Union. It was the same fare of ugly frocks for the rest of the Russian girls. My mom is very talented, so my dresses were gorgeous. The other girls in class hated me for having dresses like that. They also hated my haircut that was unconventional, they hated it that I was cute, they hated the fact that the handsomest boys in class loved hanging out with me. My grandmother on my father's side also made me pretty dresses, dresses made from my father's old shirts (the one you see in the picture above). And yet because I have experienced the trauma of being sexually abused, whenever I exhibited any kind of "promiscuous" behavior in adults' eyes, I was harshly reprimanded. Dresses became a fixation for me. I wanted them, and I despised them.
At some point later in life I decided to look like a boy. If I was an ugly boy, nobody would want to touch me or to ridicule me. But that wish for dresses and being girly stayed, only I suppressed it. Also, there was one inconvenient aspect to dresses. Anyone could reach under the skirt and touch my inner thighs and the sensitive spot between them through my panties. I wanted to once and for all stop all that.
I decided t banish dresses from my life.
I fought against this decision. I have tried on occasions to buy some, wanting to look feminine, but everything I bought was either too bulky or too boxy or too sporty looking. Plus, I got used to denying myself things I wished to have a whim. It was irresponsible. It was childish. It was forbidden.
And that is what happened yesterday. I simply wanted that white dress, on a whim. It made me look very feminine, desirable, and seeing that picture I posted and people's reactions, I got scared shitless. And I set it aside.
It blew my mind this morning, the psychology behind this. I think writing Seamstress, a novel about a girl who turns into people whose clothes she copies, will uncover some more horrendous things I'm harboring inside.
Here is what I will tell these fears.
Full post here.