I swear this started as an outfit photo, and then the car decided it had main-character energy too.
Black top, pastel-panel skirt, thigh-high tights, blue hair, shiny black backdrop — apparently the look came with its own getaway vehicle.
10/10 would accessorize with an entire car again.
No matter how fast, responsive, or breathtakingly beautiful my Stinger might be, it's still a Kia...
Taken from us far too soon by a wound no fabric softener, clear nail polish, or desperate denial could heal.
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They were not just tights.
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They were *the* tights.
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The reliable ones. The flattering ones. The ones that somehow survived chairs with rough edges, mystery Velcro, long nails, washing machines, and that one drawer full of things that definitely should not be stored with delicate hosiery.
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They held me together when I did not wish to be perceived. They gave outfits structure, elegance, and the illusion that I had planned ahead. They were there for cold mornings, questionable dresses, last-minute plans, and moments when bare legs simply felt too emotionally vulnerable.
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And now, a run has appeared.
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A dramatic one.
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A full-blown fabric obituary written vertically across the thigh.
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Some might call it a ladder. I call it a stairway to hosiery heaven.
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Let us remember them not as they are now—torn, betrayed, and barely clinging to dignity—but as they once were: smooth, dependable, slightly slimming, and full of promise.
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They gave everything. Their stretch. Their support. Their waistband that only occasionally rolled down in public like a tiny act of rebellion.
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Today, we say goodbye.
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May they rest peacefully in the sacred pile of “things I might still use somehow,” where all beloved garments go before we finally admit defeat six months later.
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In lieu of flowers, please send black tights, preferably reinforced toe, high denier, and emotionally prepared for the responsibilities ahead.
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Farewell, dear tights.
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You had a good run.
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Unfortunately, that was also the problem.
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…I’m absolutely feeling this fit today. 💙🖤
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0% stealth, 100% transfeminine, and proud of it.
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Black layers because they’re comfy, blue hair because subtlety was never the mission, and the little pops of pink, white, and blue because apparently I can’t help turning a normal outfit into a transfem fit check.
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This is pretty much my everyday vibe: practical, comfy, colorful, a little chaotic, and very much me. I wasn’t dressing up for anything special. I just caught myself in the mirror and thought, “Actually? Yeah. This works.”
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So… is this giving peak transfem energy, or should I add something next time? 💙
I’m a trans woman who helps people figure out their gender stuff for a living, and this is me recharging between sessions.
Professional? Yes.
Emotionally supportive? Absolutely.
Dressed like I could stomp imposter syndrome into the floor? Also yes.
I work in a LGBTQ+ focused therapy practice as a clinical trainee/pre-licensed therapist. I like to think my sense of style puts people at ease...
On April 24th, I flew out to Los Angeles to undergo a vocal feminization procedure with Dr. Abie Mendelsohn at LAENT. (Incidentally, he's fantastic. If you're looking for vocal feminization, he's one of the best.)
One consequence of the procedure is that I'm on total voice rest until May 8th...two weeks from the procedure. It's also worth noting that I'm a pre-licensed therapist. I literally talk all day for a living...
I'm sure you can all see the problem by now...
I was able to get as many people seen before surgery and get a few days to recover before I *have* to get to work.
Fortunately, my colleagues and I came up with a solution: I normally hate dealing with diagnostic assessments. They're boring, not especially necessary, and mostly serve as a hoop the insurance companies force clients and clinicians alike to jump through. But they can also be largely done via a written questionnaire.
Guess what my people are doing this week...