This originally appeared over at Edencafe.com, but I’m re-posting it here in hopes of some helpful comments and giving my thoughts more exposure.

As a little kid I can remember being quite the tomboy. I disliked Barbie Dolls. I preferred my toy guns and make-believe horses to baby dolls and playing dress-up. I can remember being just as dirty as a boy, with just as poor hygiene habits. Shameful, but true. Eventually peer pressure and friends ahead of me in terms of femme influenced my behavior (in other words: Junior High).

I can remember painting my nails. I can remember that it never lasted long, I picked even back then. I can remember owning numerous skirts and dresses. In fact, I had one year in High School where I wore little other than skirts and dresses to school. Why? No clue. I think perhaps I had just truly discovered that boys were attracted to my looks (and by looks I now realize it was more like my C cup tits). And of course I used to wear pantyhose a lot with those skirts and dresses. I owned numerous pairs of cute dress shoes. Not high fashion, mind you….. keep in mind this was the 90’s and High School girls then did NOT look like High School girls now (and HS girls these days are better at hair, make-up and stylish clothes than me. Aren’t I supposed to be more wise??).

And then it all tapered off again.

Recently I thought very hard as to why;  what happened, what was the catalyst?

Ahh yes. I can almost pinpoint it now. I gained weight slowly after my dad died. So slowly at first that I almost didn’t notice. I bought cheap, crappy “temporary” clothes because I was in denial. But then they became tight as well. In short order, I got fat.

The fatter I became, the less choices I had for clothing. The worse I felt, the worse I looked. I can remember a time period when I barely wore makeup, hell some days I didn’t even wear a proper bra! I worked retail jobs so my work clothes were a genderless outfit. I wasn’t a big social butterfly, so my other clothes weren’t that great because they didn’t need to be. I had a fiance who loved me and wanted me just the way I was, so what did it matter? It only mattered when I was occasionally around a certain friend who always looked pretty no matter what, who was thin and wore better clothes. I felt “dumpy” no matter how hard I tried, when I did try. I reverted back to my tomboy childhood ways and stopped caring. I scoffed at the women who got manicures. What a waste of money! How silly! I could spend that $50 on a computer part and be WAY happier! Oh how I laugh at that, now.

The catalyst for the revival of femme within myself was that I met someone online; my monogamous relationship opened up. For a while there though my style was half-femme half-slut. If it was low cut and sexy while still being flattering and covering up my bad spots, then it was for me. In some ways that is still my fashion sense. Over the next few years I slowly, very slowly, crept back into my femme.

Last year, meeting my then-Dom created an even bigger catalyst. He didn’t try to change me, he just saw the potential in me and he knew me – he knew that I saw the office women around the city and felt incredibly inferior and ugly. There’s so many women surrounding me that are SO put together. They looked like they had been through a grand makeover and came out as a shining example of what happens when a skilled stylist has a good canvas to work with. Classy, feminine, always in heels that are still going to be out of my reach.

He encouraged me to go get that manicure that I laughed at years ago, and after a few weeks of attempting on my own to transform my nails from raggedy jaggy stubs to healthy canvasses I gave in. I think I must have stopped to look at them 50 times in the first few days. Then I became minorly obsessed with the littlest hang-nail or chip in my polish. I always had my nailcare kit in my bag. Recently I’ve slacked off a little but I’m ready to get back into it for ME. I don’t want to look longingly at other classy, feminine, pretty women and be jealous. I want to BE one.

I managed to find a pair of “heels” that are femme and cute and make me feel better than my dressy Sketchers. Kitten heels, but its progress. I’ll never wear the towering heels, because my body/feet just can’t do it. But I’ll keep on the lookout for more like these heels.

It’s been years since I would allow myself to leave the house without the basics in makeup, but I need someone experienced to teach me the finer points of being polished. I want to learn more eye make-up styles. And oh my hair…..my poor hair. I have the fine/thin unruly hair of a stylist’s nightmares. Either I am completely unskilled or my hair will just never have that polished feminine look. The 35 different hair products cluttering up my tiny bathroom are a testament though that I try.

I’m still fat. I’m still thoroughly discouraged by my clothes and the clothes that I can find in my size that are equally flattering, age-appropriate, and the right blend of sexy and classy. Perhaps if I had more money to spend on clothes, then I would dress myself the way I want. But for now, the only way that I see out is to lose a lot of weight. And man, that’s about as depressing as looking inside my own closet.

Maybe not. Maybe I just need a mentor. A Femme Guru. Send me to finishing school where I learn to walk in heels with a book balanced on my head.

Or just fuckin nominate me for “What Not to Wear”.