Drab
Drab. Even the word seems to scream dull. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, it is defined as “Dull; wanting brightness or colour” (another definition is “A dirty and untidy woman; a slut, slattern.” Go figure.)
In the TG community, it has another meaning: dressed in male attire. For many of us, that how we spend most of our waking lives. I’m guessing it implies that we are drab until we don our beautiful plumage. Makes sense to me.
As those who follow this blog know, my usual one night out a month is to attend Renaissance then Angela’s Laptop Lounge. However, Laptop is held twice a month — on the first and third Saturday of a given month to be exact. My night out is the third Saturday. Very occasionally I’ll attend the first Saturday.
Third Saturday Sophie with friends.
This month, I attended the first Saturday, but not as Sophie. I was drab.
Drab drab drab.
And there were all these girls dressed and happy and dancing and enjoying and then there was me. Drab.
To be fair to myself, I worked twelve hours that day, ending at midnight. I desperately needed an outlet to blow off steam. I knew friends would be there and these friends understood me as my true self. So I went. And I felt Drab.
Some people knew me, as they’d seen me before that way. Most didn’t, and that was fine as well. But the drabness trickled into everything. I wasn’t me. I was subdued a bit. Tired. Maybe even a little grumpy. Even the drinks tasted flat. Why did I go? Seeing everyone else made me wish to be dressed even more. Grumble grumble.
The reason I went is simple — even if I wasn’t dressed, I am one of the girls. I don’t need to be wearing a skirt and makeup to confirm it. When I am there with the girls, with those who know and share my secret, and celebrate it, I find comfort. I don’t have to pretend around them. I can talk about being Sophie, and of topics that matter to us all. We laugh. And laughter chases away the drabness if only for a time.
I stayed later than I should have, talking mostly to my “Big sister” about books and stuff. As I drove home through the night my weariness hit me. Someday it would be nice not to worry about “drab.” Someday I may have the guts and opportunity.
Still, it is my times with my friends (especially when properly dressed) that get me through the rest of my drab month. They give me strength — sometimes as simple as the strength to know I am not alone in this. That is a comfort, especially knowing how large the odds are stacked against us all.
The ride home was uneventful. Quiet. Drab.
Category: Transgender Body & Soul, Transgender Opinion
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I was delighted that you made it out dressed or drab you always add something to our gathering, for those who haven’t experienced Sophie in person they should at least know that.
Being with both you and Christina in drab has given me the confidence to make it in drab the weekends I can’t dress.
Even for some of us who try not to believe that we have to be dressed to be one way or another … you’ve hit a very good point that getting en femme lets the Genie out of the bottle.