NOTE: This is a transgender-related entry. If you are confused by any of the terms used here, check out Ronen’s Trans Glossary.
Previously on Ronen’s Trip to Las Vegas: Some dudes thought I was a dude, other dudes were confused, it was all good to me.
Like I said, the trip started out as a bust. There were three people I was supposed to have met up with out there: two friends coming from two different states, and my brother. One friend’s grandfather died the night before he was supposed to leave, another tried to rent a car to drive out but ran into complications, and my brother’s new job decided to start three days earlier than it was supposed to. Which left me alone in Vegas.
Vegas really isn’t the sort of place to be alone in – not necessarily for safety reasons, since those are relevant just about anywhere you can go, but because it’s a place people go to be with other people. As a tourist attraction it’s essentially social: the gambling, the shows, the dining and the dancing all are engineered to be shared. So what was I to do?
My brother wound up coming to the rescue. He knew people who lived in Vegas and got me in touch with them. But as it turned out, that led to another set of problems. His friends had it in mind to visit some of the more exclusive dance clubs on the strip. The kinds of places that have dress codes and enforce them strictly. I texted my brother’s friend’s girlfriend, confiding in her that I hadn’t packed “girly club clothes.” She sent back: “You should be able to get in anywhere with a nice top, jeans and heels.”
Cue me looking in despair at the clothes I had chosen to bring: a button-up shirt from the boys’ section at Target. A cheesy-fun polyester shirt with ruffles. Ties. T-shirts. Men’s skinny jeans. A sports bra and binder, but no proper bra. Sneakers – nice ones, but sneakers. The only makeup in sight was an old eyeliner pencil that had just happened to be in my shoulder bag.
I had packed with the intention of going to a bunch of queer events: a burlesque show here, an LGBT hangout there. I hadn’t packed straight.
For most of my life, I thought that I didn’t care about fashion. The truth, though, was that I didn’t care about the type of fashion that was being touted to my perceived demographic. I started to clue into this in high school, when I discovered that I generally enjoyed wearing men’s clothing more than women’s. It was then that I discovered I really did enjoy exploring clothing as a way to express myself.
I’ve gone through a lot of personal fashion phases since then: there was the hippie phase, the t-shirt-and-hoodie phase, the 70s phase… remnants of all those are still lingering in my closet. But my current fashion obsession happens to line up perfectly with my current TV obsession: Doctor Who. Specifically I’ve been trying to model my wardrobe, in both subtle and not-so-subtle ways, after the Doctor himself. I’ve even joked (well – sort of joked) that my transition is actually FtTL: Female-to-Time-Lord.
With the sheer size of the Doctor’s fan base, I figure a guide to his style wouldn’t go unappreciated. So here’s the first of a three-part series of posts, showing you how to Dress Like the Doctor.
Just to be clear: this isn’t a costuming guide. Cosplayers far more detail-oriented and dedicated to the craft have made whole communities based around that type of thing. This guide takes a look at all the Doctors (yes, even Colin Baker) and presents ideas for how anyone can pull off a Doctor-esque look in their day-to-day life.
So, on to Part One.