Well, to my considerable surprise, we had a whole week go by without any new acts of gratuitous stupidity from TOFKASFWA. For this I give thanks. I’m not sure I can keep up with the new improved shitstorm schedule even as an observer (I can’t call myself disinterested. I am interested, even if it’s only so I can point and laugh).
There was one bad moment when John Scalzi circulated a picture of himself in a dress – a rather fetching Regency gown, actually. While Mr Scalzi is quite welcome to wear whatever he chooses, and if regency gowns are his thing, this is fine by me. I just don’t want to look at the pictures.
This isn’t even an anti-cross-dressing thing. You see, very few adults have the complexion to wear pastels well, and Mr Scalzi is not one of those fortunate souls. He really needs to stick to stronger colors if he wants to wear gowns in public. The gown, while lovely, is simply not him. Now I could see someone with his complexion looking quite the thing in one of the darker toned early to mid Victorian ensembles – although as a male who has limited corsetry experience, I have to admit he could have issues with this. The hats for that era would work better with his beard, too – dark facial hair and pastels is just… Okay, I admit it, my eyes tried to crawl through their optic canals which was a most uncomfortable sensation. With something more appropriate to his coloring and build, he wouldn’t need to worry about small children running screaming for their Mamas.
I mean, really, think of the aesthetics. It’s not that difficult – most women have to do it to avoid being savaged by their fellow women (who, as every adult female bloody well ought to know, are a lot stricter on their… damn it “women” is getting repetitive, and I refuse to use “sisters”). We’ve all seen those lovely outfits that turn into hideous monstrosities when we try them on – but look magnificent on someone else. Some of us have even managed to learn which styles and colors actually work for us (I freely admit to taking longer to do this than most. Possibly this is why Mr Scalzi’s efforts have drawn my attention. I know how difficult it is to find women’s clothes that fit and look good. How much more difficult must it be for a man?) It doesn’t help that those of us like me – or Mr Scalzi for that matter – who could never belong to the Anorexics-R-Us fashion club are often limited to “tent in colors that would hurt the blind” and “Oh my God I wouldn’t be seen dead in that”.
That doesn’t mean it’s impossible to find clothing that looks good and fits, and if Mr Scalzi really wants to flaunt his tastes without being criticized for poor style and color choice, he can. He can even find clothing that gives him almost as much freedom of movement as male clothing (just don’t confuse “skirts” and “kilts” – trust me, this upsets kilt-wearers, and do you really want people who are the reason Scottish sheep can hear a zipper open at 100 paces upset with you?). It’s just a matter of looking in odd places, being willing to buy when you find that gem hidden away in the back corner somewhere, and refusing to settle for something that just destroys your complexion.
For accessories, I’d recommend Mr Scalzi stick with black or white – gloves, parasol, reticule… a small collection of good quality items that can go with anything will spare him the hassle of trying to match his accessories to his outfits. He might need to find specialist shoe stores, though, because typical women’s shoes just do not accommodate wider feet. I speak from heartfelt, footsore experience here. Just try to get a nice pair of pumps when your shoe width is a DD or an E depending on the manufacturer. Since in men’s shoes I take a size 5 wide, a man with even average sized feet would have serious problems trying to find women’s shoes that fit. I don’t know how those transvestites do it. They always seem to have the most fabulous shoes. Seriously, I envy them. I’m stuck with boring and comfortable if I don’t want to cripple myself (which I don’t).
Now I don’t expect Mr Scalzi to take my advice. He seems to thrive on ridicule, but then, I don’t know that he’s had to deal with the kind of bitchy, backstabbing, smile-to-your-face-and-sink-the-knife-in-your-back-and-twist that characterizes the Mean Girl type. I really don’t want to see anyone else suffer that, so naturally I have to offer a few suggestions – to him and to any other man who feels the need or desire to wear dresses in public.
Mad Genius Club 
55 responses to “A Quiet Week”
I either missed or forgot what TOFKASFWA stands for, and I am terrible with acronyms. That being said, FOR THE LOVE OF GAWD WOMAN, HAVE SOME MERCY ON YOUR READERS! I was eating breakfast when you decided to describe Scalzi in a dress, what a remarkable appetite killer.
Bearcat, it is “the organization formerly known as SFWA”. And yes, Kate is an evil woman for subjecting our readers to that description first thing in the morning (bwahahahahahaha snarf snicker snort)
Well at least she didn’t actually link to the picture and Scalzi’s lame excuses. Trust me, her description does not do it justice.
1. To be fair, he was doing it for charity. OTOH, this isn’t the first time they’ve gotten him to wear women’s clothing for charity, so I think it’s time that he finds another schtick.
2. Yeah, pastel blue is not his color, and his lack of waist doesn’t go well with Regency styles. But if somebody had loaned him a paisley red shawl, or any red shawl, the hideousness and lack of waist would have been improved a bit. (Although maybe the strong-colored shawls were from a different part of the Regency?)
In my opinion, making people’s eyes try to escape for charity is possibly not the best fundraiser out – although he might get extra contributions to make the sight go away.
Actually, as I recall, married women got to wear strong colors if they chose. The pastels were to symbolize the innocence of the unmarried damsels on the marriage market, I believe. I don’t recall any guidance as to whether a man ought to wear either.
If the brief description of a scene from Pride and Prejudice is anything to go by – whatever passes for fashion in the matron category will work well for a young officer.
I was merciful. I figured the curious could google and decide for themselves if they really wanted to.
Yes, well, if I have to suffer the picture, then everyone else gets to suffer my description of it!
Er. Sorry? I did have sufficient mercy not to include a picture – which I assure you is even worse.
(TOFKASFWA is The Organization Formerly Known As SFWA – since they no longer represent Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers other than their favored few).
Ha, ha, ha! *gasp* Giggle, giggle, snicker. *Wipes eyes* Oh, I so needed that this morning. And yes, pastels are not a good palate on Mr. Scalzi.
Thank you 🙂 I honestly didn’t mean to do this: I sat down and started writing and this…. just happened.
Ouch! The death of a hundred “kindly meant” suggestions.
And you didn’t even say anything snarky about how far a “modern” man will go for approval in a feminazi dominated organization.
Well, no. I didn’t need to.
I suspect the — or a — reason for the quiet this week is that everybody was packing their gowns for the self-congratulation fest down Texas way this weekend.
M
I looked over the program, and it fairly dripped Vile Progs in Control. I’ll give an after action report, if I last long enough.
That explains the heat wave washing up into the Panhandle this weekend. And the scent of bovine effluent.
This is why late-migrating birds always fly over Washington DC. The pool of ever-rising hot air melts the ice on their wings and gives them enough lift to finish their journey south.
Be strong! I have extra clothespins, if your nose needs them.
And whiskey. *grin*
The whiskey might not stop the pain, but you won’t care after a while 🙂
I’ll look forward to it. Have strength!
That makes me glad I’m going to miss it. I’m not sure my eyes could stand all the gowns that don’t suit their wearers.
*chuckle* I think I remember coming across that one yesterday late. I think the subject of the piece I saw was Scalzi excoriating some guy who snagged that pic and titled it “This is what a feminist looks like.” *shakes head*
Your comment on guys and women’s shoes, however, reminds me of a story from my rather misspent youth. I do some volunteer work the next town over one or two weekends a month. Started as a favor for a friend who was pregnant, and they kept asking me to come back. The show down there lets out at about 10pm, I get done tearing down and cleaning up around midnight.
This is a college town. Also has the largest concentration of the LGBT crowd in the tri-state area. So when I go to the all night diner up the road to get a bite, right about the time my food gets there the bars start shutting down. So, the guys in dresses stagger out and down a block, the rednecks (yes, I am one too, but this isn’t about me) meander up from their bar, and both sometimes meet… at my all-night eatin’ spot.
If you’ve never damn near snorted gravy because you just heard a manly tenor utter the phrase (complete with snaps and head shake) “Girlfriend, hold my purse!” you haven’t lived. We got to see a man in a dress body check a dude in flannel and jeans, proceed to whup him like a redheaded stepchild, and toss said beefy redneck clear through a plate glass window. Said man in dress didn’t even take off his shiny red high heels. *chuckle*
The police were rather amused, too.
I’m not a lady, so I can’t give Scalzi any fashion advice concerning dresses and such, but a New Jersey lady I used to know said you can still kick *ss in heels and a dress, but always remember to take your hoop earrings out first.
I love your story! I can TOTALLY see that happening, too… There’s a scene in Pratchett’s Last Continent with the transvestites getting involved in a brawl and delicately kicking the living daylights out of the local troublemakers.
Heels need practice – I’ve never done well with them. Dresses, if the style doesn’t restrict movement, you’re fine. Hoop earrings… They’re something for someone to grab. That’s why you take them out.
That particular job has at least a book’s worth of stories like that. I don’t watch t.v., and haven’t for years, yet I haven’t been missing any drama. It’s like the Twilight Zone doing soap operas. You never know what you’re going to walk into.
Re: Hoop earrings, one of our workers at the show had the nickname “Bulldozer,” for the longest time. He had a nose ring. Yes, through the center, just like a bull. Briefly. The occurrence of the nickname actually postdated the “briefly” by a few seconds. His mistake was in making the wrong excuse at the wrong time- whilst his present girlfriend had hold of his piercing and was in the process of becoming his ex the faster he talked.
You really must pass these stories on! They’re well worth it. “Bulldozer” sounds like a right character there… I gather the damage from the abrupt, traumatic loss of the nose ring didn’t slow him down too much?
Once he’d recovered, anyway… That part of the nose BLEEDS
Like a stuck pig, it does. Head wounds do that most times.
Actually, I picked up more practical first aid skills at that job that anywhere else. One can perform minor miracles with Vaseline, super glue, electrical tape, and a few items from the feminine hygiene isle.
Bulldozer’s not a regular at the show, he’s more a jobber. Shows up once every three months or so, new girlfriend on his arm. We used to think he spent the rest of his time in jail, but we found out through the *other* workers who spend regular time in the county lockup that it just ain’t so. ‘Dozer apparently has a traveling job, so he hits other shows around the East Coast when he can. We think this is also how he’s not dead- always a step ahead of shotgun wielding fathers and brothers.
Actually, the Vaseline trick came about as a result of the soup bowl incident. That one featured a ten minute greyout and seeping scalp wound that had the local EMT’s stumped and wanting to take him back to the hospital for treatment.
I’ll have to tell that one later, as I gotta drag my worn out carcass out of bed at 4:30am. I’d sleep in, but I fear what I would find come Tuesday once I get back. My co-workers have a “creative” approach to covering my job while I’m gone. “Creative” as in “oh my guts and garters what in the flock have you done to my inventory!?” That is a real, honest, and true fear. I’m not about to take chances.
I don’t blame you! And I would truly love to hear about the soup bowl incident when you don’t need to fall over.
Okay, the soup bowl incident. This one’ll take a bit of explanation.
The volunteer job the next town over from Speck, Appalachia is pretty much just grunt work. I show up, unload all the stuff from the truck, and start setting up the stage, sound system, curtains, barriers, bleachers, etc. I’m about five ten and weigh around one fifty-five/one sixty- not a big fellow by any stretch. So I find it rather amusing that I often end up doing most of the work, when the trainees are supposed to be helping.
What’s that? Trainees, you ask? Must have forgot to tell you, the show is indie pro wrestling. Big sweaty guys in masks, spandex pants, and hooker boots groping each other and making strange noises to entertain the crowd while they wait for the inevitable dirty trick/three count. As I’m told and I swear I’m going to put on a tee-shirt and sell someday, “It ain’t gay, it’s pro wrestling.” I can’t really explain a whole lot about it as I really don’t much care for it- but tvtropes has a good bit on the basics if you need the background. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
This particular story takes place not in Johnsonville (home of the large percentage of three state’s LGBT population), but in Mount Cobweb, even further up in the sticks than Speck. It’s an away show, so all our guys are pretty much there to get beat on, get paid, and go home. Put the local boys over so they can build some rep with the crowd, that sort of thing. When I mentioned Dozer’s a jobber before, this is what I meant. They (our guys this time) are the ones to get beat on when in someone else’s backyard.
So our guys Goblinboy, Captain Ego, and Goat Cowboy are doing their thing. Captain Ego sounds just like I named him, he insults the crowd (gets “heat”), brags about himself, and gets chased out with his tail between his legs. Cap can work a crowd, and he does his job well. Next up is Goblinboy, best described as two hundred forty pounds of stupid shaped like an Oompa Loompa, and Goat Cowboy, who looks like much larger and beefier Snidely Whiplash. They’re tag teaming for a title match. This means there’s a fat belt with an even bigger brass plate stuck to it that no self respecting barbarian would wear sitting on a table outside the ring for the winners.
The hook in this case is that Cactus Bob (a hairy beer keg of a man, and another jobber in Mt. Cobweb), is going to throw the match, just as our boys are whupping up on Local Yokels One and Two. Cactus Bob is generally a pretty solid worker, throws his three punches and one arm bar, then gets his arse kicked for the rest of the match, Dude can take a beating, and that’s praise in the industry. So while Goblinboy is having the match of a thousand holds complete with grunts that wouldn’t sound out of place on a farm when the bull gets randy, Goat Cowboy has Local no. 2 outside the ring giving him what looks like a thorough pasting. Apparently unnoticed by the Goaty One, Cactus Bob sneaks out from behind the curtain. He sees the belt. He sees the Goatman. He takes his chance.
Cactus Bob snatches the belt and cat-foots along the apron, just outside the ring but two foot above the ground, his tool of destruction held high. He closes in. Nobody (in the match) is watching, and of course the ref has a bout of sudden situational blindness. Bob falls off the apron a tiny bit sooner than he intended to. All his weight falls on that belt, which lands *perfectly* on Goat’s head.
Goat Cowboy stops, mid-punch. You can see the eyes roll back in his head. His knees weaken, and he falls backwards (perfect form), arms out, and hits, *thud!* and lays there. Cactus Bob looks at the belt. Looks at Goat. You can see the “aha! My job us done here!” flash across his face, and he flees. Goblinboy misses all this, as Lokels One and Two proceed to gang up on him and make him cry for momma, pin in One Two Three! And they go back to the locker room, amidst the cheers of the crowd. Yay, locals!
Meanwhile Goblinboy comes to, shakes himself, does the “where the howl is my partner?” doubletake, finds him on the ground, as planned. So, he smacks him to get him to come to. No dice. This is staged- far as he knew, Goat is shamming just like he’s supposed to. Smacks again, harder. But the Goatman, he no wake. The Oompa Loompa finally begins to get worried. Begs the crowd for a cup of ice (good drama, that). Dumps icewater on the Goat’s head. You can see the “No Vacancy” on the backs of his eyeballs briefly as his eyelids open, Goblinboy asks somewhat diffidently, “are you okay?”
Clear as day, Goat says “NO.” *thud* Back to dreamland he goes, counting sheep. This is a problem, because as I mentioned Goat Cowboy is a big dude. Captain Ego has been chased off, so he can’t show back up without ruining the narrative. They have to get a couple of guys from the locker room with masks and street clothes on to carry him. “Dead weight” means something particular. Live bodies, often even unconscious ones, feel lighter. I was trained in physical anthropology some way back, trust me this is something I know. Goat feels pretty dead, but at least he’s breathing (and bleeding), the heavy sunbeach.
We get him up the stairs and into the locker room, Goat wakes up, notices for the first time he is no longer in the ring and starts asking what in the Hail Mary happened. So Cactus Bob shows him the belt. It’s bowed into a perfect, Goat-head-sized bowl that looks like you could fill it with milk and eat your wheaties out of it. Goat says, “At least Jimmy Peak has me beat.” Peak once put a fist sized dent into a heavy-gauge steel pole… with his head. Of course, Jimmy Peak is a mountain of a man. Seriously huge. Goat Cowboy’s just big in comparison. And heavy, when he’s K.O.’d. And still bleeding.
EMT’s show up from the parking lot, which adds to the drama of the show. Good press, etc. They look at Goat, give him the standard concussion advice (which he already knows by heart), and ask how long ago did this happen? About an hour and a half by this point. Why is your head still bleeding? Didn’t you apply pressure? Yeah, we did. Pressure cuts do that sometimes. So EMT tries several things, wants to stitch ( “no stitches, I don’t like ’em”), eventually wants to pass this off the hospital for treatment. Goat, being po’, doesn’t want to go.
About this time, Jade (the pregnant girl I was helping out before) shows up and smacks some Vaseline on his head… and the bleeding stops, pretty soon after. Gauze it, wrap it, done. White gauze, not purple, for which we were all thankful. We didn’t make any medical personnel faint or call the cops on us that time (that ‘un took some fast talking, as I recall), so it counts as a win I think. Any one you can walk away from. Or stagger. Or crawl. Or get carried. *grin*
You are going to publish all of these stories one day, right? Because they make a great – and colorful – narrative
Hadn’t seriously thought about it, to be honest. This stuff is just an amalgamation of what I used to call fireside tales. Most of the folks I’ve mentioned here are real people- or based on real people, anyway. Goat Cowboy, poor soul, plays D&D with us every now and again. So does Jade. Captain Ego is the secret owner of the show- he just plays the head villain because it’s fun as hell. His wife, one of the Sarah’s (three of them), could make Hera jealous with her temper and mood swings. Also real.
Dozer’s technically fake, but could be any one of a half a hundred workers. I just characterized a stereotype, really. The piercing incident did happen, but we can’t exactly recall who it was offhand (nobody I’ve asked admits to it, anyway).
Getting all these stories together and actually down in print would be a hell of a job. There’s at least half a hundred really good stories, most of them short like these, but I’d have to get permission from the folk in question otherwise it wouldn’t be right. Several of them, say, Peak and his wife for example, are a lot better storytellers than I am. Peak’s wife is as sweet and kind a woman as you could ever meet- and about as dangerous and lethal as a pissed off momma badger when she’s mad. Those two, myself, Jade, and Goat usually meet up at my all night eatin’ spot after the show and share gossip, stories, and off color social commentary. That’s where most of what I’ve put here comes from, so far.
Actually, it’s easier not to make distinctions between the real and the made up when telling these stories, otherwise folk might not quite realize that the crazier stuff really happened and the simple stuff is faked. *chuckle* I’ll ask around next month when the show rolls around again. We’ll see. I’m running Goat Cowboy down there (he lost his license a bout three years ago), and may have to babysit Secret Squirrel- that’s Jade’s fiance. Good guy, but about as hyperactive as my four-year old godson. It’s like trying to ride herd on a thunderstorm.
If I remember, closer to Halloween I’ll pass along tales of the Haunted Forest. It’s the reason I keep getting invited to work every haunted house in the area lately, and the reason I flatly refuse to consider it ever, ever again.
Please do pass those tales on. It sounds like they’d make a wonderful Halloween guest post.
Being a Large-Footed Female (size 11), I was actually rather pleased to see the cross-dressing community develop more economic influence. While I can easily shop the men’s department for the vast majority of my shoe needs, the EBIL PATRIARCHY demands a different style for formal events. Steel-toed boots do not go with evening dresses, even if you glue rhinestones on them. What a distinct pleasure to see women’s dress shoes that were *too large* for me! Now we just need to convince them that lime green patent leather is a felony, and I’ll be in heaven.
You know, I’d rather like to see steel-toed boots with rhinestones. I’m a size 8, 8.5 DD/E and I live in the sticks – the chances of me getting to one of those shops is pretty low, alas. I’d do quite nicely in a men’s 5-6 depending on the style.
So, I’m a little confused. Scalzi dresses in drag to show his solidarity with Feminism, then gets incensed when someone posts the picture with the caption, “this is what Feminism looks like.” Whether he’s had earlier issues with the dude or not, the caption is accurate.
He must have a very loose understanding of the term, “non sequitur.”
From what I’ve seen, he really doesn’t like having what he dishes out returned to him. You can always tell if something hits the mark: he starts frothing at the mouth.
“How dare you accurately describe me using a term that I’ve on many occasions self-identified with!” Not exactly the stunning argument we’ve all come to expect from Mr. Banhammer.
Personally, I think his righteous indignation is more of a marketing ploy than anything else. After all, his very next post was about an article on his “trollhunting” efforts. Can’t troll hunt without a troll, so lets froth at the mouth over a manufactured controversy. I’d say it’s slick marketing, except it’s so very transparent.
I didn’t know much about Mr. Scalzi until just a few months ago, except that I loved “Agent to the Stars.” Oh, the innocence of youth. Now, I’ll re-read Starship Troopers rather than be bothered with anything by someone it’s so hard to respect.
Heh. Yes. When you make a big thing of your harshness to the trolls, you really do leave yourself open if you go being a whiny twit about the trolls trolling you.
Me, I like to play with them. I don’t get to sharpen my claws that often, you see.
Well, I’ll be darned. Transvestites do have their own shoe/dress stores. And they’re not carrying the same stock as stores for large women.
(Shaking head) I gotta say that’s just like men, to get large tailored sizes and keep them to themselves. Even transvestites really want to have a treehouse man-den with NO GURLS ALLOWED. 🙂
Doesn’t everyone? I mean, girls are EVUL! They don’t even manage ebil.
Grrls have cooties – well known to al 5 year old boys and grown ups with a similar mental/emotional age
Of course. And you need to be very careful around the Mean Girls, or you’ll be toast.
Now… if I were taking “studies” classes this semester instead of Math (again) I’d point out that what makes a man in a dress a money maker for charity is the transgressive nature of a man in a dress so… judging! If it really was okay for a man to wear a dress then it wouldn’t be a promo-gimick. Heteronormativity is why this works as a money making stunt.
OTOH, raising money for charity is good.
I did think that the whole bit about how badly the color was on him was all fabricated (ha!) snark but I looked for a picture and it’s true. The dress is a perfectly awful color. He should probably wear red.
If the dress had looked decent on him, I would have snarked something else, or just rambled. It was the trauma of seeing that color and style on someone who really should not wear either that did it.
Fundraising for charity is indeed good, but yes, if a man wearing a dress wasn’t transgressive, it wouldn’t raise money.
I honestly don’t care what he – or anyone else – wears, but I’d rather not have to see the really ugly combinations like that one. He should talk to the cosplayers – some of the guys do the female costumes in truly awesome style. The one I first saw dressed as a geisha (picture perfect, I might add – I was wondering if this was just a rather mannish-looking female or a male until he spoke (face was a bit strong for most women) and confirmed that he was definitely “he”. I saw him later at the same con in a – I think – Sailor Moon costume. That was also perfect and he looked GOOD in it. Dude had style).
Glad I’m not a transvestite. I’ve got legs hairier than a bear’s backside. 😀
Yeah, the effect of curly hair poking through fishnets is a bit offputting – although that really is a modern sensibility. Way back when, fuzziness in all sorts of places was the norm – although I think all the stockings were thicker in those days, even the silk ones.
IIRC, one of the advantages of the machine knit stockings was the thinness. One of the complaints raised by the hand-workers about the first machine knit stockings was that they were too thin and cheap, and wouldn’t last like hand-made stockings.
That doesn’t surprise me. They don’t last, either. On the rare occasions I have to wear pantyhose (as rare as I can possibly make them), that pair is usually useless afterwards. Either I put a hole in the things trying to get them on, or my shoe isn’t perfectly smooth (funny that) and they have holes by the time I take them off.
Nothing wrong with a red dress on a man. It gets to be positively surreal when there’s a hundred or more running down the street though. And you get your chance to see just that if you go to San Diego on Sept 7th
I’ll have to hope there are good pictures! It’s a bit far to commute from PA on my (non-existent) budget
Google is your friend – there are many pictures and videos from previous events. And I personally have no desire to see things that should not be seen just to satisfy your prurient curiosity
The one that got me was the “do you really want people who are the reason Scottish sheep can hear a zipper open at 100 paces upset with you?” Caught me off guard and caused a full belly quake. I have got to really learn that zinger technique. Thanks
Thank you, sir, for the compliment! This is what happens when I’m not trying to convince cats that the keyboard is not an exotic paw massager.
I was reminded of this by your post. Many decades ago, there was a political cartoonist named Jules Pfeiffer. He had a cartoon with some talking suits around a conference table. (This was long before Dan Rather had discredited himself so brazenly with fake memos about George W. Bush)
Caption:
Suit 1 – Dan Rather’s ratings are dropping quite seriously. Anyone have any suggestions?
Suit 2 – We could start reporting the news straight and unbiased.
……… long dramatic pause ……
Suit 3 – How about we put Dan Rather in a dress?
I think I may remember seeing that one. About sums things up, too…
I have to say that the hat did not seem *at all* appropriate with the dress. It made him look like he’d donned a faux-hawk. & the red ribbon necklace?? REALLY??? That shade of red was never meant to go anywhere *near* that shade of green, and certainly not with his skin tone.
😉 ah, so nice to let my true feminine nature run loose sometimes…buahahahahahaaaaaaa!!!