Passing Is Nice, But Living Is Better
When I first began going out en femme, passing seemed like the most important thing in the world. Did the sales associate call me "Ma'am" because she saw a woman or was she simply being polite?

When I first began going out en femme, passing seemed like the most important thing in the world. Did the sales associate call me "Ma'am" because she saw a woman or was she simply being polite?

When I first began going out en femme, passing seemed like the most important thing in the world.
Did the sales associate call me "Ma'am" because she saw a woman or was she simply being polite?
Unless someone tells you what they think—and people occasionally have told me that I pass—you really do not know how they see you.
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When I first began going out en femme, passing seemed like the most important thing in the world. Did the sales associate call me "Ma'am" because she saw a woman or was she simply being polite? Unless someone tells you what they think—and people occasionally have told me that I pass—you really do not know how they see you.
The trouble is that the passing meter is notoriously unreliable. We practice walking in heels until it no longer resembles a circus act.
I studied every person who looked in my direction. Every glance became a reading on my imaginary passing meter. We learn what flatters us and what should remain on the store rack.
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