Wearing bright, Crayola-colored dresses and five-inch heels, eight perfectly coiffed women sit across from each other, their legs demurely crossed to the side, and begin debating the merits of diesel fuel over natural gas for 18-gear freightliner trucks—while deciding on the easiest way to get in and out of one in a short skirt. "You step up onto the board runner," says Andrea, 49, a former construction worker and tractor trailer driver. "Then you sit down, knees together, and swing your legs inside the car."
As the women continue to chatter, complimenting each other on their choice of bra ("It's Spanx! So it hooks in the front," comments one), while discussing the differences between designer stilettos ("I prefer Jimmy Choo over Christian Louboutin," says another), their matriarch Ellen Weirich declares that today, they will be learning how to walk gracefully in heels.
This month, the 47-year-old mother-of-three, who goes by Lady Ellen, is celebrating the tenth anniversary of Le Femme Finishing School, where from her house in New Jersey she has taught thousands of transgender women how to be, and act like, "ladies." Her services, priced between $30 and $200, include makeup tutorials, image and style consultations, deportment and etiquette classes, and lessons in "passing" as femme: learning how to prepare, present, and carry oneself in order to blend in with other women in public.
One by one, the women at today's workshop do their best to strut across Lady Ellen's living room as she films them from afar. Later, they are able to evaluate their own movements and decide what they would like to change. "Learning to walk in a new way, a feminine way, takes a lot of practice," Lady Ellen says reassuringly.
During the class, the more experienced women challenge each other aggressively ("Your arms are too far apart," "Stand up straight," "You rise like you're getting off a horse. Don't do that."), and with metaphorically puffed chests, they take the criticisms like men—that is to say, without the clichéd sensitivity society usually reserves for women, and attempt to digest each tip as best they can. For relatively new Le Femme member Charlene, a 52-year-old machinist who makes steel parts for a living, Lady Ellen is going over the basics: put your shoulders back, lead from the hips, walk with your feet close together, brush your hands against your sides, swing your arms, and relax your elbows. "It doesn't feel natural," says Charlene, who came out for the first time last year. "Well, it's not supposed to feel natural," counters Lady Ellen. "You walk like a man; that's natural to you. This is a feminine walk."
"Isn't teaching long-ingrained stereotypes of what society thinks a woman 'should' be a little backward?"
As a female spectator, it is hard to watch a group of transgender women trying to live up to such strict ideals of femininity and gender normativity that so many of us have spent years trying to challenge. Isn't teaching long-ingrained stereotypes of what society thinks a woman 'should' be a little backwards? Perhaps. But as Hari Nef, a transgender actress and model, explained in a recent interview for The Coveteur, society bestows "more rewards and opportunities upon conventionally attractive, 'feminine' trans women." And in order for transgender women to feel safe enough to walk outside, they "are under an immense amount of pressure to 'pass' as cisgender," she said, adding that "every girl should do what she has to do to feel safe, loved, and secure." Still, as a self-described advocate for gender fluidity, Hari believes that the idea of having to "pass" at all is "bullshit": "There are so, so many ways to look like a 'woman'—there are so many different women to be," she said. "When it comes to beauty—trans or otherwise—there are no right answers."
Echoing Hari's response, Andrea, who in the 30 years of being "out" as a woman has had to ward off stalkers, death threats, and public bullying, agrees that many transgender women dress to fit in out of fear. "Sometimes you stand out because your makeup is not quite perfect, so you practice and you practice. Or your walk may not be as eloquent as it's supposed to be, and someone will say, 'Oop there's a tell.' So you're always paranoid, you're always wondering if somebody will notice," she explains. "You're very conscious of what people around you are saying, what they're doing, their gestures, and what they're looking at. Because they will not only judge, but actually attack you with verbal and physical harm."
But the women are also quick to point out how much they love the spectacle of dressing: the clothes, the makeup, the high-fashion accessories; and with it, their ability to construct a vision of themselves they had long kept from the outside world. "We just want to be pretty, inside and out. I think that really sums it up," Veronica, a retired chemical engineer, says to a chorus of curls nodding in agreement. For Reena, who came out nearly ten years ago but continues to work as a male repairing medical machines in hospitals and doctors' offices, it is being able to fall asleep in a pair of high heels that brings her the most joy. "I love shopping for shoes at Nordstrom, Lord & Taylor, and Bloomingdale's," she says, admitting that she has five closets, plus 100-feet of clothes in her basement.
"It's about being comfortable in myself, and just feeling normal."
Still, while she delights in the "shi-shi" aspect of dressing, Reena believes there is more to "being a lady" than overly pretty clothes. "It's about being comfortable in myself, and just feeling normal," she says. "I find that going to regular restaurants and regular bars dressed casually, I enjoy that—feeling part of the world—even more than getting glammed up to go someplace that's designed for transgender people." Reena has been married for 30 years and often shops her wife's closet (after a hip replacement and subsequent weight gain, she offered Reena all of her size eight clothes), but she has no intention of coming out at work. So for her, "feeling normal" is being able to come home and put on "a pair of jeans and a blouse, or a sundress in the summertime."
Finding that equilibrium, or inner peace, can take years, if not decades, says 64-year-old Margaux, who began dressing when she was 15 years old. "At the start, I went ultra femme: garter belts, seamed stockings, corsets, full on makeup—they are costumes in a way," she says. "Now I'm looking for something more natural when I dress." Sure, sometimes she wants to look as pretty as possible (don't we all?) and certain garments do make her feel more feminine, like Spanx ("It just pushes everything in and you just feel better! Healthier, and more sexy," she laughs); but the more comfortable she began to feel in her own femininity—which she describes as being "between the ears"—she began to realize she could wear men's clothes and still feel like a woman. "The girls clothes just make it fun!" she says. "Women have so many more options that men. Menswear is boring! Sure you can get a really nice English tailored suit or whatever, but women just have so many more options—it's not fair!"
Lady Ellen, who started her business with enough wigs, shoes, and makeup to fit into a suitcase (she now has hundreds of dresses, including 12 wedding gowns and dozens of heels ranging from size nine to 15 spread throughout her house, garage, and basement), believes that transgender women often "overdo femininity" in the beginning because they are afraid of being "imperfect," and therefore, being "caught out" in public. What she teaches at Le Femme, she says, enables her clients find balance through politeness, courtesy, and "ladylike mannerisms" before they are able to relax into their own skin. "Like a girl growing up in her teen years, these women experiment with different clothes, makeup, and hairstyles to try and find their self image. They may not dress the same now as when they first started dressing, because they realize it didn't suit their personalities. But now they've found what feels good on them, and like the rest of us, that also changes constantly."
"Here, we can be who we are without ridicule."
But Lady Ellen's clients don't just use her for the vast wardrobe and lessons in etiquette. Unwittingly, years after her first encounter with an underage transgender woman at a New York City drag bar who was in need of some style advice, which would ultimately lead her to open Le Femme, Lady Ellen has built a strong community of transgender women from around the world. Located 30 miles from Newark Airport, Le Femme has hosted people from Switzerland, Belgium, Germany, Iceland, England, and South America, who all say they savor the "safe haven" she has created: "Here, we can be who we are without ridicule," explains Andrea. "It's one of the most important things we need."
After their workshop, Lady Ellen ushers the women around a long dining table set with pink porcelain china and shiny silverware, where they learn Emily Post-style table manners over an elaborate lunch, discussing everything from politics ("Obama has done a lot for the LGBT community, but we still have so far to go," decides one), to the hit Amazon Prime TV show Transparent, which follows a retired college professor grappling with the prospect of coming out to his own family. Not everyone has seen it, but the show's premise causes emotions to bubble over; and tears are delicately wiped away. "So many of us have similar stories," gestures Andrea by way of explanation, before revealing that she was disowned by her own parents. "There are so many lies involved; children don't see their parents, parents don't talk to their children."
"To do this, to live your life before it's too late, it takes a lot of courage."
For Margaux, who is out to all her friends but has a 26-year-old son who isn't talking to her, Transparent's educated portrayal of the transgender community and its ability to highlight the courage it takes to face grown children at an older age, is nothing short of admirable. "For all my life I was trying to be a man, trying to please my dad, so I got married… and did all the 'right' things. But it's just horrible, really, to think of this life I tried to pursue. Now I'm trying to be true to who I am, trying to live my life," she says, adding that she wishes for nothing more than to be able to talk to her son about her transition. "To do this, to live your life before it's too late, it takes a lot of courage. Change is painful, change is hard. But once you do it, you get stronger."
Seven heads again nod in agreement. Andrea, who leads the transgender support group Delaware Renaissance, hopes that for those too afraid of being self-identified in public, or for those not yet willing to stand up "and be counted," Le Femme might offer them a new or alternative way of thinking. "Because even as horrifying as your family life is, if you don't choose to come out, or don't grow as the person you're supposed to be, you could be missing out on the most important person you will ever know in your life," she says. "And that's your true self."
Olivia Fleming is the former Features Director at HarpersBAZAAR.com. Born in New Zealand, Olivia was raised with two basic beliefs: That deep respect for the earth is a given, and women are imperative to leading a successful, progressive country (two female prime ministers took office during her childhood). But after moving to New York in 2008, she quickly realized that her status quo was at odds with the rest of the world. In an effort to change that—and to legitimize women's duel interest in fashion, politics, and human rights—Olivia focuses on female storytelling. From long-form features and ambitious packages, to new podcast initiatives that elevate the magazine's content mix across platforms, she champions the stories no-one else is telling.
