June 7, 2011
I always feel like an imposter when wearing a dress, like someone – a kid in a diner booth, a wizened crone on a bus, a drag queen – will take one look at me, raise an eyebrow to rival the McDonald's arch, and say, "Yeah, right, who do you think you're kidding, sir?" High heels are no problem; I feel like I've earned the right to wear them. But a dress? Not so much. Put me in my cargo pants and tank top to show off the arms that the gayboys admire, and I feel so much more like a girl.