HATE WORKING SUNDAYS BUT EASTER SUNDAY WAS WORTH I
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Trousers on Sunday, Skirt on Monday:
I was, in my girlfriend Yasmeena's view, something of a hypocrite when it
came to my faith and we were having an argument about feminism and her
faith and mine following Yasmeena catching me looking at the display of
the local lingerie shop window.
I remember her saying to me, "Dominic, you are a trousers on Sunday,
skirt on Monday, type of Christian."
"What do you mean by that, Yasmeena?" I asked looking at her beautiful
face and the purple hijab she was wearing and wondering what she looked
like without her hijab on, or, for that matter, without any of her other
clothes on.
I had kind of missed the implicit suggestion that she was making that I
crossdress most of the week, as I had simply thought that I was being
called a hypocrite, but I wanted Yasmeena to make that plain.
"Just that like you think you know how to dress for the occasion, or that
you know what to slip into, you don't think of yourself as someone who
gets all dolled up with no place to go when it comes to feminism," she
said smiling at me. "You think you are a 'burn your bra' kind of feminist
but really your concept of feminism is tied to your mother's apron
strings. You have heard your mother describe how I dress as restrictive
and you therefore describe me as oppressed because I wear a hijab, but
you idea of feminism is all fur coat and no knickers. Yes, Dominic, I
think your view of feminism is very corseted. Do you really think it is
liberating to tell me what I should wear? Do you think I want men
undressing me with their eyes wherever I go?"
I did not have an answer for that. I was, after all, undressing her with
my eyes.
"I'm just saying that women shouldn't be told what to wear," I said
imagining her standing there wearing nothing more than her purple hijab,
a purple bra, purple panties, purple stockings and purple suspenders.
"No one told me to wear a hijab," she replied. "If you think it's
oppressive to be told to wear a hijab, why do you think it's not
oppressive to be told not to wear a hijab? It's humiliating having a man
tell me what I can wear or cannot wear all the time."
At that point I was thinking of her in a sports bra and yoga pants at her
Pilates studio with our friends Rita and Beau. I hadn't spoken with them
in a few weeks and I was worried about a rumour I had heard that Beau was
now going to Pilates dressed in a Burqa and was calling himself Bea.
Pilates? And wearing a burqa, what was he thinking?
I had heard that Rita also had taken to wearing a hijab.
"It's not about oppression. It's about freedom," I replied.
"If you are such a feminist and so free, why don't you put on a bra,
panties, stockings and suspenders?" She responded. "You don't even
understand why I wear a purple hijab, do you?"
I didn't.
I didn't know how I was going to persuade Yasmeena that I shouldn't be
wearing women's clothes either as she led me towards the lingerie shop.
Freedom has consequences, I thought to myself. It's not just about what
you are free not to wear but also about what you are free to wear.
"A bra is a piece of clothing that shows you are on track to the future,
to becoming someone," Yasmeena said to me, holding up various bras in
front of me. "It's a bit of a status symbol, even if you are not the
first among your Male friends to own one."
I wondered if she meant Beau.
I wondered if Beau had been lingerie shopping with Rita and what it felt
to wear these sexy clothes that Yasmeena was holding in front of me.
Could I save Beau or Bea if that was what he was now calling himself from
dressing as a Muslim woman in a burqa? I wondered.
I snapped out of my reverie as Yasmeena had the shop assistant measure my
cup size and it came to paying for my first lingerie.
"You get a 20% discount if you open an account with us," the shop
assistant said. "What name shall I put on the account?"
I didn't want an account in my real name just as I didn't really want to
buy these clothes, but I knew I would have to have some sort of pseudonym
as I couldn't just turn down the prospect of the discount and Yasmeena
fortunately came to my rescue with "Amatullah."
Having paid for my new clothes Yasmeena asked if I wanted to come to
Pilates with her and said she would sign me up online on her phone.
I was curious about it. Were the rumours true, had Beau really become
Bea? Why had Beau taken up such a girly sport as Pilates as he had always
been quite the man's man? It wasn't like Pilates was real exercise.
Yasmeena said I could buy a Pilates costume from the studio when we got
there.
When we got to the studio with there was a woman in a burqa on the desk
and she signed us in. There was another lady called Nas, the owner of the
studio.
I realised at that point that there weren't any men's Pilates costumes in
the shop.
"You are either going to have to do the lesson in the clothes you are
wearing, the lingerie you have just bought or some yoga pants and a
sports bra," Said Yasmeena in earshot of Nas and the receptionist.
"We could give him a burqa but he might struggle to complete the lesson
in it!" Joked Nas.
"The day I wear a burqa, I will work as your cleaner," I replied.
So I opted for the yoga pants and sports bra which I paid the lady in the
burqa for and then I went to the men's changing room to get changed with
my bags of lingerie.
Fortunately the changing room was empty.
It was odd how hard it was to get my sports bra on but I eventually
managed to get it over my head and straighten my bra straps. Although I
did not have much of a chest to fill my bra, it fitted tightly around my
chest and when I put my yoga pants on I realised how much they emphasise
my masculinity in a class full of women.
I went out to the reception.
"Don't worry, you aren't the first man to do a class dressed like this,"
smiled Nas. "The secret is to tuck your masculinity between your legs and
pull your trousers up tight around your butt."
I went back to the changing room and did like Nas had suggested.
It was odd how looking at the blank space where my manhood would normally
be, I felt almost feminine, as if I had been emasculated.
And I couldn't forget that I was wearing a bra too and was about to join
a Pilates class with a group of women, dressed just like them.
When I came out of the changing room this time I was greeted by Yasmeena,
who, like me was wearing a sports bra and yoga pants.
Her long raven black hair ran down to just below her shoulder blades - a
vision of femininity. I was amazed at how beautiful she looked in her
Pilates costume.
"Wow, you look hot."
"So do you, Amatullah! Let's have a bet. Every time you have to sit down
during class you have to let Nas or me do something to feminise you."
Well, my male pride meant that even though I was already wearing a sports
bra and yoga pants and had my bags of lingerie in the changing room
behind me I didn't think that I was going to have any problems with a
Pilates class. So I took the bet.
After 5 minutes I found myself struggling to keep up and watching
Yasmeena paint my lips with her lipstick.
I should have found it arousing being in a room full of women in sports
bras and yoga pants or shorts but instead, being conscious that I too was
wearing lipstick, a sports bra and yoga pants, meant I felt an affinity
with the other women,which was only increased a few minutes later when
Nas applied her water resistant mascara brush to my eyelids.
At the end of the lesson, Nas, who was teaching the lesson had us repeat
the Shahadah. I had learnt the extent to which I had underestimated how
tough Pilates was and I had had my eyebrows plucked, my eyelids painted
and I was wearing nail extensions. Apart from my flat chest and short
hair (and I had had to also agree to putting on a wig cap and a wig after
having a shower) I looked like a woman.
When I got to the changing room I found that my male clothes has been
removed and that I was either going to have to leave the studio in my
lingerie or my sweaty Pilates clothes.
So I opened the bag from the lingerie shop and picked the red silk
panties with the black lace trim and the matching suspenderbelt and bra.
I was now going to find out what wearing these sexy clothes felt like.
I picked a pair of fishnet stockings - the apotheosis of sexuality.
As I put my new underwear on I was amazed at how warm I felt in how
little clothing and how vulnerable I felt at the same time.
I went out to the reception to be met by the woman in the burqa, who was
holding a wig cap and a long raven black wig.
"Where's Yasmeena and Nas?"
"They're waiting for you outside, Amatullah."
She put the wig cap on my head and showed me to the mirror, I was dressed
like how I had fantasised Yasmeena might look and with my wig I looked
like a paler version of her.
"You might want this," the receptionist said, offering me a burqa and I
nodded.
She helped me to put it on and I looked at the two of us in our burqas.
Nas came back into the reception.
"I wondered what was keeping you, Amatullah. I see Bea has helped you put
on your burqa. I believe you knew her when she was a man, but she's had a
sex change. Could you clean the studio, now?" Nas asked offering me a mop
and bucket.
Although I was dressed in lingerie and a burqa I was a man of my word and
I did as I was told.
Yasmeena was waiting for me with Nas, Rita and Bea when I finished.
"In Pakistan, transgender rights are better respected than here in
England, Amatullah, and you would have the right to hold a female
passport even though you were born Male. Your name, by the way, means
'slave of Allah'," Yasmeena said.
I thought about how I had thought I was going to save Beau but instead
Bea had helped me to become Amatullah. It was explained to me that not
only did my name mean "slave of Allah" but I was considered a Muslim now
having said the Shahadah.
Yasmeena said to me, "No woman in a burqa (or a hijab or a burkini) has
ever done me any harm but men in suits led the banks and crashed the
world economy. Other men in suits then increased the misery to millions
through austerity. If we are to start telling people what to wear, maybe
we should ban suits."
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