The Year of Yes

Saying Yes to the Dresses (and Why Mortified Is So Important)

I am in the fitting room of H&M.

I have approximately 10 dresses to try on.

Forget jumping out of planes. Because, this? This is really freakin’ scary.

But I’ve committed to the idea of wearing a dress for my reading at Mortified, and my friend Jess is waiting on the other side of the fitting room door to provide critique and commentary. She is also there to make sure that I step out of my comfort zone, sartorially speaking, and has been instructed to prevent the purchase of additional scarves (I, um, have a scarf problem).

Over the past year, I’ve taken small steps to embrace my femininity. It’s something that I’ve struggled with most of my life. To take on the trappings of being “pretty”—dresses, make-up, high-heeled shoes, showing more skin—was to invite the kind of attention I have never been comfortable with. And let’s not even get into the whole other dimension of significance that fashion takes on when you’re queer.

During a consultation with a new chiropractor last year, I was surprised to find that attributed my terrible posture to a lifelong desire to fold myself back into the earth. To be out of the way. Invisible. It’s simply easier to exist when no one notices that you’re there. It’s why I slouched. It’s why I didn’t care when I gained 40 extra pounds. It’s why, when someone looked at me, I looked away. To be pretty, to stand tall and walk confidently, is to attract attention. To attract attention is to invite people in. Inviting people in is to dare to take responsibility for what’s expected of you.

And now, here I am at H&M, staring down the dresses. I’m expecting this to be an exercise in masochism. It’s ok, I say to myself in the mirror. You’ve lost that weight. You’ve changed how you walk, sit, stand. You’ve changed your hair, your clothes. You are more confident. You can let people in. You can take responsibility for what’s expected of you. And when you catch someone’s eye, you can confidently meet their gaze.

You, Jenny, are pretty.

I leave the store with three dresses in my bag, ranging in personality. One sexy, one cute, and one that’s tasteful and “appropriate”. When I show them to my friend Leah, she says, “I can tell you’re trying to figure out who you are here, and it’s hilarious.”

Well, the fact is, I’m all three.

Also, it turns out I got me a nice set o’ gams.

And here is why doing Mortified means so much to me this time around: I first read live at the show last June. A week later, I left my wife.

These two events are inextricably linked in my mind. Doing Mortified was a big personal achievement that gave me a taste of what I wanted my life to be. Vital. Fun. Full of laughter. It made me see that I had been living under the strain of my disintegrating marriage for too long. I felt isolated. Sad. Dull. And I just couldn’t live that way anymore.

Nine months later, my life barely resembles how I was living in June. I feel closer to who I’m supposed to be, I’m forming a community of great friends and discovering my life’s work. So I am deeply honored to be given the opportunity to read again, and in my own little way, celebrate how far I’ve come.

Hence, the dress. It might be silly to assign so much importance to a comedy show. But it means the world to me for the reasons stated above. So, thank you to Sara and Karen for asking me back, and thank you in advance to the audience who will laugh uncomfortably in all the right places (including the 2? or 3? of my friends who managed to get tickets). I hope I live up to the hype.

Even if I don’t, I’ll still look pretty.