Is there something wrong with a man -- a heterosexual man, I might add -- wanting to wear woman's clothing?
Why does our society find this so unacceptable? Perhaps "The Man" doesn't know the pleasures of angora wool against naked flesh. Mmmmmm! No! MUST RESIST! MUST RESIST!
After learning that Ed Wood had an ardent appetite for angora, I needed to find out more about this fetish. Then I would know the answers, as well as have a new outfit that wouldn't make me look fat. Grab your charge cards and let's shop!
GOAL: To journey along Oxford Street in London, trying on women's angora sweaters.
PHILOSOPHY: There's nothing wrong with a heterosexual male wanting to wear women's clothing.
GUIDELINES:
1) I shall have a bag of disguises in order to adopt various angora-shopping personas.
2) I shall drink Brandy Alexanders along the way for inspiration.
PHILOSOPHY ON GUIDELINES: There's nothing wrong with a heterosexual male wanting to drink Brandy Alexanders.
As I stand, looking down from the top of Oxford Street, I wonder what monsters lie ahead, waiting to foil me. Will it be an evil arch-villain, or just a bunch of cranky sales clerks? This feels like a grand adventure equivalent to Jason and the stuff he did with those Argonauts. Only, there aren't any Argonauts here, only angora sweaters made from the softest angora wool. Mmmmm!
INFILTRATION #1
STORE: Marks and Spencers, a low-end department store.
PRICE: $42.00
QUALITY: Fair
PERSONA: Businessman Humphrey Lemington III
I finish my first Brandy Alexander of the day, and head into Marks and Spencers. I've put on a white shirt and tie, as well as a short, curly wig to cover my nappy head. There's an old woman salesclerk putting a jacket back on to a hanger. She looks like she's worked here a long time. I'm sure she's seen many styles come and go, perhaps even angora bell bottoms.
"Excuse me. Do you have ladies' angora sweaters?" I ask.
She slowly turns around. "Yes, we do."
"It's for a Mother's Day present."
"Well, what we have is not really suitable for Mother's Day."
"Oh, I'll be the judge of that!" I snap.
She's taken back. "Well, they're right this way."
I follow at her heel as we make our way past cardigans, waist coats and various other kinds of sweaters. "It's a Mother's Day present," I say again as we arrive at the rack.
"Oh, how nice," she says.
"Obviously not for me," I say, letting out a nervous laugh. "It's for my mother ... who is a woman."
She speaks slowly and distinctly. "As you can see, they're cut in a manner which is more suitable for a younger woman."
"No! This is the way she likes it!"
Yes, my mom is made of polygons.
The sweaters are in three colors, pink, lilac and baby blue. I choose pink. I pick it up like it's a sacred religious article. My eyes widen. "Oh, yes! This is nice! This is very nice!"
I turn to the attentive saleswoman. "My mother -- who is a woman -- has big shoulders. Maybe 16 is better?"
We agree on 16. I pick up the pink sweater again and hold it up to myself.
"Would this jumper wrinkle if it were worn under, oh ... a business suit?" I say, looking down at my tie.
Her eyebrows scrunch together. "No, angora shouldn't wrinkle." She's in the later stages of getting sick of me.
I start slowly rubbing the sweater. "Yes, this is very nice, mmmmm! This will make me -- I mean my mother -- very happy!"
With a tense fake smile she says, "Well if you find something you like, please let me know."
Where did our love go? I feel like I lost her. I hand her the sweater. "I'M NOT GAY YOU KNOW!" I exclaim, and abruptly leave the store.
Clearly, I needed to get a little more bizarre for my next infiltration.
Please continue to Part 2: The Fetish Gets Weirder!
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