My face - a critique

I went out last night as Becky, on my own to the Loft nightclub in Norwich. Before I left I took a few pics of myself, including this one with makeup but sans wig.

I always enjoy putting on makeup, not only because it's what helps create the illusion of "Becky", but also the very process of "doing my face" can give me a frisson of that elusive feeling of femininity that trannies seek.

I also own loads of cosmetics. I like buying it, I like the smells and the colours. The exotic names and over-blown descriptions. I like shopping for makeup in the same way other girls might love shopping for shoes.

Except that, it's not a girl thing really, it's very much a boy thing. I collect makeup. I horde cosmetics paraphernalia. The two-stage mascaras and the automatic tweezers and the make-up mirrors with built-in lights. Although they're all ostensibly feminine items, it's a still very masculine trait. No different from my dad's shed-full of tools and gadgets for DIY and gardening. Some may never get used, but they're all the best you can buy. My dad has a Swiss Army knife which is as wide as it is long, with every tool you could possibly imagine. There's some tools on that knife he's never going to use. There's some nail varnishes in my case I'm never going to open.

I used to only experiment with makeup when I at home and there wasn't an urgent need to get ready, but now I'm confident enough to play around a bit even if I need to be out the door in two hours. I normally do give myself a full two hours to go from boy to girl. I could probably do it in half an hour, if pressed, but as I said earlier the act of getting ready is part of the evening for me. "Becky" time starts the moment the tweezer plucks an eyebrow hair.

Also, that time in front of the mirror is when I'm looking the best I'll look all evening. The foundation is free from a sheen of sweat, and my look is neither hidden by dim club lighting or washed out by harsh flash photography. The high-point of many an evening is when I put on the wig, take a critical look at myself in the mirror and realise... I look gooood!

Sometimes everything falls into place, the eyeliner goes on straight and my hand doesn't involuntary spasm the moment I hold a mascara brush to my eye. Other times, for no reason I've been able to figure, it just feels wrong no matter what I do. I sit in front of the mirror at the end of it all and see a man wearing makeup and a wig.

Trannies are their own worst critics. This is partly, I think, due to the fact is we've seen the man behind the makeup every day of our lives in the mirror. We know every inch of his face. Whereas a stranger might see a girl's face that looks a bit masculine, we see a man we know very well, who just happens wearing makeup.

Last night was between the two. I thought I looked pretty good, but there were several things I didn't like. Some are unavoidable without cosmetic surgery, others to do with my less-than-perfect skills with makeup. In Flickr I've annotated a load of notes to the full-sized version of the picture above, to try and give you some idea of the thoughts that went through my head as I stared vainly into my Revlon makeup mirror last night.