Things I learned from two silly party hats
(or, an awareness of the absurdities of gender)
The other evening, I went to a birthday party for my friend
Lee. There were friends and co-workers there, and friend’s kids, music, and a
big birthday cake and drinks, munchies, streamers and silly conical party hats
on cheap elastic strings.
Everyone put a party hat on, and we all looked like clowns
or tie-dyed traffic cones. One guest’s son was there, and he put two on his
head like horns. This gave me an idea,
as things often do, and I grabbed two conical party hats and dashed off to the
bathroom.
I secured the cheap elastic cords onto the edges of the
cardboard, and carefully squirmed my way through the elastic bands until I had
two paper cones on my chest, like Madonna’s infamous costume brassiere.
With my cardboard breasts securely in place, I went back and
rejoined the party. Everyone laughed as I approached, and there were lewd
comments, of course, and the occasional grab or photo-opportunity licking of my
fake breasts.
Over the next hour and a half, though, I got to experience a
few things that I hadn’t even considered, and which I am very grateful to have
had the opportunity to experience. I mentioned these to a female guest, who
shook my hand and said, “Miles, welcome to our world!”
Hey, my eyes are up here!
When I was talking to people with my fake cardboard breasts
on, their eyesight was inevitably locked on my chest. I know I’ve done the same
thing when talking to women. But what I
hadn’t expected was my inner reaction. “Hey! How the hell do I know you’re even
listening to me if you won’t look me in the eye and acknowledge what I’m saying?”
I felt that people regarded my words, my thoughts, as less important than the
opportunity to stare at my chest. That was, I realized, somewhat insulting to
my intelligence as well as to their own.
This bra strap is NOT comfortable!
The two thin elastic cords were never designed, of course,
to stretch around a man’s torso. Head, yes. Ribcage, no. So they were somewhat
tighter than originally designed. And I was VERY aware of the constant pressure
on the back of my ribcage and under my arms, of this annoying strip of elastic.
I found myself constantly reaching around back to move the cords to a slightly
new position, or just pinch under my armpits to offer a slightly different
physical sensation than constant irritating pressure. Wow.
Physical logistics.
I am a very huggy person – I’ll hug anyone. But with two silly
cardboard cones sticking out the front, hugging, or physical proximity at all,
suddenly became concern, and I was running a constant proximal evaluation, ‘How
can I safely hug this person’, ‘Can I fit between these two people to get to
the bar,’ ‘Damn, I almost put her eye out!.’
I had to resort to positioning myself at a sort of
three-quarter-profile position so that my cardboard conical breasts would not
get in the way of my actually hugging someone. Lee’s girlfriend Angela did hug
me ‘full frontal’, and the sharp cardboard cone almost pierced her clavicle! I’m
glad none of Lee’s friends were below a certain height.
And along with the constant mental juggling of where I would
or would not fit with my new expanded chest, was the awareness that trying to bring
my drink to my lip, I had to swing OUT and AROUND this new interference to get anything
accomplished. Wow, how irritating that soon became, And I only had them on for 90 minutes, not an entire adult existence.
My fake breasts were intended as a laugh, a quick party
gimmick, but they actually taught me more in an hour and a half than I had
imagined they might. They did not have
the actual weight or swing of real breasts, and I did not have to deal with any
considerations such as back pain or tissue damage, but they did teach me a lot
about what women have to go through every single day.
I like breasts, but no I don’t plan on getting that sex
change operation any time soon.
