Hi all,
Andrea,
In
Little Shop of Horrors, Audrey is Seymour's girlfriend. In her honour, Seymour named the plant "Audrey II." (Trivia: Jack Nicholson had his first screen appearance in the 1961 film version of
Little Shop of Horrors, where he played the dentist's masochistic patient. "Feee-EEEE-eeeed me," indeed!

)
I agree with what some of you say, here. Were it not for the fact that Ms. Ripley's features are rather finely "sculpted," it could be possible to mistake her for a man. For me, a heavy nasogenian fold (the lines to each side of the nose going down to the corners of the mouth) is a masculine feature (I, myself, am "saddled" with such a fold... but I'll live). Just goes to show that any man or woman can, at the very least, have a tendency to look like either a man or a woman. Hence the addition of "accessories" (jewelry, makeup, creams, etc.) or even surgery to either highlight or "erase" this or that feature of our faces in accordance with our own gender self-perception. Women do it. Woman-identified men do it (uh, yes, that would be
us, folks). More and more, non-transgendered men do it as well (the beauty industry is finally managing to convince regular Joes that mere nature itself isn't always quite forthcoming when it comes to the esthetic appeal of the male face... Vanity, thy name is, uh, er, ah, human being!

)
Personally, although I understand the motivations behind what some here call "fakery," I'm no big fan of it, myself. Yes, yes, I hear those of you up there in the peanut gallery, shouting, "But, CJ, if that's true, then why do you work at changing your own appearance so much?" Two reasons. For one thing, I associate "fakery" (whether in appearance, in character or personality, or in life history) with presenting yourself as something you're not. No, I'm not a woman, for sure. But I am a man who needs to be
like a woman. This is a need, not a whim. The only way for me to do that is by "accessorizing" (in the sense I used the word above).
The other reason I "change into CJ" is a little more complicated and I've been debating with myself about this for most of my adult life; it has to do with my own way of dealing with who I am--especially as a gender-variant person. There's a very powerful Stoic streak in me and there always has been. Here, I use the word "Stoic" in its classical sense of "one who finds happiness in living 'in accordance with nature' and who has the ability of not fretting about those things over which he or she has no control." And there's the rub. It's a difficult thing to do, figuring out what my "nature" is, so that I may best live in accordance with it. I have no real control over the fact that I'm gender-variant. In my entire life, it was always a given. Always. At some point, I came to an "existential" fork (one of many in my life): either I view myself as a man--as a male person--with a more or less "off" gender identity and accept that nature (or "nurture" or whatever the "etiology of the day" happens to be) made me thus and thus I must live with it, or I view myself as a gender-variant person who happens to be male--and, of course, this gender-variant person that I am is no less a product of nature or nurture--and must then learn to live with the fact that I'm gender-variant more so than with the fact that I'm male. I chose (and still choose) the latter. I know that Loretta, for one, has brought up this very issue at different times and in different ways and I've found the discussions generated by her posts on the subject to be some of the most fascinating, enlightening, and fruitful ones on the forum.
Having said all this, and for the very reasons mentioned in the last few sentences above, I choose to appear the way I do--to let "Christina" flower--as a way of aligning myself more truly with who I believe myself to be. I may need fake nails and wigs in order to do so, but there's very little "fakery" involved. When, like Ethel Merman, I sing, "I just gotta be me!" I'm constantly aware that this "me" I sing of is not the male me others around me see but the gender-variant me that too long has remained hidden from others because of fear and sorrow.
If we can suppose that God doesn't make mistakes (again, Psalm 139); if we can suppose there's a link between genetics (or endocrinology or neurophysiology) and behaviour; if we can suppose there's a cause-and-effect chain between early upbringing and adulthood personality or character; then, we can also suppose that we are who we are--that I am who I am--for some reason. And I intend, for the sake of my own happiness, to live in accordance with that reason, to not stray too far from my "true self" (for example, by repressing my need to relate to others as a woman).
What does all this have to do with Alice Ripley's nasogenian fold? Simply this: we sometimes choose to alter our bodies (permanently or otherwise) so that others may see us as we see ourselves. This is not fakery. It's truth. Though Alice Ripley may have a face that, to some, may look like a man's, my guess is that she doesn't feel any pressing need to alter it because the truth of who she is no doubt comes out in her professional life, through the songs she writes and sings and through the roles she plays up there on the stage. She has a broad range of possible (and socially acceptable) means of self-expression, one that many of us cannot lay claim to (with the possible exception of our good miss Anita, out there in California).
I used to be ambivalent about plastic surgery, for example. Why, oh why, I'd ask people who've undergone such invasive and traumatic procedures, can you not learn to live with who you are? The risks (not to mention the dollar amounts) seemed incredibly high, to me. Over the last couple of years, though, I've come to realize just how powerful this need is that we have to let others see us the way we see ourselves. Not because we're vain (although we
can be); not because we're insecure (although we can be
that, too); nor even because we lack the strength or courage to tend to our own "inner life" rather than to our "outer" one (although that's a distinct possibility as well). No, we need to let others see us the way we see ourselves so that we may know and feel in our very bones that we're relating to those others in as true a manner as it's possible for us to do. Yes, there's a hidden premise, here, and it's this: relating to others authentically--from the truth of who we are--is good for our mental health (and, Elizabeth, you can chime in any time you want, here). Ultimately, it's good for the health of others as well--even if it means that those others are then free to go elsewhere and be themselves should they not want to be with, or to relate to, us.
Anyway, here I go again, blathering on.

I have too much time on my hands, I guess. Man, I should be crossdressing right now!
Love,
CJ