the Boy Tit Finale Summer Collection

5 many ways to fight v2 FOR WEB

Dear Boy Tits,

I love you dearly and yet it’s time for us to part. These outfits are my dedication to you: fashioned from thrift store tugs of war with old ladies, raiding my partner’s closet and crossing back and forth between gender segregated clothing aisles.

15 you are beautiful FOR WEB

Every single moment of the last thirty seven years you’ve stayed loyally by my side (or at my front, as it were). You’ve cushioned my heart from many blows and boyantly helped me stay afloat through stormy years. We’ve played many a silly game together, like pretending you’re puppets talking with each other, or bouncing you up and down until you slap each other on the back like old men at the bar.

8 make your own party FOR WEB

I know it’s not your fault that this gender confused world has mis-read me as a woman because of you. There’s actually nothing about you that means girl or boy or anything in particular. It’s just that I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s chest, and even though it’s a gorgeous chest, it’s doesn’t feel like mine.

20 wear it however you want FOR WEBSo, it’s time for us to part, but please know that you are stunning and sexy and loveable. Many another boy or girl or genderqueer would be lucky to have you that close to their heart.

All my love, Sunny

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Thanks to Tania Anderson, the incredible photographer, Janet Vu for the David Bowie makeup, (m)-elly niotakis for being the first to suggest a David Bowie concept and Chanelle Gallant and Afi Browne for letting me raid their closets for accessories & those stunning zebra print boots, and Leanne for use of her space.

—  A retrospective of other Boy Tit related posts: —

boy tits photo B&WBoy Tits in the Locker-room

I’ve recently started taking my shirt and binder/sports bra off in the men’s locker room. It didn’t begin from a desire to flash my boy tits around, rather that I was fed up with the incredibly awkward configurations I used to twist my clothes in to hide these bouncy little babies. Moreover, I was incredibly bored by transphobia and cis-sexism*. Read more…

boy muff photo b&wBoy Muff in the Public Pool: this budgie will not be smuggled

I’m busy preparing my boy-muff for a swim in the local public pool after I was inspired by a letter I received from a trans woman in response to my recent article… Read More

 

article-1166157-0433AC7F000005DC-43_634x357National Security Threat: Boy Tits at the Airport

The sagging sagas of the boy tits continue… I’m on tour in the USA and it seems the new body scan machine has replaced the old metal detector Xray machine in most US airports. For the second time this week, my boy tits raised the alarm on the body scanner. Read more…

Fur edited Sunny2Boy Tits take on the Summer

With the change of seasons I noticed myself starting to angst over the thought of another summer wearing a sweaty binder[1]. A titillating thought: as this will be the last summer I have boy tits before chest surgery in October, why not bust out of the binary and give them the flamboyant good-boobye they deserve?! They are, after all, a beautiful part of my body that I love and want to celebrate. Read more…

Some other popular blog articles:

Racism is to White People, as Wind is to the Sky

Femme Ally Conversation Starter

2 articles on sobriety: Wet >< Dry and The Brandy is Just for the Zit in My Throat

Like Sunny Drake on facebook, follow on Twitter or instagram, connect on Linkedin

Check out video, photos, theatre shows and workshops on Sunny’s website

 

Boy Tits take on the Summer

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With the change of seasons I noticed myself starting to angst over the thought of another summer wearing a sweaty binder[1]. A titillating thought: as this will be the last summer I have boy tits before chest surgery in October, why not bust out of the binary and give them the flamboyant good-boobye they deserve?! They are, after all, a beautiful part of my body that I love and want to celebrate.

So if I love my boy tits, why chop them off?

The easiest way I can explain is to tell you about the turquoise green corduroy pants that I wore ever day in my early 20s. I don’t even remember where I found them. Certainly not in a shop, I used to hate shopping. The clothes I liked never fit my body shape. Plus the shop assistants used to be weird with me because I was frequently shopping in the “wrong” gender section. Clothes just sort of found me and I’d wear them day in, day out, until I stumbled upon the next outfit. So, the corduroy pants lived on me for several years. First they were a little too long. I was terrible at sewing so after I tried taking them up, they became a little too short. They had 2 pleats at the top which looked awful (it was no longer the 80s) so I used to wear long shirts over the top to hide them.

I didn’t particularly like the pants, but they worked. They clothed me and kept me warm. The pockets fit a lot of handy things. We went on adventures and had the best and worst times together. We climbed trees together. Wrote poetry. Rode across Australia on a bicycle. Protested uranium mines and logging of old growth forests. They comforted me through the heartbreak of being secretly in love with my best friend (actually, three best friends in a row!). With all this history and familiarity I was very fond of the pants, even though they didn’t fit me very well.

A few years later, for the first time instead of battling the stores or the whims of the clothes that found me, I saved up and had a friend custom make me a pair of pants. They were brown pin striped pants fitted at the top and slightly belled at the bottom with very cute quirky pockets. I LOVED them! I felt so good in them! They fit me perfectly. I felt like me in them. (Well “me” back then – how my fashion has changed – femme transformation!). So I lovingly gave away the corduroy pants to someone who liked them better than I had. I didn’t feel any malice towards them, even though I wish I’d realised sooner I could have the pin striped pants.

Similarly, it’s not that I hate my boy tits. They’ve given me a lot of pleasure. We’ve had some great times together. They’ve cushioned my heart from many blows. They’ve buoyantly helped me stay afloat when I may otherwise have drowned. I love playing silly games with them like pretending they’re puppets talking with each other, or bouncing them up and down until they slap each other on the back like old men at the bar. Every single moment of the last 37 years they’ve stayed loyally by my side (or at my front as it were).

And so I love them. Yet I don’t particularly like them. I feel self conscious about them, although more so in clothing than naked. I’ve felt betrayed by them on many occasions, although I know it’s not their fault that this gender confused world mis-read me because of them. Some days it’s like I’m wearing someone else’s chest, and even though it’s a gorgeous chest, it’s doesn’t really feel like mine.

This sense of loving and not liking my chest may seem like a contradiction, but only if viewed through a cisgendered (non-trans) lens. From a trans* perspective, it’s very normal (and not necessarily even a bad thing) to have conflicting feelings about my body. And in fact many non-trans people have differing feelings about their bodies too, it’s just they’re not accused of being confused or gender dysphoric as a result.

Like the pin striped pants, there’s a chest that would fit me better, and that’s the one I will co-create with the surgeon in October. If I could give away my boy tits like I did my corduroy pants, I would, because I’m sure they’d look lovely on some other boy or girl or genderqueer.

(Please note: just because I have a less-commonly-told relationship with my chest, it doesn’t mean that I am more radical or evolved than trans people who have more animosity towards their bodies. EVERY way a trans* person feels about their body is totally valid. I’m sharing my experience to expand the array of ideas about trans* bodies.)

So, this summer is my boy tits’ farewell tour and I intend on giving them the decadent finale they deserve. I’m in the process of designing my BTFSC (Boy Tit Finale Summer Collection). I’ve been experimenting with outfits fashioned from raiding my partner’s closet and thrift store tugs of war with old ladies. At the heart of the collection will be a sumptuous assortment of open blouses crafted to showcase slithers of sexy boy tit hugged to my heart with belts, stockings or colourful duct tape (folded over so I don’t get an accidental waxing). Yes, summer be warned: these boy tits are intent on causing a total eclipse this season.

Outfit in Photo: thanks to Chanelle for letting me raid her closet for this fur shrug and polka dot belt.

[1] For those of you not familiar with trans* stuff, a binder is something that hugs my boy tits to my chest so they are a little flatter.

Some other popular blog articles:

Racism is to White People, as Wind is to the Sky

Femme Ally Conversation Starter

Boy Tits in the Locker-room

the Boy Tit Finale Summer Collection

2 articles on sobriety: Wet >< Dry and The Brandy is Just for the Zit in My Throat

Like Sunny Drake on facebook, follow on Twitter or instagram, connect on Linkedin

Check out video, photos, theatre shows and workshops on Sunny’s website