Power Dressing

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Parts 1-3| Part 4|Part 5|Part 6|Part 7|Part 8|Part 9|Part 10|Part 11

Chapter One

He was lying on the divan, reading a magazine. Outside the wind roared and the rain lashed the windows. Opposite him on the matching divan, his older sister was doing likewise. He looked up from the magazine and observed her. She was, he knew, a beautiful looking young woman. Right now, less so. Her thick blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail. She wore no makeup. Her clothing consisted of a loose fitting black sweat shirt and jeans with not-quite-clean sports shoes. He was almost identically dressed except that his sweat shirt was blue. His hair was almost the same colour and not very much shorter.

"Chris?"

"Uh huh." She did not look up from her magazine.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"I mean seriously?"

She glanced across at him and dropped the magazine onto her tummy.

"Okay. What?"

"Would you wear this outfit?"

He held up a full page photograph of a model wearing a man-style pin stripe suit, white shirt and tie with black oxford shoes with a heel. Beneath it the caption said"

"His clothes for you." in bold lettering.

"Sure. Love it. Why not?"

"Why?"

"Why would I wear such an outfit?"

"Yes."

"Because it's smart, stylish..." She laughed. "It's today's power dressing."

"Why is it called that?"

She half turned onto her side. "I think because it's competitive. With men. It makes a statement."

"Uh huh. But you wouldn't be trying to look like man. I mean this girl still wears make-up and her hair is styled."

"Sure."

"So this same girl can wear this to work or around town and come home at night and get into a pretty dress and high heels and have a totally different look?"

"Yes."

"Or take off the suit and dress like you are now which, I might add, is exactly the same way I'm dressed."

"Yes. What's your point?"

"It's not exactly sexual equality is it?"

"How do you mean?"

"This ad down the bottom of the page says, his clothes for you. I don't think we're likely to see a lot of ads in men's magazines which say her clothes for you."

"No. I guess not."

"So what I'm saying is you can dress in a man's suit or even a sweat shirt and jeans and it's perfectly okay but I can't put on a dress and high heels and get away with it."

"It's not man's suit."

"What's the difference?"

"The cut for a start."

"You're splitting straws. You know what I mean."

"Sure. Okay. Yes I guess it's a bit one sided." She grinned. "Why do you ask? Do you want to put on a dress and high heels?"

"No. That's not the point. I'm saying it's not even possible."

"Of course it is."

"No. Society wouldn't cop me in a dress."

"Girls wearing a suit like that aren't trying to BE men. It's a style."

"But you said yourself it's called power dressing. To be competitive. To have power. The power men supposedly have."

"Yes that's part of what it's about. But if we wanted to look like men we'd have to leave off the make up and change the hair style. No one's pretending."

"No I know. Although the way I see it you can do that too and no one's going to condemn you for it. But let's just say that I didn't try to change my appearance either. I was still obviously a male but I put on an outfit of your clothes. I'd be ridiculed to kingdom come. It would be the absolute opposite of power dressing."

His sister swung her legs off the divan and cupped her chin in her hands.

"I guess so."

"I think you have the power both ways. If you dress to impress in the business world you are striving for an equal image with men. Making a statement that you an do anything they can do, that you are competent and strong, And then you dress in a pretty dress and makeup and heels and everything and you have the power in that men go ga-ga and fall about over you."

She laughed. "Not always."

"No but as a general rule. Even if you're not Cindy Crawford. Makeup and sexy clothes definitely have power."

"Okay, I agree. But you have that kind of power too."

"Noooo. No woman goes ga-ga over males like the reverse."

"Oh yes they do, little brother. But maybe not so obviously. I've seen the way girls look at you."

"I doubt it. But to get back to it. What I'm saying is.....look. Take a walk around the city at lunch time. There are men everywhere all looking as though they are wearing uniform. All in drab suits and ties. But women can wear a suit. or a dress, black or bright red or anything in between. Go to a formal function somewhere. The guys are wearing black tuxedos or dinner suits, the women... well if two women wear the same dress they want to kill each other. I'm just saying that if that is equality it seems a bit far fetched to me."

"But men don't want to wear dresses and flower prints."

"How do you know that? That's an assumption. I reckon we dress because of role conditioning and societal pressures."

"Things have changed through. You can wear your hair long. You have a pink shirt. You wear cologne."

"It's a far cry."

"Why do you wear your hair long then as a matter of interest?"

"Because I like it long."

"That's not an answer. WHY do you like it long?"

He thought for a moment. "I'm not sure I know."

"Because it's feminine?"

"No."

"Because the girls like it?"

"Maybe."

"Tell you what. Since you're on the subject. Right now the only thing that differentiates you and me, dressed the way we are, is that you don't have bumps on your chest."

"So?"

"I'm saying that if you did and if you put some lipstick and you and I went down the street no one would know whether you were a girl or a boy."

"Maybe but that's because you're dressed like me not because I'm dressed like you."

"Okay, say we reversed the situation. I go out like this, exactly as I am. You throw on a skirt and blouse and lipstick. Who's the girl and who's the boy?"

"From the back, I'm the girl. But from the front you still have bumps."

She stood up and looked down. "Not so's you'd notice. Want some coffee?"

"Sure. But I'm not through yet."

"That's okay. Talk to me."

It was an unusual situation. He didn't often talk this way. Any way. She was enjoying it.

He stood up and followed her into the small kitchen. She filled an electric jug with water and switched it on. She turned to him smiling.

"All this over a fashion ad."

"I'd not angry about it, Chris. I mean I'm in favour of women's rights and all that feminist stuff. I just think it's a bit one sided."

"If you saw it from my point of view you might think differently."

"In what way?"

"Okay. The sexist thing. Sure some women want to make it in a so called man's world and, sure, some of them try to compete even in the way they look. But the real point here is that it is a disadvantage for a woman to go to work looking pretty and sexy in short skirts and high heels and all that because men don't take them seriously then. They see them as sex objects. Don't say you don't ogle girls. I've seen you."

"Yes I do but..."

"Don't say that's irrelevant. It's not. You're talking about pass-by ogling, I know, but it's not so different. Imagine you're the girl. It's not just you who's looking at her. It's most males. And when you are in an office situation some males stare all day."

"Don't you invite that?"

"Me?"

"Yes you. But lots of girls and women. The way you dress. Don't you dress to appeal to men?"

"Oh God. Yes sometimes, I suppose. It's barely even a conscious thing. But not always. Sometimes we just dress pretty because we feel pretty."

"That's one of my points. You can do that. We can't. Tell me something. Do your clothes feel pretty?"

"The pretty ones? Yes. That's part of the mood. Right now I just feel like lounging around. I don't much care what I look like so I don't feel any different from you in what I'm wearing I guess. But soft, flowing materials, and swirling skirts feel nice, yes."

The jug began boiling and she spooned coffee into mugs and poured water into them. He took the proferred mug from her and they returned to the living room.

"Where are you going with this?" she asked.

He laughed. "I don't know now. I might have lost the plot."

"Maybe not. You're feeling aggrieved because you think we have all the advantages."

"Not all but some, yes."

"So when a woman dresses up pretty and meets some guy who goes ga-ga - your words - and she marries him and they have two kids and he goes to the club or the pub every night and gets pissed and comes home and argues and maybe beats her we still have all the advantages?"

He held the cup in the his hands and looked down at it for a moment.

"No not then, of course."

"Or when she gets older and doesn't look so pretty anymore and he meets some young spunk on the make and goes off with her, we still have the advantages?"

"No, not then either."

"So! When?"

"When those things don't happen."

"They happen a lot, Steve."

"I guess."

He was thinking, and he knew she would have known this, of their own parents. Their father off with a twenty two year old when he was forty. Their mother dead from a bone marrow cancer three years later at the age of thirty nine, very likely brought on by the stress of being abandoned.

"I know all that," he said. "I know those things happen and they shouldn't. But sometimes I feel - disadvantaged too."

"In what way?"

"The way's I've been describing. It just jumped into my head that this girl..." he pointed to the magazine on the floor, "..., you for that matter, can be as masculine as you like and no one turns a hair but if I dared to be feminine I'd be crucified."

"Not by me. In some ways you already are."

He lifted his head.

"How do you mean?"

"Hmmmm. Okay. You're gentle, not a macho artist. You're pretty..."

"Pretty!"

"Yes, pretty. That's one step above handsome. Take a look in that magazine you were looking at. Near the back. Where they feature the guy's stuff."

He picked it up and found the pages.

"Are they not pretty?"

"I guess so."

"You think Adonis wasn't pretty? When someone refers to a guy as being an Adonis sure they mean handsome, but some jutting jawed footballers are handsome too. Pretty is pretty. Softer. You're pretty."

"Thank you - I think."

"You have a lithe, slim body which you move gracefully. You have a neat, tidy mind which shows in the way you care for yourself and your possessions. In those ways you're feminine. Not effeminate, mind you. Feminine. Come over here for a minute. Let's try something."

He crossed and sat beside her. She randomly opened the magazine she had been reading - Mode - and turned some pages.

"If you're not big on the suit tell me what you do like."

"I don't actually mind the suit. I mean I like other things better but it's the principal."

"Okay but tell me anyway."

"Love that." he said.

She had stopped at a page which showed a model in a black short skirt, not too short, yellow cropped jacket with black piping trim, long sleeves, black stockings, medium heeled courts.

"Hmmm so do I. Why?"

"Classy, feminine, colourful."

"Yep, I agree,"

She turned more pages.

"That?"

"Oh yes."

Linda Evangelista in a silver cocktail dress, deep vee neck, narrow shoulders straps, fitted bodice, flared knee length skirt, silver ankle strap sandals.

"You have good taste.What does that do to you?"

Opposite page. Two girls on a beach, running towards each other, smiling, about to embrace.

"What does it do? Well it makes me wonder again. If that was two guys it would only be published if it was in a gay magazine. Yet we're not supposed to think the girls are gay. Just that they can kiss each other and hug each other and it's expected."

"And you can't do that?"

"No."

"Right. Do you want to?"

"I'd like to have the option. Without being ridiculed."

She continued through the magazine.

"Ah ha! What about that?"

The headline said: Yes, women do like to wear the pants.

"Good point," he said. "It's what I'm saying. I have no problem with women wearing pants. Its THE pants I have a problem with. There's a statement being made."

"Okay."

She leaved on.

"That?"

"Oh God, it's divine."

She glanced at him.

"Divine?"

He blushed.

Black, crepe dress, above the knee, fitted, a panel of lace around the mid-riff, sleeveless.

"I've got one like it."

"I know."

She kept on. He stopped her.

"Pretty bra," he said.

Burgundy, lace, underwired.

"Or tits?"

"Sure but the packaging is nice too."

"Uh huh."

A full page advertisement for Ewaldo showed three women. On the left, short black skirt, black and white loose top, with red cape jacket over. In the centre, short black skirt, fake ocelot jacket. On the right. red short skirt, red long sleeved double breasted jacket. All in black stockings and black, high fashion, three inch heels.

"I really like all of those," he said. "I think that's power dressing. It's sort of sexy but not too obvious. Very classy."

"Okay." She put the magazine aside. "What do you like about girls?"

"Girl type girls. Make up, high heels, skirts, pretty hair, long for preference."

"Well we have very similar tastes I think. But girl type girls aren't always in makeup and high heels."

"I know that. That's exactly what I'm saying. You can dress as you like. I...we can't. Not to the same extent anyway. I have to look like a boy - you can look like anything you want."

She sighed.

"I guess. She stared at him across the space between them.

"You know we're very alike actually. There's no doubt we're brother and sister. But we could be sisters."

"Oh no. You're kidding."

"No, I'm not kidding. I said it before, Give you some bumps on your chest and a little make up and you and I could go walking down the street and no one doubt you were a girl. The differences are very subtle."

"Really?"

"Sure. You're blind or in denial if you can't see that. If I got you into a dress and heels and went to work on your face you'd make a very pretty girl."

"True?"

"True. Wanna try?" She grinned impishly.

"No." He was silent a moment. "But that's kind of what I'm saying. Just say I felt like being....pretty. I don't know how to describe that but you said it earlier. When you want to feel pretty. All you do is go and take off your jeans and sweat shirt and put on something slinky and a dress and stockings and high heels and do your face and bingo, pretty girl, soft and feminine. We can't do that. I can't do that."

"Yes you can."

"No I can't. How can I?"

"Some guys can't. Not without a hell of a lot of trouble. But you can. If you did exactly what you just said you'd be a pretty girl too. No one would know the difference."

"Bullshit."

"Not bullshit. You're not challenging me are you?"

"You mean...?"

"I mean what I said. A dress, the trimmings, makeup, hair brushed. No one would know you were not a girl."

"I'm not sure I believe you but then again I cant see why I have doubts. I mean...if you say so."

"Why don't we prove the point?"

He looked at her closely for some moments. She was not laughing, even with her eyes. She was serious but interested.

"How about it?"

"I'd feel silly."

"With just me? That's nonsense. But you'd have to give yourself over to me for an hour or so. I mean I wouldn't want to lose this challenge. But if you feel awkward about wearing a dress, I'll do a deal with you. The girl in the suit that started this business. You've got a navy suit. I'll bet that I can make you look just like her. Let's try some power dressing on you."

Another moment's hesitation. "All right, you're on."

"Come on then, get out your suit and a white shirt and any tie you like and bring them to my room."

Chapter 2

He didn’t really feel any different overall. Except for the unfamiliar tug of the bra straps and the pinch and snug fit of the high heels. And perhaps the slinky feel of the pantyhose. But he looked so different he could barely believe it. Suit or no suit. She had plucked his eyebrows which worried him because he felt sure it would be noticeable. Nothing else couldnÕt be reversed. His hair was essentially the same but parted differently and brushed out a little differently. It was the makeup that made the real difference. He’d shaved very closely as she requested but, at seventeen, he didn’t have that much facial hair anyway. Then she’d used foundation, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, blusher and lipstick. And, boy oh boy, what a change. He could no longer doubt that she was right. He looked exactly like a girl. It intrigued him that his girl image was so attractive. He looked exactly like Christine. And he knew very well that Christine was, well, beautiful.

Was he...beautiful?

She moved into his line of sight in the mirror. She had a smug look on her face.

“Well?”

“Oh you win, don’t worry. But I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“I told you. You’re very pretty.”

“I don’t know how I should feel about this.”

“Well how do you feel?Ó

“Hmmm. Flattered in some way. I think I look pretty darn good.”

“You do. You do.” He caught her eyes in the mirror and they were sparkling. She looked very pleased.

“I’m still not sure I like the suit any more than I did in the magazine.”

“Want to try something else?”

“You mean...?”

“I mean a dress?”
“Oh no. You’ve proved your point.”

“Go on. Get the feel as well. A slip and dress feel very different from pants.”

“Weeelll...”
“Come on. Take off your suit and shirt.”

He was doing it before he realized. Down to the bra, her panties, the black, sheer pantyhose and heels he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again and he still looked like a girl. She gave him a black nylon satin slip and he put it on and then over it a simple black, straight skirted, short sleeved dress. She closed the rear zipper. The skirt was short, about four inches above the knee.

“Look again,” she said, smiling broadly.

He returned to the mirror.

“Oh shit!” He said it quite loudly with his breath held.

“You look scrumptious. Wait.”

She brought a single strand of pearls and a pair of pearl earrings and fitted them as he stood there.

“Do you like it?”

“Well. I mean...”

“Do you like it?” she persisted.

“I can’t say exactly...”

“Do you like it?” she insisted.

He sighed. “Yes. I guess. I...do look like you. I suppose I like what I look like.”

“You look lovely. Adorable.” He was looking at himself and watching her. She had her hands clasped together. Her eyes were shining bright.

“Suddenly I have a sister. How wonderful.”

He didn’t say anything. He couldnÕt say anything.

“Oh take it off. I want you to try something.”

She unzipped him and he shrugged off the black dress. She brought out a red jersey sleeveless dress and he stepped into it and she drew it over his shoulders. The skirt was also short but flared. He was more or less still in front of the mirror. The dress looked great on him. There was no point in denying it.

“And this.”

His sister appeared beside him with a green silk shantung, straight dress with elbow length sleeves and a vee neck. He removed the red dress and slipped on the green.

“Oh I love it. You look great.”

Another short skirt. Shorter. His legs looked terrific.

“Move for me. Walk across the room and back.”

He did so. The shoes were unusual but, somehow he managed.

“Know what I mean now? By the feel?”

“Yes.”

And he did. The material of the dress flowed over the slip, over his thighs. The nylon satin of the slip slipped sensuously over the nylon of the stockings. Nothing he had ever worn before felt vaguely like it. His lips were sticky from the lipstick. His eyelids felt heavy from the mascara. He looked down along his body and he had the bumps. Padding in the bra cups. His mouth felt dry. Adrenalin was flowing. he went back to the mirror and took another look. His sister watched. He stepped back and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. The skirt rode and thighs flashed.

“What’s wrong?’ Christine asked.

“Nothing. I don't know. I feel strange.”

“How?”

“I think...I was reading through that magazine. Elle. Even before I came across that ad I was...envious.”

“Envious?”

“Yes. Then I saw the model in the suit. I just felt a moment of anger. That she could wear a suit like mine but I could never wear a dress like...she could also wear.”

“You wanted to wear a dress?”

“Not exactly, I think. It never occurred to me. I was just envious that I couldn’t.”

“Same thing.”

“Not exactly.”

She laughed a soft laugh. “We could have short-cut all that talk.”

“No we couldn’t. I didn’t know what I’d look like in a dress. Until... until just now.”

She put her hands out and took his in hers and drew him up to his feet. She put her arms around him and held him.

“You want to be my sister sometimes?” she asked in the softest voice.

“Oh Chris, no. I’m not a girl.”

“Okay. But think about it. I think it would be nice.”

Chapter 3

Christine Branigan snuggled into her bed while the rain lashed around outside her window. She could hear the huge eucalyptus in the park opposite as it bent and swayed against the powerful wind. The anger of the storm and tempest outdoors contrasted with her own feelings of pleasure and happiness. In fact, she settled into bed with something akin to glee in her heart.

Over a period of a couple of hours she had tried over a dozen dresses, outfits and shoes on her brother and watched him move from doubt to acceptance and, finally, to what she thought she saw as delight.

She loved her brother. She also liked him. But they had always suffered a less than intimate relationship, primarily, she believed because he was a boy and she was a girl and they had nothing in common. In a sense she had been his guardian since the death of their mother three years ago when she was sixteen. She and her mother had been more like sisters than mother and daughter and she missed her terribly. As, indeed, she knew Steve did although he never mentioned her. At both the childrenís and their fatherís wishes he was out of their lives. He had left - run-off-with - his personal assistant when they were twelve and ten respectively. They had inherited the house and a small cash account from their mother and maintenance of about a thousand a week from their father.

She was pleased and relieved when Steve accepted his role in their joint tenancy and learned to cook and do his own laundry and keep house and iron clothes - even hers sometimes. She had completed her hairdressing and beauty course and was earning good money now in her chosen field. Steve in his first year out of school was rather aimlessly packaging groceries at their local supermarket while he figured out what, if anything in particular, he wanted to do with his life.

The conversation had come out of the blue. And so philosophical. She had no idea. The longest they had ever spoken at a stretch before was about ten minutes. The direction it had taken interested her. In an hour she learned more about her brother than she had in their previous sixteen years together. That he had a brian; that he was contemplative; that he had an interest in gender roles. She already knew he was a gentle and sensitive boy. He had not, to her knowledge, ever dated but it she was sure he was not gay. He liked girls. She knew he read her fashion magazines so she guessed he had some interest in female fashion. Unless he was just perving on the models.

Christine dated but she didn't much enjoy the company of the so called manly, footballer types and the academics were mostly nerdy. She spent most of her social time with her best friend, Sylvia, a year older who also worked in the beauty industry at an opposition salon. Christine had always wished she had a sister and the more so since the loss of her mother. She loved girl-talk, shopping, soppy movies. At home she always felt lonely. Until today.

When she first suggested Steve try her clothes she was joking and his reaction was predictable. But by the time she suggested it a second time she was serious and she had this vague idea he might agree. Still it was a surprise when he did. And then....He looked so great, so perfectly feminine, so attractive. Something registered in her mind. Never in a thousand years would she be able to explain why she had this immediate perception that he was enjoying what he was doing. But the moment she did it dawned on her there was a possibility here...someone to share with. A sister? A surrogate sister? When he almost agreed he might like to dress this way again she was overjoyed.

She hunkered down into her bed and eased off into sleep.

Don't Miss Part Two of Power Dressing Next Month!