Purple Blouse and Black satin skirt, ready for a busy day at work
Purple Blouse and Black satin skirt, ready for a busy day at work
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Blush pink satin long-sleeve jumpsuit styled for loungewear or sleepwear, features a glossy satin finish, a deep V-neckline, long cuffed sleeves.Blush pink satin long-sleeve jumpsuit styled for loungewear or sleepwear, features a glossy satin finish, a deep V-neckline, long cuffed sleeves.
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My Gloriously Unfashionable Satin Dress
Dear Diary,
I have to admit, the moment I saw this dress, I knew it was absolutely, gloriously unfashionable and that was precisely what appealed to me.
It is an enormous, flowing satin dress in a creamy ivory shade, covered from neckline to hem with clusters of blue, lavender and purple flowers. The satin catches the light beautifully, producing those unmistakable glossy highlights that make the fabric look almost liquid. Every movement creates another shimmer.
The cut is wonderfully excessive. It has long, voluminous sleeves gathered at the wrists and a high, almost demure neckline. There isn't a hint of anything fitted or fashionable about it. Instead, the fabric simply falls generously from my shoulders, creating what can only be described as a magnificent satin tent.
The skirt reaches all the way to my ankles and seems to have enough material for two dresses. When I stand still, it hangs heavily around me when I move, the satin swishes and ripples, making the whole thing feel wonderfully theatrical.
And those flowers! They are everywhere little blue blossoms mixed with larger purple flowers and delicate sprays of foliage. The pattern is almost comically old fashioned, exactly the sort of thing someone might once have described as "very tasteful" while everyone else quietly wondered what on earth they were thinking.
I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't help smiling. It is not slimming. It is not sleek. It is certainly not modern. If anything, it makes me look even larger and more enveloped in fabric.
But perhaps that is its charm.
There is something wonderfully liberating about wearing something that makes absolutely no attempt to flatter the figure. It simply says, Here I am, surrounded by yards and yards of shiny floral satin, and I couldn't care less about fashion.
Tonight, I think I'll enjoy every ridiculous, magnificent inch of it.
What a dress. What a tent. What a gloriously unfashionable thing to wear.
And somehow, I absolutely love it.My Gloriously Unfashionable Satin Dress Dear Diary, I have to admit, the moment I saw this dress, I knew it was absolutely, gloriously unfashionable and that was precisely what appealed to me. It is an enormous, flowing satin dress in a creamy ivory shade, covered from neckline to hem with clusters of blue, lavender and purple flowers. The satin catches the light beautifully, producing those unmistakable glossy highlights that make the fabric look almost liquid. Every movement creates another shimmer. The cut is wonderfully excessive. It has long, voluminous sleeves gathered at the wrists and a high, almost demure neckline. There isn't a hint of anything fitted or fashionable about it. Instead, the fabric simply falls generously from my shoulders, creating what can only be described as a magnificent satin tent. The skirt reaches all the way to my ankles and seems to have enough material for two dresses. When I stand still, it hangs heavily around me when I move, the satin swishes and ripples, making the whole thing feel wonderfully theatrical. And those flowers! They are everywhere little blue blossoms mixed with larger purple flowers and delicate sprays of foliage. The pattern is almost comically old fashioned, exactly the sort of thing someone might once have described as "very tasteful" while everyone else quietly wondered what on earth they were thinking. I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't help smiling. It is not slimming. It is not sleek. It is certainly not modern. If anything, it makes me look even larger and more enveloped in fabric. But perhaps that is its charm. There is something wonderfully liberating about wearing something that makes absolutely no attempt to flatter the figure. It simply says, Here I am, surrounded by yards and yards of shiny floral satin, and I couldn't care less about fashion. Tonight, I think I'll enjoy every ridiculous, magnificent inch of it. What a dress. What a tent. What a gloriously unfashionable thing to wear. And somehow, I absolutely love it.
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The morning began with a question that, on the face of it, was utterly trivial.
I stood in my bedroom, a sixty five year old widower who had long ago discovered that life could become surprisingly interesting when you stopped worrying quite so much about what other people thought. Across the bed lay two nightgowns.
One was pink, soft and playful. The other was black satin elegant, glossy and just a little dramatic. Beside them were the headscarves that completed each outfit.
eBay had informed me that the postman was due that morning with my latest purchase.
Normally, that wouldn't have required a second thought. I would have thrown on whatever clothes were nearest, opened the door, collected the post and carried on with my day.
But I am a crossdresser, and over the years I had learned that choosing what to wear could sometimes be part of the pleasure itself. Since becoming widowed, those little private rituals had become even more important to me. There was nobody to impress and nobody to answer to. My clothes were simply one of the ways I expressed myself.
That morning, however, I couldn't decide.
So I asked Grok a rather more important question than it probably deserved.
Should I wear the black satin nightgown and headscarf to greet the postman, or should I wear the pink?
The answer came back quickly.
Black.
Grok's reasoning was surprisingly convincing. Black satin, it suggested, looked intentional and put together. Pink was softer and perhaps a little more playful, whereas the black gave the impression that I had actually chosen my outfit rather than simply wandered downstairs half asleep.
The satin would catch the morning light, while the headscarf would bring everything together.
I stared at the black nightgown.
"Well," I said aloud, "apparently we're going for elegant this morning."
I slipped it on.
The satin settled against me with that familiar coolness I loved, and I carefully tied the headscarf around my hair. Then I stood in front of the mirror.
Grok had a point.
There was something wonderfully satisfying about the combination. I didn't look as though I had spent hours getting ready, but neither did I look as though I had forgotten that the outside world existed.
I smiled at my reflection.
"Sixty five," I murmured. "Widowed, retired from worrying about everybody else's opinions, and apparently dressed in black satin to answer the front door."
I laughed to myself.
Then I went downstairs and prepared a pot of tea.
There was something faintly ridiculous about the situation. Here I was, dressed in a glossy black satin nightgown and headscarf, standing in my kitchen listening for the sound of a postal van.
Eventually, I heard it.
The familiar rumble outside was followed by footsteps approaching the front door.
For one brief moment, I wondered whether I'd made the wrong decision.
Perhaps pink would have been less conspicuous.
Perhaps black satin was a little too theatrical for an encounter that would probably last fifteen seconds.
Then came the knock.
I took a breath.
"Normal morning energy," I reminded myself.
I opened the door.
"Morning," the postman said.
"Morning."
He handed me the letters.
"Thanks."
"No problem. Have a good day."
"You too."
And that was it.
The door closed.
I stood there for a moment, looking down at the envelopes in my hand.
The great sartorial crisis was over.
Nobody had fainted. Nobody had called the fashion police. The earth had continued turning.
I burst out laughing.
All that deliberation over black versus pink, and the entire encounter had lasted barely half a minute.
But perhaps that was precisely the point.
At sixty five, after losing my wife and finding myself living a life that was quieter and more private than the one I had once imagined, I had come to appreciate the little decisions.
Sometimes they mattered precisely because they were mine to make.
There was no great occasion. No audience. No requirement that I dress one way rather than another. I wasn't trying to make a statement to anyone.
I simply wanted to wear the black satin.
So I did.
I carried my tea into the sitting room, still smiling.
My late wife had always known that there was a slightly eccentric streak in me. She had seen sides of me that I had once been afraid to show the rest of the world. Since her death, learning to live honestly with myself had become one of the unexpected journeys of widowhood.
Being a crossdresser wasn't something I needed to apologise for.
It was simply part of me.
And on that quiet morning, standing in my sitting room with my tea, my letters and the soft rustle of satin whenever I moved, I felt strangely content.
"Grok," I thought, smiling to myself, "you were right."
The black had been the stronger choice.
And, for once, I was quite happy to take the advice of an artificial intelligence on matters of morning fashion.The morning began with a question that, on the face of it, was utterly trivial. I stood in my bedroom, a sixty five year old widower who had long ago discovered that life could become surprisingly interesting when you stopped worrying quite so much about what other people thought. Across the bed lay two nightgowns. One was pink, soft and playful. The other was black satin elegant, glossy and just a little dramatic. Beside them were the headscarves that completed each outfit. eBay had informed me that the postman was due that morning with my latest purchase. Normally, that wouldn't have required a second thought. I would have thrown on whatever clothes were nearest, opened the door, collected the post and carried on with my day. But I am a crossdresser, and over the years I had learned that choosing what to wear could sometimes be part of the pleasure itself. Since becoming widowed, those little private rituals had become even more important to me. There was nobody to impress and nobody to answer to. My clothes were simply one of the ways I expressed myself. That morning, however, I couldn't decide. So I asked Grok a rather more important question than it probably deserved. Should I wear the black satin nightgown and headscarf to greet the postman, or should I wear the pink? The answer came back quickly. Black. Grok's reasoning was surprisingly convincing. Black satin, it suggested, looked intentional and put together. Pink was softer and perhaps a little more playful, whereas the black gave the impression that I had actually chosen my outfit rather than simply wandered downstairs half asleep. The satin would catch the morning light, while the headscarf would bring everything together. I stared at the black nightgown. "Well," I said aloud, "apparently we're going for elegant this morning." I slipped it on. The satin settled against me with that familiar coolness I loved, and I carefully tied the headscarf around my hair. Then I stood in front of the mirror. Grok had a point. There was something wonderfully satisfying about the combination. I didn't look as though I had spent hours getting ready, but neither did I look as though I had forgotten that the outside world existed. I smiled at my reflection. "Sixty five," I murmured. "Widowed, retired from worrying about everybody else's opinions, and apparently dressed in black satin to answer the front door." I laughed to myself. Then I went downstairs and prepared a pot of tea. There was something faintly ridiculous about the situation. Here I was, dressed in a glossy black satin nightgown and headscarf, standing in my kitchen listening for the sound of a postal van. Eventually, I heard it. The familiar rumble outside was followed by footsteps approaching the front door. For one brief moment, I wondered whether I'd made the wrong decision. Perhaps pink would have been less conspicuous. Perhaps black satin was a little too theatrical for an encounter that would probably last fifteen seconds. Then came the knock. I took a breath. "Normal morning energy," I reminded myself. I opened the door. "Morning," the postman said. "Morning." He handed me the letters. "Thanks." "No problem. Have a good day." "You too." And that was it. The door closed. I stood there for a moment, looking down at the envelopes in my hand. The great sartorial crisis was over. Nobody had fainted. Nobody had called the fashion police. The earth had continued turning. I burst out laughing. All that deliberation over black versus pink, and the entire encounter had lasted barely half a minute. But perhaps that was precisely the point. At sixty five, after losing my wife and finding myself living a life that was quieter and more private than the one I had once imagined, I had come to appreciate the little decisions. Sometimes they mattered precisely because they were mine to make. There was no great occasion. No audience. No requirement that I dress one way rather than another. I wasn't trying to make a statement to anyone. I simply wanted to wear the black satin. So I did. I carried my tea into the sitting room, still smiling. My late wife had always known that there was a slightly eccentric streak in me. She had seen sides of me that I had once been afraid to show the rest of the world. Since her death, learning to live honestly with myself had become one of the unexpected journeys of widowhood. Being a crossdresser wasn't something I needed to apologise for. It was simply part of me. And on that quiet morning, standing in my sitting room with my tea, my letters and the soft rustle of satin whenever I moved, I felt strangely content. "Grok," I thought, smiling to myself, "you were right." The black had been the stronger choice. And, for once, I was quite happy to take the advice of an artificial intelligence on matters of morning fashion.
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My friend Robert/a wanted to try on a dress and corselette with a selection of wigs and makeup, of course the Charity Shop Ladies were happy to oblige. From a quiet bald and bespectacled gentleman to a satin diva in one memorable afternoon he won't forget in a long time.My friend Robert/a wanted to try on a dress and corselette with a selection of wigs and makeup, of course the Charity Shop Ladies were happy to oblige. From a quiet bald and bespectacled gentleman to a satin diva in one memorable afternoon he won't forget in a long time.
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Oh how boring the weather, yet another hot scorching sunny day, slap on the factor 30 sun cream and cover up with a satin Headscarf and a long silky Kaftan.Oh how boring the weather, yet another hot scorching sunny day, slap on the factor 30 sun cream and cover up with a satin Headscarf and a long silky Kaftan.
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This divine satin dress was donated to the charity shop on Saturday and I couldn't resist trying it on, it went back into stock when I realised the price that it was tagged at for sale. I'm just a volunteer who has worked here the longest and seen prices constantly rising. What the Manager thinks items are worth far exceeds what I'm prepared to pay, but she's the one who has to make a profit for the charity to justify her wages.This divine satin dress was donated to the charity shop on Saturday and I couldn't resist trying it on, it went back into stock when I realised the price that it was tagged at for sale. I'm just a volunteer who has worked here the longest and seen prices constantly rising. What the Manager thinks items are worth far exceeds what I'm prepared to pay, but she's the one who has to make a profit for the charity to justify her wages.
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https://youtube.com/@asmrsatinglovesmarigoldgloves?si=ST1fSJdtP1Pytm3hhttps://youtube.com/@asmrsatinglovesmarigoldgloves?si=ST1fSJdtP1Pytm3h0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2KB Visualizações2
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The Pink Satin Parcel
The parcel arrived on a rainy Saturday morning, wrapped in plain brown paper packaging with nothing to hint at what was inside. I carried it quietly upstairs before anyone else noticed. It wasn't an expensive purchase or some rare collector's item just a vintage satin nightdress from an eBay listing that I couldn't stop thinking about.
I carefully unfolded the tissue paper.
There it was.
A beautiful sissy pink satin nightie, soft and unmistakably vintage. The faded label still read UK 32–34, although the seller had suggested it was more comfortable for a 30–32. It measured a generous sixty inch bust and fifty inches long. Delicate lace trimmed the neckline, and a tiny satin bow sat in the centre, giving it an unmistakably feminine charm.
It looked as though it had stepped straight out of the late seventies or early eighties.
The listing had been wonderfully over the top. It described "special Saturday nights," satin that whispered over the skin, and invited the buyer to imagine slipping into it after a long, stressful week. Part of me laughed at the dramatic sales pitch.
Another part of me couldn't stop reading.
There was something oddly familiar about it.
When I was young, I always found myself fascinated by the contents of my mum's bedroom drawers. Tucked neatly away were satin nighties, lace trimmed slips, and other beautiful garments that seemed to belong to a mysterious grown up world. I never touched them, but I often wondered what they felt like. The colours, the fabrics and the elegance stayed in my memory long after childhood had passed.
Over the years that curiosity never completely disappeared.
Eventually I accepted that I simply enjoyed feminine clothing. Wearing it wasn't about pretending to be someone else. It was about exploring a softer side of myself that I'd hidden away for far too long.
That's why I clicked Buy It Now.
For the next couple of days I found myself checking the tracking number far more often than I cared to admit. Every update made me smile. It felt strangely exciting knowing that this little piece of vintage femininity was making its way towards me.
When it finally arrived, I slipped the satin nightie over my head.
The fabric settled around me with surprising grace, cool and silky against my skin. It flowed almost to my ankles, and the lace rested gently around my shoulders. As I looked in the mirror, I couldn't help smiling.
I wasn't trying to become anyone else.
I was simply allowing myself to enjoy something I'd been curious about for most of my life.
The satin shimmered softly whenever I moved, and for the first time I understood why garments like this had once been treasured. They weren't merely nightclothes. They were a quiet ritual a way of ending the day with comfort, elegance and a little touch of luxury.
I made myself a mug of tea, picked up the novel waiting on my bedside table, and climbed beneath the duvet.
The satin moved gently as I settled into the pillows.
Outside, the rain tapped softly against the window.
Inside, everything felt peaceful.
The vintage style listing had promised anticipation, dreams and imagination. It had exaggerated, of course but not entirely.
Sometimes all it takes is a simple vintage nightdress to reconnect with a forgotten part of yourself. As I switched off the bedside lamp, wrapped in soft pink satin and surrounded by silence, I realised I wasn't chasing a fantasy.
I was simply embracing a side of myself that had been waiting patiently for many years to be welcomed home.The Pink Satin Parcel The parcel arrived on a rainy Saturday morning, wrapped in plain brown paper packaging with nothing to hint at what was inside. I carried it quietly upstairs before anyone else noticed. It wasn't an expensive purchase or some rare collector's item just a vintage satin nightdress from an eBay listing that I couldn't stop thinking about. I carefully unfolded the tissue paper. There it was. A beautiful sissy pink satin nightie, soft and unmistakably vintage. The faded label still read UK 32–34, although the seller had suggested it was more comfortable for a 30–32. It measured a generous sixty inch bust and fifty inches long. Delicate lace trimmed the neckline, and a tiny satin bow sat in the centre, giving it an unmistakably feminine charm. It looked as though it had stepped straight out of the late seventies or early eighties. The listing had been wonderfully over the top. It described "special Saturday nights," satin that whispered over the skin, and invited the buyer to imagine slipping into it after a long, stressful week. Part of me laughed at the dramatic sales pitch. Another part of me couldn't stop reading. There was something oddly familiar about it. When I was young, I always found myself fascinated by the contents of my mum's bedroom drawers. Tucked neatly away were satin nighties, lace trimmed slips, and other beautiful garments that seemed to belong to a mysterious grown up world. I never touched them, but I often wondered what they felt like. The colours, the fabrics and the elegance stayed in my memory long after childhood had passed. Over the years that curiosity never completely disappeared. Eventually I accepted that I simply enjoyed feminine clothing. Wearing it wasn't about pretending to be someone else. It was about exploring a softer side of myself that I'd hidden away for far too long. That's why I clicked Buy It Now. For the next couple of days I found myself checking the tracking number far more often than I cared to admit. Every update made me smile. It felt strangely exciting knowing that this little piece of vintage femininity was making its way towards me. When it finally arrived, I slipped the satin nightie over my head. The fabric settled around me with surprising grace, cool and silky against my skin. It flowed almost to my ankles, and the lace rested gently around my shoulders. As I looked in the mirror, I couldn't help smiling. I wasn't trying to become anyone else. I was simply allowing myself to enjoy something I'd been curious about for most of my life. The satin shimmered softly whenever I moved, and for the first time I understood why garments like this had once been treasured. They weren't merely nightclothes. They were a quiet ritual a way of ending the day with comfort, elegance and a little touch of luxury. I made myself a mug of tea, picked up the novel waiting on my bedside table, and climbed beneath the duvet. The satin moved gently as I settled into the pillows. Outside, the rain tapped softly against the window. Inside, everything felt peaceful. The vintage style listing had promised anticipation, dreams and imagination. It had exaggerated, of course but not entirely. Sometimes all it takes is a simple vintage nightdress to reconnect with a forgotten part of yourself. As I switched off the bedside lamp, wrapped in soft pink satin and surrounded by silence, I realised I wasn't chasing a fantasy. I was simply embracing a side of myself that had been waiting patiently for many years to be welcomed home.
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Yes, I accept that fur coats are a troubling ethical conundrum, besides it was way too warm to wear for too long in todays continuing heatwave. But I love it with the satin lining. By the way I blurred the customers face at her request. As nobody was interested in purchasing it in the charity shop, I've put it away on a coathanger in the stockroom for later in the year.Yes, I accept that fur coats are a troubling ethical conundrum, besides it was way too warm to wear for too long in todays continuing heatwave. But I love it with the satin lining. By the way I blurred the customers face at her request. As nobody was interested in purchasing it in the charity shop, I've put it away on a coathanger in the stockroom for later in the year.
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She wore blue satin (Woah-woah)
Bluer than satin was the night (Woah-woah-woah)
Softer than satin was the light (Woah)
From the stars of blue satin (Woah-woah-woah)She wore blue satin (Woah-woah) Bluer than satin was the night (Woah-woah-woah) Softer than satin was the light (Woah) From the stars of blue satin (Woah-woah-woah)
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Melanie's photoshoot last weekend.....
#SatinBlouse #SchoolUniform #OfficeWear #Blouse&Skirt #StilettoHeelsMelanie's photoshoot last weekend..... #SatinBlouse #SchoolUniform #OfficeWear #Blouse&Skirt #StilettoHeels0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6KB Visualizações
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Good evening everyone. Hope you are sweetly smiling with contentment on this Tuesday. Just flipping a burger or two for tea right now. Not on the BBQ as we have had a horrendous storm. But tasty nonetheless. Wanna discuss black satin, beautiful stockings or burger sauce? Drop me a line xxxGood evening everyone. Hope you are sweetly smiling with contentment on this Tuesday. Just flipping a burger or two for tea right now. Not on the BBQ as we have had a horrendous storm. But tasty nonetheless. Wanna discuss black satin, beautiful stockings or burger sauce? Drop me a line 😋 xxx2 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4KB Visualizações
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Melanie back from her holidays, now ready for school after the Whitsun Holiday away......
#SchoolUniform #SatinBlouse #FishnetStockingsMelanie back from her holidays, now ready for school after the Whitsun Holiday away...... #SchoolUniform #SatinBlouse #FishnetStockings2 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7KB Visualizações8
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Thinking of having a nice cold shower, and getting all wet and slippery in my silky satin clothes, anyone want to join me xThinking of having a nice cold shower, and getting all wet and slippery in my silky satin clothes, anyone want to join me 😘😘x1 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5KB Visualizações7
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I love my Daughter and Grandson to bits, BUT! I am so looking forward to when school half term ends and I can get back to volunteering in the Charity Shop on Monday morning and sort through the new donations from this week to Crossdress in style. I can only take so much of "The wheels on the bus" and repeats of Bluey on BBC iPlayer. Grandad needs to wear soft and silky satin for his mental health and physical wellbeing. Elegant, age-appropriate satin blouses, long satin nightwear, large satin scarves, long flowing satin skirts, and flowing fabrics suit the emotional comfort I'm looking for.I love my Daughter and Grandson to bits, BUT! I am so looking forward to when school half term ends and I can get back to volunteering in the Charity Shop on Monday morning and sort through the new donations from this week to Crossdress in style. I can only take so much of "The wheels on the bus" and repeats of Bluey on BBC iPlayer. Grandad needs to wear soft and silky satin for his mental health and physical wellbeing. Elegant, age-appropriate satin blouses, long satin nightwear, large satin scarves, long flowing satin skirts, and flowing fabrics suit the emotional comfort I'm looking for.
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Not to everybody's taste, the fur and the satin lining, I love it, but even at charity shop prices, I just can't justify the price tag.Not to everybody's taste, the fur and the satin lining, I love it, but even at charity shop prices, I just can't justify the price tag.
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just done some nice photos wearing my nice skirt amd tops. im going to take a photo of me wearing a wedding dresses and long white satin Glovesjust done some nice photos wearing my nice skirt amd tops. im going to take a photo of me wearing a wedding dresses and long white satin Gloves1 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3KB Visualizações
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