The Liberatory Underpinnings of Lingerie Dressing as a Trans Woman

The word “lingerie” conjures so many images: Madonna in a Jean Paul Gaultier cone bra, the Playboy Bunny pin-up, Victoria’s Secret Angels, clandestine love affairs the world over. But what does it say about the women wearing it? Men may be attracted to a barely-there Kiki De Montparnasse bustier or Agent Provocateur bra, but for the person who has put them on, the garments mean so much more.

When I began my medical transition, I was 29 and living full-time in New York City. Hot off of a breakup and in a new city where I didn’t yet know any other transgender women, it was up to me to gather the essentials that cis women learn about earlier in life. To be sized for a bra can be an anxiety-inducing experience for anyone, let alone a trans adult unwilling to solicit a salesperson’s help. Luckily for me, however, I worked for a fashion house, where eventually I worked up the courage to ask one of the lovely tailors (an older woman who often complimented my outfits) to measure me. In time, I found that women—mothers, sisters, aunts—were happy to oblige me as I figured out what worked on my new body, a gift for which I’ll forever be grateful.

Once I knew my bust size, I was able to focus on the fun part: discovering my own style. It was 2021, a moment of what felt like increased trans visibility in major cities, when some cis men began dating trans women openly. To say that I was excited to begin going out with people again after transitioning is an understatement. I downloaded every dating app imaginable and imagined the sexual encounters might come along with the dates I said yes to.

The moment demanded a specific wardrobe. Every trans woman knows a secure pair of underwear is paramount, and I needed ones that would take me from Tom Ford and Vera Wang pencil skirts in the office to vintage Dior and Marc Jacobs slip dresses at night. Enter Carmen Liu, a lingerie designer who specializes in tucking underwear; and fajas, a shapewear garment fashioned after a corset that transgender women use these to mold their figures while undergoing transition.

The lingerie-shopping experience in itself is woman-centered—from the sales associates helping you find the perfect ensemble to the girlfriends you bring along with you. At boutiques like Agent Provocateur and Fleur du Mal, the male gaze is moot, the environment catered instead to the woman and her body. I welcomed the help with sizing and the second opinions on what might work best for my frame.

Within the safety of that femme-forward environment, I found the confidence to pair lingerie with various looks. A corset under a Wales Bonner shirtdress made me feel like I had a sexy secret. Lace and leather gloves sourced from vintage costumers added a touch of sauciness to Oscar de la Renta and Carolina Herrera evening dresses worn to the ballet and and the theater. La Perla and Falke fishnet stockings became a go-to styling trick that often raised a stranger’s eyebrow or garnered a whistle from dinner dates. But ultimately, they were all for me: I loved the way those pieces changed my normal walk to a confident gait.

I’ve found that embracing sexiness in the way that I dress has made me feel ready to face a world where trans women are often either objectified or rendered invisible. While a selfie or event photo posted to my social media accounts may get attention from men, the point is not their pleasure, but my own. The point is having the freedom to present myself however I choose to. If that includes a lace bra peeking out from a Khaite blouse, last-minute stockings from the bodega, or a lingerie-inspired evening gown by Barshai, so be it.