Doll Parts

Amanda Lepore, Thomas Flannery

• Editorial: Regan Arts.
• Año: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781942872863
• Categoría: Arte
• Categoría: Cultura popular en el arte

"If you happen to be young and transgender, then you're used to people being hateful toward you when all you want to do is exist. Through all the insanity in my life, there was only one thing I could control: myself. On the outside, obviously, but on the inside, too. I focused on not letting other people's opinions have any effect on me whatsoever, and that's how I've lived my life ever since." —Amanda Lepore Spend an evening getting intimate with Amanda Lepore, the internationally renowned walking work of art and New York City's reigning queen of nightlife for three decades. Paving the way for today's "trans revolution, "Amanda is one of the world's most famous transsexuals. In this poignant and revealing memoir, Amanda takes off the makeup, peels back the silicone, and reveals to the world the woman she truly is, all with a sense of divine certainty, humor, and charm. "I hate everyone but AmandaLepore." —MileyCyrus "Amanda is pure heaven on earth, a dream come true. I adore her!" —Francois Nars "Amanda is truly a living work of art. I've never witnessed such devotion to the art of high glamour. In my book, she is aglambassadorof the very highest order, a truefascinatrix!" —DitaVonTeese "As an Icon, Amanda is one of a kind because of her unique and singular look in the art of fashion. She has established herself as the most original and glamorous image in the world of transgender." —Patricia Field "Amanda Lepore is a self-creation that governs her own splendid reality." —Steven Klein, photographer

Chapter 1

GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES

When I was a child, I had a recurring dream. In this dream I was locked in a tower. It was sort of like the fairy tale Rapunzel, except there was no witch and no prince. Just me and my yards and yards of perfectly silky, strawberry blonde hair. As I combed, the hair would grow. I’d keep combing and combing, the hair would keep growing and growing, and very quickly the whole room would fill.

Usually it was a great dream; I loved having all that hair. But I’d wake up sad, because in reality my hair was clipped short, like a boy’s.

Sometimes the dream would turn dark. My hair would not stop growing. My long locks would pin me down and fill my mouth and nose. I’d wake up out of breath and grabbing at my head, trying to push all that dream hair off my face.

Hair became an issue in my house when I was five. Mine was getting longer and I was so happy, but Dad hated it. He kept telling Mom to take me to the barber, but she never would. One night, he told me he’d take me himself the next day. As Mom put me to bed, I begged her not to let him. She made me a secret promise that I could keep my hair as long as I wanted. I loved my mom very much.

During dinner the next day Dad said he’d take me to the barber as soon as we were done eating. My brother started laughing at me, and just then Mom burnt her arm on the stovetop, real bad. Mom was always graceless in the kitchen. Dad jumped up so fast to help her, his pudgy little legs gave out and he fell backward.

In all the commotion, Dad forgot about the barber.

A week later, Dad had us all pile into his Cadillac, telling us we were going to the mall. Instead, he pulled up in front of a barbershop and turned the engine off.

“Hurry along inside! I’ll wait here,” he said.

Mom didn’t say anything, so neither did I. I had come to terms with my fate; there was no use crying about it now. We walked inside. Mom yelled something to the bald old barber and I sat in his chair. He draped a smock around my neck and I heard clippers buzz on. The chair spun around backward, placing me face to face with Mom, who was holding a pair of scissors and staring at the barber.

“Mom?” She wasn’t paying attention. “Mom, you know I’m really a girl, right? I don’t want a boy’s haircut.”

She glanced at me and said, “I know.” Then her eyes went right back to the barber. “Don’t choke my son,” she said.

“Mom, I’m not your son, I’m a girl.”

She wasn’t listening. The barber was talking low to Mom, trying to calm her down. But then he said the one thing she most hated to hear: “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She snapped. “You’re choking him!” Mom screamed as loud as she could, like Janet Leigh in Pyscho. The barber jumped back and Mom grabbed me, snipping the scissors in the air. “Don’t hurt him!” She screamed out. “Get away from him with that thing!” The clippers droned off and Dad ran inside. Mom kept screaming, the barber was white as the smock I was covered in, and I was all smiles.

Guess I wouldn’t be getting my hair cut after all.

MY HAIR

LOOKS

FIERCE

My favorite hair product is bleach.

•

A thick conditioner is my second favorite. I take a drop of Aveda Blue Malva conditioner and mix it into a thick white conditioner until it turns lavender. That keeps my hair platinum.

•

All girls should experiment with hairpieces. It’s like wearing a chicken cutlet push up bra, but for your hair. I keep my real hair in a one-length long bob, which I roller-set and comb forward, pin curl half my head, and wear a half wig hairpiece for volume and lift.

•

L’Oreal Paris Elnett Satin Hairspray is easy to comb out, so I can restyle for a few days.

•

My pubic hair is shaped into a neat racing stripe and bleached and conditioned regularly. My pussy is pink, platinum and pretty.

The next day my brother Joseph and I came home from school to find Dad in the living room with his ultra-Catholic sister, Aunt Marie.

Neither of them said anything but they looked super-serious. I was sure they had found out Joseph had fingered this girl down the street and maybe he’d even gotten her pregnant. He was talking about it all the time. Dad was bound to find out sooner or later, and having Aunt Marie in tow meant a whole bunch of Hail Marys were coming.

“What’s going on?” Joseph asked.

“Yeah, where’s Mom?” I added.

Dad stood up. “Let’s go to the toy store.”

Aunt Marie and I sat in the back of Dad’s turquoise blue Cadillac, his most prized possession. She held my hand and looked down at me like I was a puppy she couldn’t save from the pound.

“Your mom decided to take a vacation,” Aunt Marie said. She was a bad liar. “To Florida. It was so last minute, there was no time to say good-bye. She’s probably on the beach as we speak.”

“Oh,” Joseph said, “that’s weird.” His shoulders relaxed. This wasn’t about him.

Dad said nothing but I saw him staring at me in the rearview mirror. I was sure he had punished Mom for what happened at the barbershop. It was all my fault; she was only trying to protect me. Aunt Marie pulled me into her oversized bosom. She smelled like smoked sausages and garlic.

At the toy store Dad finally spoke. “Pick any toy you want and I’ll meet you up front.”

Joseph ran over to the Hot Wheels. I made my way to my favorite section: Barbie.

Barbie was my best friend and everything I wanted to be, before I even knew what I wanted. My first was a hand-me-down Malibu Barbie, in a baby blue bathing suit. A neighborhood girl named Katie, who did ballet and had pierced ears, received a second one for her birthday and gave the old doll to me. I was super-jealous of Katie, but was willing to look past that to play with her dolls. Once I had my own Barbie, though, all I wanted to do was sit in my room, brushing Barbie’s long blonde hair and pretending it was mine.

Malibu Barbie melted when I tried to give her a suntan on our space heater. The house smelled like burnt plastic for a few hours but my heartbreak lasted longer; I’d ruined my favorite toy. Mom told me not to worry and started buying me new Barbie dolls. I built up a respectable collection; my favorite was P.J., with her pouty lips and long lashes. Sears did an exclusive P.J. with a tweed skirt and Mom and I went to breakfast one day, then each got one. We spent the rest of the afternoon playing together; our P.J.s were sisters and best friends.

I dreamily walked toward Dad in that toy store, with a Sweet 16 Barbie pressed to my heart, and a grin pasted across my face.

“That’s what you want?” Dad looked disappointed.

“Let him get it,” Aunt Marie said. “He’s a kid. He’ll grow out of it.”

“This is getting ridiculous.” Dad grabbed the doll out of my hand, paid, and we left.

I kept silent. Dad was upset with me but I had no idea why. Plus I was so excited about Sweet 16 Barbie! I’d just given Quick Curl Skipper an awful bob and I needed a new bratty teen sister to play house with.

On the way home I noticed we passed our street and instinctually knew Dad was driving to the barbershop. I started sobbing and crying for Mom. Aunt Marie tried to settle me down but I was having none of it.

Dad picked me up out of the backseat, placed me in the barber’s chair, and stood stoically over me. The barber said nothing. Considering last time I was there he was basically attacked with his own scissors, I’m sure he just wanted us gone. As the clippers began buzzing, I closed my eyes and held on to Sweet 16 Barbie, imagining the perfect life she led.

That night I had my worst Rapunzel dream yet. I was stuck in a never-ending ocean of my own hair. I tried to swim through it, but the weight of my hair was pulling me further down.

“BOYS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO PLAY WITH DOLLS.”

I woke up grabbing at my head, and cried when I remembered all my hair was cut off. Drowning in a sea of hair would have been way better. I reached out for Sweet 16 Barbie. She wasn’t on my bed, where I’d left her, and something was very wrong with my room. For a second I couldn’t figure it out. Then I realized; every single doll I owned was gone.

“Dad!” I screamed. “We’ve been robbed. My dolls are gone.”

Dad came in and looked at me like I was a purple duck. “We weren’t robbed. Your dolls are gone and you’re not getting them back. I don’t ever want to talk about this again.”

My entire body shook. Dad reached out for me but I ran to the bathroom, feeling vomit rise in my throat.

I was too sick to go to school, so Dad had to stay home with me since M...