Mr. Jekyll & Ms. Hyde

‘A scientist creates an elixir that turns him into a fetching, but sinister, female’

I can still vividly remember reading those words in the TV listings in the mid-1970s.  A short synopsis of the 1971 film ‘Dr Jekyll & Sister Hyde’ but more than enough to pique my interest.  By the time it aired on one of the only three TV channels available in the UK at that time, I was old enough to stay up after my parents turned in for the night and so, with an air of anticipation, I settled down to watch what would surely be a dream come true.

And it didn’t disappoint.  A short time into the film, Jekyll consumed his potion and, after it had taken effect, he approached the mirror to see a woman looking back.  Memories are a little hazy as far as the rest of the film is concerned but I do remember the newly feminised ‘Miss Hyde’ undoing her dressing gown to reveal a shapely feminine body and being rather happy with what she saw.  I also recall that Jekyll enlisted the services of notorious bodysnatchers, Burke & Hare, to help procure the corpses of young women he needed to create his elixir.  Even though I was fully aware that Ralph Bates’ metamorphosis into Martine Beswick was just a cinematic trick (and, considering how simple it was, extremely effective all the same), how I wished that Jekyll’s elixir was available over the counter at Boots the Chemist!  

Sadly, Jekyll’s elixir remains as absent from the shelves of Boots now as it did in the 1970s.  But I can’t help seeing the parallels between my life and Jekyll’s even though I don’t resort to either exotic concoctions (other than products bought at the cosmetic counters at Boots) or criminal activities to effect my transformation.  In fact, given the fact that ‘Amanda’ and ‘he’ are cut from exactly the same cloth, the differences between them are startling.

The most obvious difference is in the way we present.  As a guy, I don’t care much about the way I look.  I keep my clothes clean but that’s really as far as it goes.  My suit, which was bought over 20 years ago, comes out only for weddings and funerals these days, the only jewellery I wear is a wedding ring and whilst I still know how to tie a tie, I try to avoid wearing one at all costs.  Jeans and a T-shirt suffice as far as I’m concerned although I do add a jumper when the weather gets colder.  

But when it’s Amanda’s time to emerge, everything changes.  As a closeted CDer, I could wear whatever I wanted and I always gravitated towards the glamour of tailored dresses and stiletto heels.  But even as I’ve evolved into a girl about town (OK, an ageing woman about town), I’ve tried to maintain standards with outfits that, even though they are more casual in nature, still project an image of someone who cares about how they look.  And the outfit doesn’t feel complete unless rings, bracelets, earrings and a necklace are added.  Care is taken with makeup, fake nails are a must and I never go anywhere without a hairbrush and lipstick in my handbag to ensure that I remain looking my best.

Of course, I can explain most of that by asserting firstly that I enjoy the things I need to do to achieve my transformation; I love thinking about outfits and I never tire of putting on makeup (sadly, I can’t say the same about the faff of removing it all when it’s time to revert back, though) and secondly that a high standard of transformation is necessary to give me confidence when I do step out into the outside world.  But that doesn’t explain other things that happen.

A particular pet hate of mine is going ‘OTT’ when transforming – things like exaggerated feminine gestures, calling everyone ‘hun’ and that sort of thing.  It’s just not something I do.  And yet when I am out in the guise of my feminine alter ego, I find myself unconsciously doing little things that are unashamedly feminine such as small steps when walking, feet together when standing and knees together when sitting.  Now I’m not suffering from any sort of delusion that I either undergo some form of magical metamorphosis (although I have to confess that looking at (and liking) my feminised form does feel magical) or it’s an indication that I was born to be a woman (not with these chromosomes, I wasn’t) and there are rational explanations for many of the traits.  Walking in heels forces smaller steps and the sensation of nyloned legs against each other when wearing a skirt is pleasant and, if the skirt is constricting, sitting with legs together cannot be avoided.  It’s also very difficult not to look feminine when rummaging through a handbag or checking and touching up one’s lipstick in a hand mirror as both of these are very much the preserve of women so perhaps this particular aspect is just a product of the fundamental differences between women and men and how each navigates through society as a result

More perplexing, though, is the way that my interests change when I cross the divide.  Many is the time that I’ve been clothes shopping with Mrs A only to be bored rigid and frustrated by her endless browsing without showing any indications that she actually intends to buy anything.  Cosmetics counters do not hold any interest (with the possible exception of the immaculately made up ladies staffing them) and nothing vaguely feminine normally floats my boat.  And yet as soon as I cross the divide, all of those things become part of the experience and I quite happily while away the hours immersed in the wonders of womanhood.  Clothes and shoe shops become magnets and whilst I’m still bamboozled by the range of cosmetics on offer, I’m happy to spend time browsing in the hope of demystifying the dark arts.

Naturally, it could be argued that my at best indifferent reaction to Mrs A indulging in those things is just a big act to hide my true interest but my boredom and frustrations are genuine.   Admit that to any woman and she’ll counter with something along the lines of ‘ah yes, but as a guy, you’ll never understand what makes us tick’ and yet as soon as I slip into a pair of heels, I not only completely understand but want to join the party!  I’m sure that a psychologist would have plenty of insight to impart here but I’ll just treat it as one of life’s mysteries and move on.

Returning to Dr Jekyll and Sister Hyde, Jekyll was the good guy (initially at least) and his alter ego was the evil one.  For me, it’s the opposite.  Driving in Greater London is not for the faint hearted and, in my normal guise, most journeys are punctuated with a lot of muttering under my breath, peppered with expletives, about the poor driving skills of other road users.  The road is mine, speed limits are at best an annoyance and motorists hoping that I will slow down to let them in or refrain from using my horn when they do something stupid in front of me are going to be disappointed.  And yet ‘Amanda’ is a kind, considerate driver, happy to slow down for other motorists and unphased by things that would turn her male alter ego into an angry tailspin.  Of course, the rational explanation is that when I’m dressed in my finest, I take extra care as I don’t want to attract the attention of the police or have an awkward post-collision conversation with another driver with no option other than to disclose my legal name and address.  I wouldn’t argue with that for one moment but it still doesn’t explain why things that drive ‘him’ to distraction can so easily be brushed off by ‘her’.

I could go on but I’m sure you get the picture.  These are not conscious attempts to conform to what I think society expects of females but just how things are different when I cross the divide.  Perhaps my male traits are underpinned by the frustrations that I have to keep an important side of me hidden for most of the time or maybe it’s just the case that allowing the inner woman to flourish for a few hours gives me respite from the normal pressures of life.  I’m sure some would assert that it’s a clear indication that I should transition as soon as possible, if not sooner, but would those negative traits then migrate to ‘her’ when their male host to all intents and purposes ceased to exist?  Or am I just looking for titbits to confirm my status, grasping anything that justifies my feminine side and overlooking anything that inconveniently doesn’t?

Or, as usual, am I just overthinking all of this?  Is this any different to the hotshot CEO who commands fear in the workplace and yet is softer than a pussycat with friends and family?  We all play multiple roles in life – mine have included husband, father, son, friend, manager, subordinate, employer and colleague and each calls on different parts of my personality.  But I can also add ‘part time would-be woman’ to that list and that in turn calls on traits that are otherwise dormant in my normal life.

In the end, though, I rather like the idea that ‘Amanda’ is different in her outlook to ‘him’.  It’s nice to dress up once in a while, to feel free to take an interest in things that are otherwise off limits, to feel comfortable in an alternative persona and to be able to drive from A to B without wanting to kill every other motorist on the road.  

I often wonder what caused me to be the way I am.  Was it predetermined at the point of my conception, the result of something going awry during my gestation, the product of influences during my early life or, as time went on, the realisation that I rather like experiencing life through a feminine persona?  I doubt that I’ll ever be able to answer that question but what I can say is that whatever the truth is, by the time I was in my mid-teens, the die had already been cast and, in the run up to the fateful day when I could no longer resist the urges and tried on a pair of my mother’s tights, the interest that Dr Jekyll and Sister Hyde held for me was perhaps the clearest indication of what was to come.  Of course, the film was just a fantasy but do we ever tire of the moment when we walk to the mirror, as Jekyll did, and see a woman looking back?  And when that woman does take hold, do we not experience facets of our personality which have remained dormant, or are even suppressed, in our normal lives?  And, if you’ve seen the film, you’ll know that ‘Sister’ Hyde gradually becomes the dominant force in Jekyll’s life.  That certainly resonates!

Overall, though, I have to confess to a sense of relief that there is clear water between Amanda and her evil twin.  There are enough potty-mouthed women who don’t care one iota about how they look in my neck of the woods without me adding another to the population!