Illfitting

A couple of years ago i got into a discussion with a few kinky people about dress codes at kink events, and confessed that i found them challenging – at the time, in fact, a barrier to me attending. It was explained to me that their purpose was to encourage people to express themselves, and that it provided an escape from people’s vanilla lives and encouraged them to be confident, to be themselves when they often could not be.

And that’s beautiful. That’s important. But that doesn’t fit me.

Because i am not myself in a custom latex outfit that i can’t afford – the smell upsets me and the sensory experience upsets me more. i am not even myself in a £50 wetlook bodysuit, though i am considerably more comfortable and my bank account is happier, and my partner’s eyes do the cartoon thing where they practically pop out of Their head. i do like that. i am not expressing myself when i’m a dysphoric mess browsing the men’s section where nothing fits my body and then the women’s section where nothing fits my soul. i am not confident when i’m wiggling into something skin tight with my mother’s voice in my head saying “when I was your age I was never more than a size 6”.

It’s safe to say fetwear and me have had something of a challenging relationship in my three years in the world of BDSM. My first kinky partner liked latex – and in service to them, so did i for a time. Most of my kinks can be boiled down to enduring suffering for the pleasure of a Dominant so whether that’s being beaten until i piss myself or struggling my way into cold latex, i’m in my happy place. My second kinky partner, however, didn’t have that interest. Without the service oriented hook neither did i. Fetwear, in that relationship, was the jogging bottoms and baggy t-shirts i wore to clean our home, and the old clothes that could be torn and bloodstained at her pleasure. Not exactly dress code compliant!

Then i met Mx, and tight, shiny, and skimpy made their way back to my wardrobe. Around the house i learned fast that little shorts and Nice Bra would often quickly lead to being fucked on the living room floor. Getting ready for an event together and revealing the final look and seeing Them practically start drooling was hot. i felt hot. But to say i am “being myself” would not be accurate – when i wear these things i am playing dress up, i am being of service, and i am making an effort. An effort that i sometimes feel in the form of self-conscious wobbles and constantly adjusting my outfit.

As to escaping vanilla life – i simply do not have one. i am in a 24/7 D/s relationship. Every moment of my day from when They unchain me from the bed in the morning to when i worship Their feet on my knees before W/we go to sleep, i am living as my authentic kinky self. i am fully out to my friends, to family, and even in my workplace. Perhaps if i had something to escape from then a physical representation of my hidden kinky side would feel more necessary, but i have a collar and a lot of visible scars, expressing myself isn’t a problem.

But there is, undeniably, something nice about walking into an event and seeing my community in all their diverse beauty. Seeing people wearing things that, perhaps, they might not choose to wear if they knew half the crowd would be in jeans and t-shirts. Dress codes have value, and i am not necessarily opposed to them, but would love to see more acknowledgment that they can be a barrier. A financial barrier, for one. A sensory barrier – the usual options of fetishwear, lingerie, or smart clothing are all things that i sometimes struggle with the textures and sensations of wearing. A gender barrier – the smarter or sexier an outfit is the more aggressively gendered it tends to be.

i don’t have the answer – how as a community we can balance the need for these atmospheres to exist and be actively created, against the need to include and celebrate all aspects of kink and the weird and wonderful people who live it. But i did, at least, find the answer for me.

At the weekend i went to an event and the only things i wore were my collar and a body chain. And my fitbit, because it was a big club and the step count must continue at all costs. And i finally experienced the thing, the feeling of being absolutely myself and expressing my identity through what i was wearing – and what i wasn’t. Latex and lingerie aren’t my kinks but chains absolutely are, whether it’s the household chains my partner uses to restrict my freedom of movement, or chains in play when i’m padlocked to the kitchen table with blood dripping down my legs, chains are hot. Naked, i could display every single scar that tells my story of embracing my masochism – the cigarette burns, the cuts, the FUCKPIG brand across my lower back. Instead of stuffing my flesh away into tight clothing i was forced to see my body exactly as it exists and confront the demon in my head that sometimes whispers still that it is both too much and not enough, and say back “no, it simply is”. And while my sex might have been entirely on display, i wore nothing that made me feel gendered. i felt good. i felt hotter than i ever have before – and not in the sense of feeling like i had successfully imitated the elusive beauty standard. i don’t want that, i’m not aiming for that – i felt hot in the sense that i looked like the best version of me. Sometimes strange and grotesque and downright disgusting, but alive, authentic, loved, connected and thriving. i often feel like that, and that night i could see it too.

Some events W/we go to do limit nudity in parts of the venue, so the outcome isn’t “well i am never wearing clothes to a kink event again!” And i do still like the way my partner loses Their mind when i wear the tight shiny stuff. But having an option, having a new area to explore, having the opportunity to blend the elements that feel like me with the elements i perform for others – that feels like the beginning of something exciting with fetwear and me.