theatlantic | Julie, an immaculately made-up woman, sits down in front of a camera.
She has thick, voluminous hair that frames the high cheekbones of her
conspicuously crease-free face. Her elegant, arched eyebrows and
extra-long eyelashes act as a counterbalance to her plump, painted lips.
She looks out of frame, as if admiring herself in a mirror, before
giggling and batting her eyelids.
“Oh dear,” she purrs, tilting her head from side to side. “Another long day in a wig and a girdle.”
She reaches up and emits a light moan as she unclips her gold
earrings and gently sets them aside, one by one. She considers her image
a few moments longer, then places her hands just below her ears and
begins to pull her blemish-free skin off and away from her jawline. It’s
only now that we realize it’s not human skin, but rather a mask made of
soft, flesh-like silicone rubber.
Julie is one of the most visible faces of female masking, a specific
subset of cross-dressing men who wear masks, and occasionally skin-tone
bodysuits, to make them look more like biological women. The videos that
she uploads to YouTube have received hundreds of thousands of views,
attracting both fans and detractors.
Julie is but one of scores of maskers around the globe; the most popular masking website, Dolls Pride,
has almost 10,000 active members. But, until now, the subculture has
remained relatively unknown outside the tight-knit community. Even the
nation’s foremost experts on sexuality haven’t heard of masking (though
it’s worth noting that the practice isn’t always sexually motivated).
“I just checked with Dr. Kaplan and neither one of us have heard this
term before,” said Dr. Richard Krueger, who, with Dr. Meg Kaplan, heads
up the Sexual Behavior Clinic at the New York State Psychiatric
Institute.
