The Pageboy
Part1
“Mum?” I asked. “How old should a pageboy be?”
“Any age,” Mum said.
“But how old are they usually?”
“As I say, any age,” Mum replied. “Why?”
“Because when I tell people that I’m going to be the pageboy at Natasha’s wedding, they keep saying I’m too old.” I told her, slumping my chin into my fist and sighing. “and I’m way too old.”
“You’re not too old at all,” Mum replied.
“But I will be when Natasha gets married.”
“You’ll still be a boy and that’s the only qualification you need.” Mum smiled. “You’re going to look ever so smart.” she smiled.
“I don’t even know what I’m wearing yet,” I replied.
“Neither does Natasha but she’s still keen on a short suit of some sort.”
I puffed out my cheeks and sighed. “So long as she doesn’t make me wear white knee socks,” I grumbled, recalling a potential outfit my sister showed me a while back; a royal blue velvet waistcoat over a white shirt, with narrow velvet knee length shorts. The waistcoat and shorts looked pretty bad but the boy modeling it also wore girls’ white knee socks and shiny black shoes. I disapproved of the velvet outfit but detested the girlie knee socks.
“It’s Natasha’s big day so you’ll wear what she chooses.” Mum reminded me. “Think yourself lucky that she’s not asking you to be a bridesmaid.”
I snorted and said, “Boys can’t be bridesmaids!”
“You’d be surprised,” Mum replied. She rummaged in the magazine rack, removed one of Natasha’s wedding magazines. “Look,” she said, drawing my attention to the final featured article on the cover, titled Boys in the Bridal Party. “There’s a whole feature if you want to have a look,” Mum said.
“Not really.” I grimaced, reading the tagline; Being a bridesmaid or flower girl is no longer just a girl thing.
“Well if you’re worried about looking like Little Lord Fauntleroy…” Mum suggested as she flicked through the pages, then held the page up for me. “Imagine how worried these boys were,” she said.
“But they wouldn’t have been a bridesmaid if they didn’t like dressing up,” I said as my eyes hesitantly looked at the handful of featured photographs. “Are they trans-kids?” I asked.
“No… according to the article, they’re all typical boys just like you. Boys with a wedding to attend, just like you.” Mum said. “Would you rather wear this…” she asked, tapping on a picture of a bridesmaid. “…or a Fauntleroy suit?”
I gasped. “Are you sure that’s a boy?” I asked. Mum confirmed he was and drew my attention to the text which stated that ‘Paul wears a white taffeta dress with a pastel pink sash’, and suddenly the thought of wearing a pair of girl’s knee socks doesn’t seem so bad. “Is he wearing make-up too?” I grimaced.
“He is part of the bridal party… so yes,” Mum replied. “…but he’s only wearing a little bit,” she added as she peered at the picture and commented on all the flowers in his hair.
“Those sleeves!” I grimaced, before noticing what appeared to be a massive pink bow on the back of his dress. “Is he wearing girl’s shoes too?” I quizzed.
“He is a bridesmaid.” Mum casually reminded me.
“Aren’t you interested?” my sister asked, dragging me out of my memories. She swiped her phone and turned its screen toward me. I gulped. “Not the shirt,” she told me. “But those shorts.”
“They’re horrible!” I gulped. “And that’s not a shirt, it’s a blouse!”
“Boys shirts have ruffles and bows too you know,” Natasha stated. But not like that! I thought. “Anyway, I don’t like that shirt… it’s too,” she said. “But I love the shorts.” she gushed. “Don’t you?”
“No.” I gulped. “Sorry,” I said as she frowned. “Good news about the shirt though!” I jovially added.
She swiped her phone and turned it to me again. “I really like this one too,” she told me as I gazed at the screen.
“That’s for a girl!” I exclaimed. Natasha claimed it wasn’t. “Look at the sleeves!” I proclaimed. Natasha proved it was a boy’s outfit by swiping back the top of the page and showing me the breadcrumbs: Shop > Wedding > Bridal Party > Pageboy. “But girls can be pageboys too… that’s definitely a girl’s outfit.”
“But they have a girl’s version in the bridesmaid’s section… the top has a proper bow instead of a tie, and the shorts are a skirt, with a really frilly petticoat.” my sister informed me as she swiped back to the sailor suit. “Jess prefers the other one,” she said.
“I think I agree.” I gulped. “But not with that shirt!” I added.
“Oh no… I’ll find a much nicer one than that.”
“And much plainer… too… please?” I requested, hoping, as I recalled the monstrously flouncy blouse. “In fact!” I exclaimed, recalling the first pair of tulip shorts my sister had shown me. “…the first pair you showed me looked better than either of those.” my sister swiped her screen this way and that and showed me the image. “The shirt’s too plain though… it has to be a little bit blousy,” she told me.
“So long as it doesn’t have a massive bow like that other one,” I said, glancing ominously at her phone. Those grey tulip shorts are horrible… but worryingly preferable in comparison to those black shorts with brass buttons and a stupidly high waist, and that loathsome nautical outfit. “This is for a girl too!” I noticed. “Look, the mannequin’s got boobs.”
“It’s probably on a girl mannequin because they didn’t have a spare boy mannequin.” my sister told me. “It’s at least unisex and look… it’s in the pageboy section.” she showed me. At the time I thought she was browsing through a retail website. I only got a glance at the now-familiar logo and the board titled Pageboy and the top few tiles. It meant little to me, but in retrospect and knowing what PinBoard is, she was browsing a self-made page full of ideas on how to dress me…. and what I did see in that brief glimpse did look a little too blousy.
Weeks passed and the prospect of being a pageboy mostly slipped from my thoughts. Christmas came and went. We welcomed the new year with frosty cheer and put the bleak mid-winter behind us, anticipating the onset of spring as the evenings began drawing out. I was nervous as I returned to the wedding dress shop, this time with my mother and sister. They were all smiles and chatty. I felt like a nervous wreck and for good reason.
A few weeks ago I caught a glimpse of a PinBoard gallery on Natasha’s iPad headed ‘pageboy’. The shorts looked as offensive as ever and the sailor suit I’d declined now looks more appealing than the rest. All the shirts are definitely blouses because they’re mostly modeled on women… in fact, all the tulip shorts are modeled on women too… I think. It’s hard to tell on all but one. I only got a minute before the screen powered down… but since seeing that, I’ve been more worried about my outfit than ever.
I also learned that the style of shorts I’m having made is also known as pumpkin shorts, bloomer shorts, bulb shorts, and bubble shorts, and having googled most of those… I’m starting to think that I might have been better off wearing a bridesmaid’s dress! I didn’t really believe that, it’s just that I knew my outfit was going to be horrible before I’d even seen it… and I wasn’t disappointed.
I’d never known such a deep sense of disappointment was possible before the outfit was revealed to me. The bubble shorts hang from a pair of braces. As the name suggests, they’re short and bulbous but my attention is drawn by the blouse… wispy and white with ruffles and frills and a floppy satin bow tied at its lace-trimmed collar. The fabric looks thin but I didn’t realize how thin until I noticed that I could clearly see the clothes-hanger through it. That explains why Mum insisted I wore a vest today.
Hattie, the seamstress, removes the garment from its hanger and reveals that the shorts are more of a contraption than an item of clothing. At the back of their high waist is some corset lacing to ensure a perfect fit. The waist fastening isn’t in the middle like normal, they’re on each side, and on the inside of the shorts are some suspender-style straps connecting the waistband to the leg cuffs to give the shorts their bubbled appearance. Hattie explains to my mother and sister that the straps can be adjusted to make the legs a little shorter or longer. “Just make sure they’re both the same length otherwise he’ll look a bit silly.”
“I think I’ll look more than a bit silly in those!” I moaned.
“They’ll look a lot nicer when they’re on,” Mum told me.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Hattie took me into her dressing room where I stripped down to my vest and underpants. The shirt, which is definitely a blouse has its fastening down the back, so I stand gracelessly whilst Hattie buttons me in. The shorts have an awkward way of fastening too, with a trio of brass buttons on either side where the pockets should be. “It’s easier if you put the braces on first,” Hattie advised as I struggled to hold them up and fasten the buttons. Once done, she drew the waist in snugly with the lacing on the back, faffed with my blouse, and presented me to my mother and sister. “Oh, you look wonderful!” Mum exclaimed. “Like something out of a fairytale.” Natasha gushed.
“Or a pantomime.” I dryly added. “I can’t believe you’re making me wear this.” I moaned.
“Would you rather be a bridesmaid instead?” my mother smugly asked.
“No,” I replied. Hattie said she’d had a few boys in recently being fitted for bridesmaid’s dresses and said it was lovely that times were changing the way they are. “I’m glad I’m not a bridesmaid,” I muttered as Hattie faffed with my braces and took more measurements.
“Well stop moaning then.” my sister told me. I nervously looked down at myself; my legs looked like two thin twigs sticking out of the bulbous shorts.
My mother and sister began directing me to walk around and turn around and then sit down. “Nicely… keep your knees together… that’s better,” Mum said before asking me to stand again.
My sister noted that they’d gotten squished after sitting and said I’d have to make sure I pull them out to maintain their ‘nice’ bulb shape. I huffed and puffed as I faffed with the shorts and Hattie said she’d have a think about how she could rectify that.
I only wore the horrendous outfit for about fifteen minutes and getting back into my own, normal clothes came as such a relief. On the way home, they kept telling me how nice my outfit looked and how well made it was and the little details such as the corset lacing on the back really set them off. “My legs looked ridiculous,” I grumbled.
“They’ll look OK with a bit of fake tan or something,” Mum told me. “…and I’ll get you some cream to put on them.”
“Why?”
“To get rid of those fuzzy hairs.”
“My legs aren’t hairy,” I claimed.
“They are a little bit,” Mum said. “Anyway the wedding’s still weeks away… you don’t need to worry just yet.”
“That’s easy for you to say… you don’t have to wear it.” I moaned.
“Oh stop worrying.” my sister said. “Everyone’s going to be dressed up; the brides, the bridesmaids, the maid of honor, the ushers, the ring bearer, and the flower girl… you won’t be the only one wearing something fancy and you won’t be the center of attention.”
I suppose she’s right. I’m just one part of a large bridal party and most people will be looking at the two brides since they’re the people getting married… and when it comes to the inevitable wedding photos… I’ll just have to try to hide behind the bridesmaids.


