Lepore - Doll parts: a memoir

To every girl

who has ever put

effort into

looking good,

And to every man

who has appreciated

those efforts.

Hello, Im Amanda Lepore, the most expensive body on earth.

Thank you so much for buying my book. If you didnt buy it and are reading this in your local bookstore, make sure the cover is clearly visible to your fellow patrons. You obviously have good taste and I want the whole store to see what youre reading. Trust me: they want to know.

I wrote this entire manuscript longhand, with a feathered pen, on Chanel No. 5 scented paper, in a big pink mansion, just like the one Jayne Mansfield had. I worship Jayne Mansfield. Everything she owned was pink. Except for Mickey Hargitay; that beefcake was Hungarian.

Can you see me sitting at my escritoire, completely naked, coining phrases and reminiscing? Really try and see it. Visuals are so supremely important.

When Im not writing, or ending world famine (by not eating), or negotiating peace in the Middle East (threesome with an Iranian and an Israeli), I spend my time beautifying. Its 90 percent of what I do. I dont make excuses; Im very vain. I love my body and I love showing it off. You can get away with almost anything when you look good.

Everyone has their own standard of beauty, for themselves and the people around them. Some people dont like the way I look. Ive seen comments posted on my Instagram and the hate and ugliness are pretty powerful. But for every person who says I look like the Mistress of Frankenstein, theres another who thinks Im gorgeous. I dont give a second thought to the negativity. You cant control what people say about you. You can only control how you choose to react to it.

The reason I have such thick skin (figuratively, physically my skin is basically translucent) is that at the age of seventeen, I got my pussy. It was all I ever wanted out of life, and everything since then has just been a maraschino cherry on top. Im so happy to be living the life I want in the body I want to have. I dont let little things bother me.

Recently, I met this gorgeous, twenty-one-year-old Jersey boy named Marco. We started chatting and flirting (two things Im very good at), when a friend of his yelled out to him, She was a man! What are you doing?

Marco apologized to me. Youre the most beautiful girl Ive ever seen, he said. Ive been staring at you all night. They dont make girls like you in Jersey. He came back to my place and we had great sex (something else Im good at). If I had let his friend bother me, I would have missed out on a ten-inch dick. I have a sixth sense for big dicks; its a blessing and a curse.

Many transgender girls are scared, vulnerable, and miserable in their own bodies. They cant speak up for themselves because theyre too busy trying not to get clocked. They are focused on blending in and living their lives as naturally born women. I, on the other hand, have no interest in anything natural. Id rather look like Jessica Rabbit or Marilyn Monroe. So I always felt it was important to be open about how happy I am to be transsexual, to give a voice to all the girls who dont have one.

Now, times are changing. You have Laverne Cox on the cover of Time . Janet Mock is a New York Times best-selling author. Carmen Carrera is bringing it to the kids. And Caitlyn Jenner... well, shes changed everything. These are strong, proud women who wont hide in the shadows any longer.

The transgender civil rights movement is gathering momentum amazingly quickly. Yet some things are slow to change. Christine Jorgensen was the first transsexual woman to gain national media attention in the 1950s. If you watch videos of her talking to the press, she was very poised, articulate, and polite, but the reporters could be really unintelligent in their questioning. Some sixty years later, trannies are still dealing with much the same thing. Being transgender raises a lot of questions and confusion for some people. Trans-phobic and trans-ignorant are two different things, and Im so proud of Laverne, Carmen, and all the other girls who are speaking up and quieting ignorance through understanding. Visibility is power.

I wasnt always so Zen. When I was younger, and vulnerable to other peoples opinions, I was up in arms over my identity. I was a woman, flat out. If someone used the wrong pronoun I never corrected them. I was too scared to stand up for myself, but on the inside I was angry and sensitive. A lot of young people are angry and sensitive. If you happen to be young and transgender, then youre used to people being hateful towards 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 peoples opinions have any effect on me whatsoever, and thats how Ive lived my life ever since.

I hope this book shows you there are as many different ways to be transgender as there are to be a woman, which is what I am. When you get me alone, which Im sure some of you reading this (one or two) have, youll see that deep down theres nothing but woman here, sitting on this pussy, writing these words. Transsexual is only one of a long list of adjectives (I hope my use of the word adjective doesnt change your opinion of me as a sexy blonde bombshell) that describe Amanda Lepore, and its much farther down the list than words like sexy, beautiful, stunning, perfect... not to mention humble.

XOXOXO,

PS . I didnt really write the book longhand. Its hard enough to sign my name with these stiletto nails, let alone write a whole book. But I love the image, dont you? Lets just go with it.

W hen 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. Id 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 Id wake up sad, because in reality my hair was clipped short, like a boys.

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. Id wake up out of breath and grabbing at my head, trying to push all that dream hair off my face.