House of CB (225 Oxford St)

For those who adore flowy, feminine dresses adorned with exquisite prints, House of CB is an absolute must-visit. However, it’s not merely the products that make this boutique special; it’s the entire experience.

“Posh” is the only term that captures the essence of this shop. With its upscale ambiance, the boutique boasts an architectural gem: an archway leading to the fitting rooms, complemented by comfortable seating areas where partners may be seen waiting, reminiscent of children left in IKEA’s play area.

Beyond the archway lies a surprisingly spacious corridor, adorned with a plush velvet carpet. Dressing rooms line the sides, equipped with mirrors for viewing outfits from all angles. Given London’s premium on space, the size of this fitting area is impressive. It buzzes with activity, as not every dress slides on seamlessly. Many women emerge seeking assistance with tricky zippers or simply to get a second opinion from friends.

After trying on a stunning dress (which did mess up my hair slightly), I stepped out to see how it looked from all angles. The moment I emerged, I was met with a chorus of warm, affirmative comments from other shoppers: “That looks wonderful on you,” “It really suits you,” “You look fabulous!”

These remarks might seem insignificant to some, but they meant the world to me. In that moment, I felt welcomed in a space that celebrated femininity, accepted as one of their own—regardless of whether they recognized me as a trans woman or assumed I was cisgender. The feeling of belonging in what felt like every girl’s dream shop filled me with genuine happiness.

Naturally, I purchased the dress that day. Now, just mentioning “House of CB” brings a smile to my face, as it reminds me of the uplifting atmosphere and those positive experiences.

Other Stores I Explored

During my stay, I visited several other shops and made a few purchases. However, with impending surgeries that carry significant costs, luxury retailers like Selfridges, Liberty, and Harrods were slightly out of my budget.

• Selfridges: I picked up Kate Somerville’s “Exfolikate Cleanser” (though I initially sought the EradiKate, it was out of stock) along with her Retinol Vitamin C Power serum, and some lipstick and lip liner from Dior.
• Victorinox: Their flagship store in London allows you to customize Swiss army knives. I chose one of the smaller models with a lovely heart design.
• Fortnum & Mason: A classic spot for tea, cookies, and small gifts. I bought 24 assorted tea samples, each in its own caddy, for my coworkers—something I often do when traveling.
• & Other Stories: I found another lovely dress here.
• Peter Jones & Partners: This department store offers a mid-range to premium selection that suits my budget. I snagged a simple brown summer skirt and a necklace displayed on a mannequin.

I also bought a top and skirt set from Lauren Ralph Lauren.

I adore Lauren Ralph Lauren (I own quite a few pieces) as their style aligns perfectly with what I’m after. Additionally, I purchased a stylish “sweater.” A friend commented that a sweater should provide warmth, whereas this one was purely a visual statement. I agreed, but I loved how it looked.

• Reformation: Another great shop for dresses, although one of the sales assistants referred to me as “sir” after I spoke with her—I need to work on my voice. Still, I bought the dress.
• Lululemon: Known for its “Define” jacket, I opted for some pants instead, as the jacket was short and made from thin material.

I spotted several items that weren’t available in my size, but I ordered them online to be delivered to Germany, including jeans from Guess and a Pepe Jeans dress.

In total, I walked approximately 68,224 steps during my time in London, with about a third of those in heels.

Dining Experience: Harry’s Bar

If you find yourself in Marylebone, don’t miss Harry’s Bar at 30–34 James Street. This Italian restaurant features a delightful interior, scrumptious food, and absolutely divine desserts.

# The Consultations

I arranged consultations with two surgeons specializing in rhinoplasty. One was recommended in a Discord FFS forum, while I stumbled upon the other through a Reddit beauty forum.

Surgeon 1

My appointment with the first surgeon took place in a private clinic that exuded the typical sterile atmosphere of a medical facility. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by four receptionists who instructed me to wait, as the surgeon would be with me shortly. After about 15 minutes past our scheduled time, I was ushered into his office, where he and a medical intern awaited.

He thoroughly inquired about my journey thus far: my decision to retransition, the professionals who support me (in therapy and endocrinology), whether I have come out at work, and my emotional readiness for surgery. Prior to my visit, I had shared a detailed presentation with him, but he seemed concerned that patients often have specific expectations that are difficult to fulfill—leaving me unsure if he had even reviewed my materials.

The consultation included capturing my features with a Vectra 3D scanner and an SLR camera, as well as inspecting the internal structure of my nose with an endoscope. While the proposed modifications to my nose were reasonable, they didn’t align with my vision.

When I suggested a more sloped appearance, he hesitated, emphasizing the importance of achieving a natural look and expressing doubts about feasibility due to my thicker skin, leaving the model unchanged.

Our discussion was brief; he outlined the surgery duration, recovery expectations, and my stay in London. I managed to inquire about his experience with trans women and saw two examples of his work—one impressive, the other mediocre, in my opinion. Our session was cut short by a phone call, indicating we had only a few minutes remaining after approximately 45 minutes, despite the hefty £300 consultation fee.

I had hoped for a more in-depth consultation, as my journey from Germany was specifically for this purpose. I asked about his annual rhinoplasty volume and his complication rate (5%). He suggested a follow-up Zoom call to discuss surgical risks if I opted to proceed with him.

As I left his office, I found myself in the stark hospital corridor, uncertain about the value of the consultation and whether he would truly consider my aesthetic preferences.

Surgeon 2

The second surgeon’s office is located on Harley Street, a well-known hub for medical practices akin to a WeWork for surgeons. The elegant waiting area buzzed with activity as the receptionist managed calls under various clinic names.

This consultation began with a discussion about my transgender journey. However, the photo session was less formal—an iPhone and a ring light sufficed, as no 3D scanner was available. Midway through, he excused himself to assist another patient with their cast removal, returning after a brief ten-minute absence.

Using an endoscope, he examined my nose, and while manipulating the photos on his laptop, he asked how I wanted to alter my nose. His initial adjustments mirrored those of the first surgeon, but when I requested a more pronounced slope, he quickly modified the model to align with my vision, indicating that my skin thickness posed no barrier.

An hour into our consultation, there was no rush. The surgeon elaborated on his surgical approach, drawing diagrams of my nasal structure and detailing how he intended to enhance both aesthetics and functionality.

He took his time explaining the procedure, recovery expectations, potential risks, and preventative measures. Although he performs fewer rhinoplasties annually compared to the first surgeon, his complication rate is also 5%.

At the conclusion of the session, he asked if I had any further questions, to which I had none at that moment. He personally guided me to another office, where his assistant engaged me in a pleasant half-hour discussion about the surgery, my journey, the weather, London, and shopping.

This consultation was notably different; it was thorough, unrushed, and informative. The surgeon not only addressed my concerns but actively listened and responded to my requests. Despite lacking the ENT training of the first surgeon, he left me feeling more assured and understood. While both surgeons have their share of unsuccessful outcomes—an inherent risk of surgery, marked by the same 5% complication rate—this consultation left a significantly positive impression.

# Returning Home

Unlike my outbound journey to London, where missing a flight would have been catastrophic due to scheduled appointments, I faced no such constraints on my return. Feeling empowered by this flexibility, I decided to check out as Sarah.

“Good morning, ma’am,” greeted the receptionist cheerfully. I replied, using my best feminine voice, still a work in progress, “I’d like to check out, room number xxx.”

“Anything from the minibar?” she inquired. I simply shook my head. No.

As she typed on her computer, it dawned on me that she would soon recognize my former name. “Ma’am, I see you dined in our restaurant, but the total was less than the deposit on your card, so you’ll receive a refund. Can I process that to your credit card?”

Our interaction flowed smoothly until she asked if I needed assistance with my luggage or a cab. I cleared my throat, and her expression shifted to genuine surprise.

The concierge, who had previously been indifferent upon my arrival, now eagerly assisted me. He promptly called a cab, helped with my suitcase and carry-on, and loaded them into the vehicle. What a remarkable change in attitude.

The express train from London to Stansted Airport was nearly empty, allowing me to choose my seat. I settled into a classic four-seat configuration—two seats facing two others—providing extra legroom for the 48-minute journey.

That day—like most days—my outfit was understated: black tights, a knee-length patterned bouclé skirt, and a satin blouse from Boss, tucked into a black cardigan. Nothing extravagant. I try to blend in, not stand out.

Yet, when two men around my age boarded, they couldn’t seem to take their eyes off me. One greeted me with a broad smile and a cheerful “Good morning, ma’am,” as they took the seats directly in front of mine. Almost immediately, one of them positioned his bulky backpack right where I had been enjoying extra legroom.

As the train departed, their gaze lingered uncomfortably on my body, alternating between my modestly crossed legs and my chest. This attention felt more invasive than flattering—a common, everyday creepiness.

To distract myself, I checked my phone’s GPS to see how long until our arrival and exchanged messages with a friend. She jested that I should view this as an “affirming” situation. Her comment made me chuckle reluctantly. While she had a point, it was precisely the type of affirmation I would have preferred to avoid.

My smile, however, was misinterpreted by one of the men as an invitation to chat. After a few monosyllabic replies, I decided to end the unwanted interaction by putting on my headset—a clear signal that I was not open to further conversation.

At the airport, baggage drop-off required showing my passport. I presented mine—still bearing my old name—to the attendant at the desk. She scrutinized the photo, then me, and back to the photo, her expression shifting to confusion.

Before she could ask, I began to explain, “You see, I’m in the process of…”

I didn’t need to finish. Her face lit up with a broad smile. “Oh my god, I absolutely love the transformation. Enjoy your flight!” she exclaimed, turning what could have been an awkward moment into a supportive one.

The rest of my journey unfolded typically. The only formal passport check occurred in Germany. I presented my passport alongside my DGTI trans ID card, receiving a standard, emotionless German response: “Thanks.”

Having shopped extensively, I declared goods exceeding €450 at customs. The customs officer sighed slightly upon realizing he had work to do and retreated to a cluttered back office to determine the duties. I settled in, anticipating a lengthy wait.

His colleague passed by, greeted me warmly, and joined him to assist. Their discussion about categorizing my purchases was audible.

“She bought two dresses. But I can’t find dresses here, just T-shirts. Can’t we just categorize them as T-shirts?”

“She also brought tea.” — “Loose leaf or bags?” — “I don’t know. Can you ask her?”

Their conversation continued, and they consistently referred to me as “she”… until the first officer returned with my passport to draft the invoice. After a quick glance at my ID, their pronouns shifted.

“Oh! Oh well…” — “Geez…” — “Yeah.”

From that point onward, “she” reverted to “he.” Their demeanor remained polite as I paid my duties, but this experience underscored how a formal change in my documents could streamline future interactions.

After two days of reflection, I decided to proceed with surgeon #2. I still need to request time off and finalize some details, but openings exist toward late August or September.

Once the surgery date is confirmed, I’m considering coming out at work. But that’s a story for another time…

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