Dear Jen, my unfortunate Betty Boopified friend!
Despite the disturbances of your visit to the Met, not least the title of that upcoming exhibit: "Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination" makes me sense some synchronicities are going on here!
Anyway, if you belong to the long robed cult of Monastery and Sith world, may I ask if your order has some specific sacred and profound purpose? Sounds like it if you also deal in wizardry and the secret arts. Do you have awareness of what it might be? Are you able to find out?
I gather that you probably practice ritual, intense spiritual self discipline and contemplation as a matter of course, that is aside the more esoteric and hidden goings on within the order. Speaking of which, I have a certain fascination for religious orders who insist on the Benedictine rule of silence, like the Carthusians, Carmelites and Trappists, and who observe long periods of solitude inside the cloistered cell not to disturb the flow of the divine. Imagine having supper with no one uttering a word or faking a smile the whole time! Lovely!
But then again I must admit that I find the all black robes of the ordinary, and generally more worldly, "ora et labora" Benedictines more stylish:
"My obsession for this type of longwear has little to do with the control of sin and desire unfortunately, my leather loving friend. It's really about being obsessed with cultist identity, as in wearing a uniform, but.... hmmmm.....I guess the leather community can be considered a cult too."
Yes, of course. Which yet again exemplifies the differing motivations behind MtF and FtM crossdreaming. While the former has its aesthetic typically drenched in an erotic and sensual imagination, whatever you might say (sorry about that, anti-Blanchardists!), the latter are seeking other values, as for instance in your case it may seem, power and spirituality.
Nevertheless, I do recognize myself in your plight. I also imagine from time to time - well, when I transgress the basic assumption that our existence here lacks purpose and needs to be seen as a kind of "accident" - that I must have been sent here as a form of punishment or banishment to teach me (in gentle ways, no less) a kind of lesson, due to some transgression I committed. Maybe I was a favoured pet or odalisque somewhere who still envied men and masculinity to the extent I became a shrew, falsely believing that a man's life automatically meant limitless power, freedom and adventure. Little did I know it could be as lacklustre, restricted, purposeless and lacking in love and affection as this. No, it doesn't make me sad. If my idle imagination turned out to be correct, I'm sure I'm currently deep into learning my experience well!
"We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting."
- Khalil Gibran
If I cannot be a feminine traditional woman, what's the point of being a woman?