you know what that means

6.4.26

yay happy pride i wish all the butches and boydykes of the world ultimate love and peace and joy summer

beginnings

“Just don’t cut it too short, you’ll look butch,” my mother said, lowering her voice to a curt whisper at the last word.

“I won’t.”

I didn’t get what she meant at the time, though it was decided that anything “butch” was best to avoid, getting a haircut or otherwise. The hushed, dismissive tone that surrounded the word during my early teenage years certainly made it seem more appealing. Despite her warnings, my curiosity drew me to these women, their confident strides and magnetic cadence.

I was at once envious and thrilled every time I came across them in public, hoping that our brief eye contact would communicate how eager I was to understand.

baggage

There’s a lingering association between masculinity and freedom in my head that agonizes me occasionally to this day. A physical status that encourages respect, the ability to move through the world with more ease. The media doesn’t do a bad job at showing how heavily dudes can rock either. Though I’m pretty ambivalent about my own gender now, I don’t think that teenage longing to experience the boys club will ever leave me completely.

Appearing masculine and enjoying its benefits (safety? pants with pockets?) while retaining an alignment with womanhood and bonds with other women seemed like a happy in-between that would somehow absolve me of all resentment towards the expectations placed on half of the world’s population.

blunders

After cutting my hair and thrifting a few men’s jackets during my second year of college, I discovered the inconvenient reality that even slightly breaking the mold can (sometimes) feel just as fruitless as contorting to fit inside it. The same stares I gave butches as a child were given right back, though with obvious disapproval rather than awe. Something as inconsequential as visible leg or pit hair became an obscene gesture to some, an act of defiance.

I think these experimentations were an attempt to leave the frustrations that come with being recognized as a woman behind. I wanted to be without, to become something else that could “succeed” womanhood entirely. It was a misguided effort rooted in the idea that masculinity is strength and femininity is fragility.

Rejections via strange looks and continued harassment paired with my flawed reasoning behind presenting masculine left me pretty unsatisfied, unsurprisingly. It wasn’t until I actually listened to butches and made friends with more lesbians that my views began to shift.

belonging

There’s a pretty overwhelming perception that the lesbian scene can get messy, full of catty drama and heartbreak. If you're twenty years old or you get your news from Reddit, that might be the case. In my experience though, it’s kinddd of actually been one of the most worthwhile and restorative spaces I’ve ever taken part in (so far).

Putting aside the tendency some have to center their lesbianism around a disgust for men for a second, most of my encounters and relationships with butches and mascs have helped me understand that it really is all about the girl.

A desire to walk alongside other women, to understand and be a part of them. One’s presentation of masculinity can become extracted from men entirely, acting as another way of expressing a love for them that needs nothing to do with men. Rather than a rejection of womanhood, butch can be a recognition that another way of living with it is possible.

Yes, it still sucks to get called a dyke by frat dudes and be the hot topic of gossip among local mothers. But when I stopped doing it out of spite, when I found others who felt the same and learned about how they view their identities, it became easier to take a breath and keep going. The relief that comes from solidarity and self-acceptance far outweighs the opinions of others.