"can i help you, sir?"

I followed the notes from the Femme Collective conference throughout the weekend, and seeing the energy and solidarity there inspired me and got me thinking about all of the things I love about femmes. So I thought hey, why not write it all down?

I’ve seen posts here and there about femme role models, and you know what? I have femme role models, too. I didn’t have any butch role models; my dad was the closest thing to that, but his guidance was unintentional and therefore, a bit distant. But the femmes in my life have been critical to my growth and development as a butch. You haven’t just taught me how to treat a woman; you’ve shown me how a woman likes to be treated. And in that process, I’ve found myself.

You’re soft. You’re strong. You’re the perfect intersection of hold me and don’t fuck with me. And when you do let me hold you, it feels like a gift. You’ve got the sweetest and dirtiest mouth. You bolster me up and give me the strength to deal with society, all the while fighting for your own visibility and respect. I’ve argued with you, and I’ve adored you. You’ve taught me how to really listen. Your touch brings me comfort when no one else understands. Your words soothe, entertain, stimulate and excite me. When I meet a sexy femme with a smart mouth and sharp mind? I’m a goner.

You’re a comforting mystery to me; I know I won’t always understand you, but I get solace from the fact that I don’t always NEED to, because our differences make us a better duo. You take such impeccable care of and pride in yourself, yet you smile and accept my rough edges and difficult ways. I might grumble if you tell me “Ten more minutes,” but that just builds the anticipation because I know at the end of those ten minutes, I’m the one who gets to see how beautiful you look. Your energy is so different from mine, but that’s precisely the balance I need on the other side of my scale.

I’m not quite sure how to explain this next part, but your appreciation of me is both humbling and empowering. You know I’m not trying to be tough, but I’m guarded; and somehow, you know just the way through that barricade. You like me strong, and you like me vulnerable. I live in this world of gray area between male and female, masculinity and femininity, and you don’t just accept or tolerate it – you love me for it, when precious few in my life do. Do you even understand how much that endears you to me?

It’s an honor and a pleasure to know you and to be loved by you. I hope you realize that you are loved in return.

Harrison recently wrote something over on How to Be Butch about Rachel Maddow’s high school picture. I know, it’s old news by now, but it’s had me thinking for a while about how I view and share myself. I tend to see my life as pre-butch and post-butch, which could also be known as The Period of Great Enlightment II (the first PoGE being the time in my life after I realized I was gay). And when it comes to that pre-butch part of my life, I am very protective of it.

It’s so strange for me to look back at my earlier years.   I don’t really count the childhood years, because it’s natural to look somewhat different from that stage of life. But when I see photos of myself as a young adult, it’s more than just seeing me when I had that bad 80s haircut. I feel so detached, as if I’m seeing a picture of someone vaguely familiar or someone who just resembles me in some respects. It doesn’t look or feel like the Younger Me, so much so that sometimes my old pictures barely register on my scale of recognition.

It’s tough to put my finger on any one thing that makes me so reluctant to share that part of my life with anyone. I’m not ashamed of anything I did, and for the most part I liked who I was. I’m proud of the path I took to discover who I am and what I believe, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. It’s just a little painful to realize how lost and uncomfortable I was back then, without a real identity. I think most of us go through that at some point, though – my confusion was just gender-related.

In an effort to give myself some authentic writing therapy, I present Exhibits A and B of Younger Me*: Continue reading

I had to entertain an executive’s 10-year-old daughter for a portion of my day today. I was just one in a line of employees in my department who had to chat with her about what we do. Secretly, I think he just forgot he was supposed to do something with her today, so he sent her to us.

I showed her a few things I’ve worked on and asked her a few questions. The kid is pretty bright, I will say that. It wasn’t as horrible as I thought it would be. Don’t get me wrong; I like kids, and I’m good  with them. But there’s something about having them at work that totally throws me off. It’s hard for me to switch from work mode to kid-friendly mode sometimes. But she and I had a pretty good time.

At one point, she asked me if she could ask a few ice breaker questions that she’d brought with her. Her first question was simple enough: What historical sporting event do you wish you could attend? Easy: the 1908 World Series, which is the last time the Chicago Cubs won. Her next question: If you could change your name to anything, what would it be?

Yeah, what would it be? I was stumped. I’m actually totally at peace with my given name; it feels comfortable on me. It’s not super feminine, which I think would make me uncomfortable. Balancing my masculinity with a feminine name would bother me on some level, I think. I can’t imagine being a Sarah or Vanessa or Mindy. Those names are all perfectly fine, by the way; it’s nothing against the name, I’m just glad it’s not my name. The only names that had come to mind were those that could go either way: Sam, Jesse, Shawn, you get the idea. I told her I was at a loss, but she apparently wasn’t.

“You look like a Chase to me. That would be a good one for you. Or Chandler.”

“You’re not, like, a regular girl. You look like you’d want a cool name instead of a pretty one.”*

It might seem like a little thing, but in that few minutes, I felt like this kid actually saw me. She looked at me and actually thought about what I would like. She gauged my mannerisms, looks and personality and came to a conclusion that was incredibly insightful, in my opinion. I actually really appreciated it, even though I couldn’t express to her why. And then we were off, talking about her totally weird neighbor who had a baby girl and named her Xantha.

The whole experience reminded me why I actually like kids. No judgment, no expectations, no rules. A lot of adults could learn from that.

*Wanting something cool instead of something pretty could pretty much sum up my life’s wishes. Barbie? No thank you. Pocketknife? Yes, please.

Good grief. I’m swamped. But I do lift my head every so often to look at Facebook, peek in on Twitter, or skim my Google Reader. I saw a few comments on Twitter about a post over on AfterEllen about butch swimwear, and I thought I would give it a read. I don’t often read articles there, to be honest. Some of the bigger lesbian sites like that are nice enough, but I don’t find that much with which I identify. I’ve subscribed to them, but inevitably it ends up feeling like noise to me. Where was I? OH YEAH, swimming butches.

(That makes me want to write a gay-friendly version of The 12 Days of Christmas.)

This article, A butch’s guide to bathing suits, is a little troubling to me. Now, I’m not going to trash the site or the author, both of which I think probably had good intentions. But the article is so off-base that I’m kind of surprised After Ellen posted it.

I found a couple of things off-putting: Continue reading

I know I write mostly about what it means to me to be butch and feel masculinity, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my feminine self. I’ve always thought of butch as an intersection of sorts between masculinity and femininity, sex and gender. I don’t think my version of butch is any different – hovering somewhere along those axes, at different points depending on the day or circumstances.

I know we all have a mix of masculine and feminine energy to some extent, but I’ve been wondering – where is my feminine side? At first I was thinking, “Well okay, there’s my body, my voice sometimes …” but then I realized I needed to make the clear distinction between what is female and what is feminine. Biology and psychology are two very different things.

Generally speaking, my traits (and by traits, I’m speaking primarily to my internal, emotional motivators versus behavior) are overwhelmingly masculine. This is based on both how I feel, as well as some reading I’ve done regarding which traits are widely considered masculine vs. feminine. Before people go freaking out, I’m not saying that a feminine woman can’t be aggressive, direct, emotionless, rough, etc; we’re all hybrids, you know? I’m simply looking to identify all of the parts of me to better be able to understand myself.

I’m not saying I’m about to walk around in my underwear in a field and sing about how I wear no pants. (I don’t even want to think about how many ticks those guys picked up in the process. Sick. Not to mention that the whole concept is just stupid.) I’m just trying to be a little more aware of my feminine side.

How do you feel about the gender mix of your traits? Can you readily identify which parts of you are masculine or feminine, outside of what may be outwardly visible?