Not Your Dad, Not Your Daddy, Not Your Boyfriend
As a femme lesbian moving through this world, I have my own set of complicated dynamics to navigate.
Will the gays at the bar know I’m gay? (probably) How soon into a conversation with a cis straight man should I mention that I’m a full-blown lesbian? (immediately) How should I hit on the hot butch standing in line at the coffeeshop? (directly, but respectfully) How many rings are too many rings? (the limit does not exist)
I’ve dated all kinds of butches, fallen in love, fucked around, found out, had amazing one-night stands, had terrible one-night stands, and navigated my fair share of situation-ships. I like expansiveness and clarity all in one. I don’t want to be confined to anyone’s projection of me, or put into a box of femme-hood. I don’t want to be wifed up, placed on a pedestal, given unearned power, or be used to affirm anyone’s masculinity. I want to be seen as vulnerable, complex and assertive and I want to be respected as an equal, no better or worse than anyone else.
In my years of dating butches, I’ve run into the same dynamics and patterns over and over again. This says as much about butches and the ways they are treated as it does about me.
From the first interaction to the last, I witness the pressure butches feel to somehow be as capable as men, but as emotionally attuned as women. I have never, ever gone on a first date with a butch where they did not offer, or expect, to pay for our meal. Why is this? Butches are not cis men. Why are they held to the same standards of masculinity that we as a queer community are trying to reject? Why are they told (by masculinity, by femmes, by society) that they should be in control, or that their needs are less important than anyone else’s?
We make it past dinner and drinks, and head to someone’s house to hook up. Butches are notorious for being tops, generous and giving in bed, attuned lovers, happy to take the lead and take the pressure off the other person. This must be tiring. Sexual preferences are highly individualized and personal – so why is it that we expect butches to be tops, and femmes to be bottoms? Often, I feel like all I need to do is show up, and a butch will take care of the rest.
As a switchy femme who believes in equality in the bedroom, butches are often utterly shocked when I want to take the lead. I barely need to do anything – initiative a make-out, lightly push someone against a wall – to be labeled a rare femme top. I’m told “wow, you really know what you’re doing” after a mediocre fingerbang. I’m given sexual props for the slightest amount of assertiveness and directiveness, barely a glimmer of what is expected of butches in all sexual encounters. Butches are taught to expect SO little that they are blown away when I am attracted to them, when I want to fuck them as much as they want to fuck me and when I want to be in charge in even the smallest of ways.
As we continue down the dating path, I see many small moments that show me the harmful expectations put on butches. Butches endlessly go to bat for me as a femme – they defend my queerness and they hold space for the harm that femme invisibility causes. They are quick to acknowledge their own masculine privilege, and do the inner work to ensure that they are not upholding toxic masculinity. They assure me that the discrimination they face from society is nowhere near the difficulties I experience as a femme who must fend off cis men right and left, and struggle to be respected in the workplace.
I cannot speak for anyone else’s experience, but as a straight-passing, conventionally attractive cis femme lesbian, the irritation and occasional harassment I face at the hands of cis men does not come anywhere close to the stories I hear from butches about their experiences in the world. Butches who are given dirty looks as they walk down the street, passed over at work for promotions, viewed suspiciously in public bathrooms both male and female. Butches who scan their surroundings while passing through rural towns, who are never quite sure how their neighbors feel about them. Who are either ignored completely or fetishized. Who are used by straight women to satisfy their curiosity, then tossed aside.
Butches who as children were punished for rejecting gender norms, before there was queer community, or social media, or anyone to tell them that they were lovable just as they were. These formative years have lingering effects long after butches move away to big cities, get girlfriends, and find queer community. I cannot describe how many gorgeous, handsome, sexy, and objectively attractive butches have told me that they feel ugly and unattractive, no matter how hard I try to convince them otherwise. The lack of butch visibility in the media is to blame, along with the constant subtle messaging from society and even from within the queer community that they are doing gender wrong.
Femme invisibility is certainly annoying and can be quite painful at times. But invisibility is also a privilege, and so is passing through the world in accordance with the unspoken rules of gender.
Butches deserve recognition for the heavy weight they carry, and for the strength and kindness they convey despite it. Butches deserve freedom from the oppressive gender roles which we are supposedly dismantling. Butches deserve to be viewed with nuance and humanity and respect, whether they’re tops or bottoms and whether or not they want to pay for dinner tonight.
As a femme lesbian moving through this world, I have my own set of complicated dynamics to navigate.
Will the gays at the bar know I’m gay? (probably) How soon into a conversation with a cis straight man should I mention that I’m a full-blown lesbian? (immediately) How should I hit on the hot butch standing in line at the coffeeshop? (directly, but respectfully) How many rings are too many rings? (the limit does not exist)
I’ve dated all kinds of butches, fallen in love, fucked around, found out, had amazing one-night stands, had terrible one-night stands, and navigated my fair share of situation-ships. I like expansiveness and clarity all in one. I don’t want to be confined to anyone’s projection of me, or put into a box of femme-hood. I don’t want to be wifed up, placed on a pedestal, given unearned power, or be used to affirm anyone’s masculinity. I want to be seen as vulnerable, complex and assertive and I want to be respected as an equal, no better or worse than anyone else.
In my years of dating butches, I’ve run into the same dynamics and patterns over and over again. This says as much about butches and the ways they are treated as it does about me.
From the first interaction to the last, I witness the pressure butches feel to somehow be as capable as men, but as emotionally attuned as women. I have never, ever gone on a first date with a butch where they did not offer, or expect, to pay for our meal. Why is this? Butches are not cis men. Why are they held to the same standards of masculinity that we as a queer community are trying to reject? Why are they told (by masculinity, by femmes, by society) that they should be in control, or that their needs are less important than anyone else’s?
We make it past dinner and drinks, and head to someone’s house to hook up. Butches are notorious for being tops, generous and giving in bed, attuned lovers, happy to take the lead and take the pressure off the other person. This must be tiring. Sexual preferences are highly individualized and personal – so why is it that we expect butches to be tops, and femmes to be bottoms? Often, I feel like all I need to do is show up, and a butch will take care of the rest.
As a switchy femme who believes in equality in the bedroom, butches are often utterly shocked when I want to take the lead. I barely need to do anything – initiative a make-out, lightly push someone against a wall – to be labeled a rare femme top. I’m told “wow, you really know what you’re doing” after a mediocre fingerbang. I’m given sexual props for the slightest amount of assertiveness and directiveness, barely a glimmer of what is expected of butches in all sexual encounters. Butches are taught to expect SO little that they are blown away when I am attracted to them, when I want to fuck them as much as they want to fuck me and when I want to be in charge in even the smallest of ways.
As we continue down the dating path, I see many small moments that show me the harmful expectations put on butches. Butches endlessly go to bat for me as a femme – they defend my queerness and they hold space for the harm that femme invisibility causes. They are quick to acknowledge their own masculine privilege, and do the inner work to ensure that they are not upholding toxic masculinity. They assure me that the discrimination they face from society is nowhere near the difficulties I experience as a femme who must fend off cis men right and left, and struggle to be respected in the workplace.
I cannot speak for anyone else’s experience, but as a straight-passing, conventionally attractive cis femme lesbian, the irritation and occasional harassment I face at the hands of cis men does not come anywhere close to the stories I hear from butches about their experiences in the world. Butches who are given dirty looks as they walk down the street, passed over at work for promotions, viewed suspiciously in public bathrooms both male and female. Butches who scan their surroundings while passing through rural towns, who are never quite sure how their neighbors feel about them. Who are either ignored completely or fetishized. Who are used by straight women to satisfy their curiosity, then tossed aside.
Butches who as children were punished for rejecting gender norms, before there was queer community, or social media, or anyone to tell them that they were lovable just as they were. These formative years have lingering effects long after butches move away to big cities, get girlfriends, and find queer community. I cannot describe how many gorgeous, handsome, sexy, and objectively attractive butches have told me that they feel ugly and unattractive, no matter how hard I try to convince them otherwise. The lack of butch visibility in the media is to blame, along with the constant subtle messaging from society and even from within the queer community that they are doing gender wrong.
Femme invisibility is certainly annoying and can be quite painful at times. But invisibility is also a privilege, and so is passing through the world in accordance with the unspoken rules of gender.
Butches deserve recognition for the heavy weight they carry, and for the strength and kindness they convey despite it. Butches deserve freedom from the oppressive gender roles which we are supposedly dismantling. Butches deserve to be viewed with nuance and humanity and respect, whether they’re tops or bottoms and whether or not they want to pay for dinner tonight.
