I found myself in a somewhat new (to me) predicament the other night. I felt, not for the first time ever but for the first time in a long time, like I was going out in drag. Allow me to explain.

Friday night I was heading out to a play party. And, true to femme form (or really, fashion-conscious form regardless of gender identity), I had already planned out in my head what I wanted to wear. I was going to tomboy it up in my leather shoes—NOT boots; I haven’t earned that right, but that’s another post for another time—my beloved black fedora and this exquisitely hand-pieced, locally made, brand new khaki green suede vest I had scored at Goodwill a few weeks ago. I was really looking forward to it because while I always feel in my mind and heart that I am roughly equal parts tomboy and femme, I don’t often outwardly portray the tomboy to such an extent.

Imagine my dismay when I get the vest on that night, go to look in the mirror and… the vest doesn’t look right. I really should have known better before I even put it on, but I was so excited about finding it that I didn’t think about this crucial fact: the vest was made for a man. It was made for broad shoulders and a flat chest, not my somewhat-less-broad shoulders and not-unsubstantial bosom. When buttoned it did amazing things for my waistline, but the armholes pooched out right around my breasts and just looked… well… stupid. My dismay quickly turned to frustration which, for me, quickly turns—and turned—into anger. (I don’t handle frustration well. Never have.)

I didn’t have a lot of other tomboyish options and I was running out of time. I tried on a few other garments but nothing fit the image that I had in my head. Finally I settled on one of the few things that technically looked good: a sleeveless black Eddie Bauer faux-wrap top. And it did look good. But it wasn’t the look I was going for. It was femme. And at least for that one night, I wanted to be more tomboy than femme.

Our butch kin know this quandary all too well. Their favorite garments are usually if not always made for men, and they struggle probably every day with suiting the masculine garments not to their masculine souls, but to the treacherously unmasculine lines of their bodies. I had always sympathized with this plight but not sure I’d ever truly empathized. Until now.

Although my mindset has since shifted back to include the “femme” part and I went out last night gloriously comfortable in a ridiculously low-cut spaghetti strap maxi dress, the dilemma of my Friday night is still with me. It’s fascinating how much clothing can identify us—and betray us. I feel slightly sheepish even writing about it, because what right have I to essentially complain about this issue when our wonderful butch counterparts know this struggle every day as opposed to one night? Turns out though that this can be a femme issue as well. Sometimes our wardrobe makes us blend in too much as opposed to standing out. And sometimes, when the femme is a bit of a blend, it can be the biggest trick of all just finding that perfect second skin.

Happy Femme Appreciation Day, femme-kin! I don’t think there could be a more perfect day to write my column for Femme Galaxy.

I couldn’t be more proud to be femme; more particularly, I couldn’t be more proud to be my brand of femme. It took quite a few years before I came to terms with exactly what kind of femme I am, so to finally be comfortable in my own skin is something I absolutely do not take for granted.

Ever since I first realized I was not straight, I have been attracted to fellow femmes. My first crush was a straight tomboy counselor at summer camp, but the first girl I ever dated—and kissed, come to think of it—was a fellow femme. It unsettled me at the time and for quite some time to come, though, because when I am with a fellow femme, I naturally fall into what I call “butchy mode.” My sashay turns into a bit more of a swagger and I find myself doing all those things we call chivalrous – opening doors, walking the girl to her front door, buying her drinks and wanting to be protective of her. (Although, are those things really chivalrous or are they just good manners? Or is there really a difference? Ahh, another article for another time..)

“Butchy mode” didn’t sit well with me for a number of years because I didn’t realize that I could be both inside the same body and inside the same mind. It felt like a suit that didn’t quite fit, that was itchy and hot and I just wanted to take it off and get into my normal comfy clothes. Turns out that itchy suit was more like a new pair of shoes that just needed to be broken in. I have reconciled that femmes can have a less-traditionally-femme side and that it doesn’t make them any less femme. In my case, it (and many other things) made me tomboy femme. Maybe it makes you tomboy femme too, or whatever term you use to embrace your own unique brand of femmeininity. Needless to say, those shoes are very comfortable now, and while I may not wear them every day, they are definitely a fixture in my collection.

The moral of the story, femme-kin, is this: appreciate who you are, not just today but every day. Don’t waste even one minute of time thinking that you are somehow inferior because you are not traditional. The concepts of “femme” and “butch” and “queer” (and… and…) in themselves are about breaking traditions and norms and embracing yourself just because you are you. So embrace it, appreciate it and celebrate it! Today is a special day, yes, but every day is a good day to celebrate being femme.

Hello, my name is Danni and I am… wait for it… a femme.

Shocked? Surprised? Blown away? Yeah, me neither.

The various revelations I’ve encountered along the way to discovering my femmeninity have been various degrees of shocking for me, though. For example, figuring out that “femme” didn’t have to mean “girly” and that I was therefore not required to conform to some uncomfortable (to me) standard in order to be femme. Femmes can be girly; they can be reinvented pin-ups; they can be hipsterfemmes; they can be Fifth Avenue classic… and among an untold number of yet more ways to be femme, they can be like me: a little rough around the edges, more than a little boyish when the moment strikes and yet, despite all the little idiosyncrasies that may not fit into a traditional version of femme (if there is such a thing as “traditional” when you’re consciously fucking with the gender binary and heteronormativity), here I am in front of you: 100% femme in my 100% me way.

And so, welcome to my new column! It is said to write what one knows, and I know tomboy femme pretty well if I do say so myself. Of what exactly this column will consist month to month, I’m not quite sure! But, as with anything that has to do with gender, blogging and especially FEMMES, I am sure that it will be a fun ride.

Hi,
I have a couple of questions. I currently don't have a label yet, because I am not labeling my sexual orientation until I have a relationship with a woman or encounters in which I can completely label my sexual orientation. But for now, I could call myself bi-curious. So anyways... how would a lipstick femme flirt, attract, or approach another femme? I am having trouble finding femmes that like me. I'm not tooting my own horn, but I am very attractive, and I get a lot of guys, butches and studs approaching me, but never femmes. I don't understand how I would know that a female likes me and really if she is gay. Also, I should add that my gaydar isn't the best, but most of the time I am right, but I just don't know how to approach her once I know. For my last question, where would I go to meet femmes? Currently I live in a pretty big city in KY, and yet I have not met any available femmes. I have even went to a popular gay bar within the city and have had no luck of even seeing single femmes there....Am I looking too hard?

LipstickGirlyGirl

Oh man, I hardly know where to even begin on this one, because your questions touch on so many hot topics within the girls-who-like-girls community (whatever their specific labels may be). The first ones I saw were the issues of femme invisibility—expounded upon by Sinclair of the Sugarbutch Chronicles, Essin’Em, and writers right here on Femmes Guide—of the “lesbian sheep dance” aptly named by Nadia the Kinky Librarian and an issue very close to my own heart: that of tracking down those rare femmes who go for other femmes.

Sadly enough, it’s true. Femmes who like other femmes (whether it be exclusively or in addition to liking butches and/or those who fall somewhere in between) are not anywhere near as numerous as the femmes who like their women a little more masculine. Obviously I’m one of them, and I’m willing to bet that more than one of my fellow FG writers is also at least partly a femme’s femme, but out there in the world of gay bars and queer neighborhoods, they’re not exactly as concentrated as they are here. So chances are, you’re not doing anything wrong. There’s no one method of attracting another femme to you, so long as you’re making your interest clearly known (which goes back to the aforementioned “lesbian sheep dance,” a hilariously named but frustrating phenomenon to be avoided at all costs). Chances are, you just haven’t come across a femme’s femme yet.

Now, as far as approaching said femme, once you have her in your sights. In my experience, my flirting tactic doesn’t change much between butches and femmes. I could tell you that sometimes I have to be a little more aggressive with other femmes since they’re used to being actively courted and wooed by those bold butches, but how stereotypical would that be? I have had to be aggressive with shy butches too, so being bashful is definitely not solely a femme phenomenon. Just go with your instincts, which are probably a lot more spot-on than you realize, and tone your approach up or down in strength as you feel is necessary. Your main goal is get your message of interest across, and then the ball is in her court to either respond favorably or not, depending on if she is into other femmes.
As to your question of where to go to meet other femmes: well, where do you go? Or perhaps the better question is, where would you go to meet new people of the queer variety? It may happen in a gay bar or it may happen at the grocery store, or at a concert, or a flower nursery, or… the options are really endless! The real trick isn’t in going somewhere special; the trick is to always keep your eyes open and to never give up the search. Being a femme who likes femmes, you have certainly got a more difficult path ahead of you as far as finding a partner (either short- or long-term), but it’s not impossible. Sure, femmes don’t stand out as much as a butch usually does, but you said it yourself: you can usually tell. There’s just a certain energy about a femme that makes her stand out from the rest. And someday, probably when you least expect it, one of those femmes will see that same energy in you.

Now! Fellow FG writers and dearest FG readers, what have you to say to LipstickGirlyGirl? Please, chime in with your comments to assist a femme in need! We’ve all been there in one fashion or another; sometimes a few words of advice or support can make all the difference.

Back when I was still coming into myself as a non-butch women-loving woman, perhaps a “baby femme” if you will, I had deeply rooted reservations regarding being the aggressor in a relationship, or even just in flirtation. I passed up many a prime opportunity, maybe even missing out on what could have been great relationships, because I when I tried to be the person who does the pursuing, I felt somehow too masculine, too butch, and of course that didn’t sit right with me.

I think that underneath it all, I was struggling with the societal norms that had been ingrained in me for all of my life. It wasn’t that my parents forced a traditional outlook on me at all, but let’s face it: the media, literature and just people we see every day in our lives, whether or not we interact directly with them, reinforce the idea that the man or at the very least the more masculine party is always the aggressor, the pursuer. Of course there is nothing wrong with the more masculine person being the pursuer, but the idea that it must always be that way was a sad and outdated concept I essentially had to deprogram out of my brain.

Slowly but surely, I am getting the hang of it. I think it helped discovering that I am kinky and have a Top side that doesn’t sacrifice my femme identity, but what’s really doing it is just becoming more and more comfortable with my own brand of femme-ininity and thus, more comfortable in my own skin. As I have grown more comfortable, I’ve started flirting with those cute butches, or hell, even the cute fellow femmes, and every positive response is reinforcement that no, I do not have to be the wilting wallflower who always waits for the other party to initiate and that yes, I can pursue who I want and still be the femme I am.

Outside of cultural programming, there is nothing inherently masculine or butch about being the aggressor. Yeah, their sexy swaggers and cocked eyebrows certainly lend a little spice to the game of pursuit, but we femmes can absolutely add our own flair and come out on top. Or on bottom. Or however we like it!

Oddly enough, I don't recall any huge instances where I had to come out to anyone else. Even coming out as non-straight to my parents was no big deal. I haven't had to deal with a huge amount of the "femme invisibility" issue that seems to plague many of us, for whatever reason. Back when I was employed, I just let my employers think I was straight for two reasons: they have no business knowing about my personal life, and my last two jobs were in fairly conservative offices, so I didn't want to open myself up to any kind of closeminded drama. (Sometimes, as much as it sucks, femme invisibility does come in handy. But that's a post for another day.)

My biggest issue in coming out? It was coming out to myself. Not because I was ashamed of what I was, but because I didn't know what I was. My impression of "femme" for the longest time was that best-known faction, the high femmes. It was red lipstick, spike heels and full-skirted dresses. And that certainly isn't me, at least, not most of the time. I am usually more of a lip balm, Converse and dark wash jeans kind of girl. So surely I didn't fit in with the femmes, right? But I knew I wasn't butch. There was no question about that.

I don't even remember where or how I heard of the idea of a "tomboy femme." I do remember the feeling I got when it dawned on me though. It was a dawning. A sun had risen in my head and suddenly the gloom was brightly lit and clear to me. That was me. "Tomboy femme" was me. I was no less femme because I preferred Chucks to heels, or because I was more comfortable in denim than silk. I was just a different kind of femme. I was - I am - the kind of femme who takes elements of a more masculine image and incorporates them into a femme identity, making them both into my own. I am the kind of femme who walks with a bit of a hip sashay and a bit of a swagger. I am the kind of femme who pairs a floral blouse with a leather motorcycle jacket. And above all, I am just me, which is something entirely beyond names and labels. And finally I am comfortable with that; I feel like I fit into my own skin just as well as I fit into those jeans that make my ass into a work of art.

I think I understand now why I was having such an issue with my femmeinism before. I was in the wrong career field!  And maybe this is just my own personal difficulty - I imagine some femmes could probably be garbage truck drivers and still rock their femmeininity, but I'm one of those whose environment contributes to their internal attitude and external image. Being a vet tech in scrubs every day, usually sweaty and covered in you don't even want to know what, hair a mess, no time or will to put on makeup just for the animals - it took a hit on my femme rockage!

I was unhappy in the field for other reasons as well, and finally I found a job in a completely different field. Basically I'm at a desk, in front of a computer all day, and I have to look professional. Casual business attire is the name of the game. I'm not running around sweating my arse off, and am in a field where it really does matter how I look (which also meant I had to put clear jewelry in my nostril piercing to hide it, but hey, sacrifices). This is doing wonders for my femmeininity. I wear nice clothes every day. Makeup. Hair done. Nothing extravagant mind you, but enough to make me feel quite fabulously femme. It's transferred into my non-life work as well. Jeans are still a large part of the uniform, but the tops are prettier, the shoes are prettier, the walk is sassier, and the makeup and scent are being applied more frequently. I didn't have self-confidence issues before, but now it's rockin'.

I must say, it feels good to rock the lifestyle. Now to find the perfect pair of heels...!

Well, it’s about that time of the year. The time of the year when the year ends. 2008 has had its ups and downs, but above all it has been a year of great change. Political and socioeconomic change – do I even have to mention that whole first black U.S. President bit? – but also a time of personal change. 2008 marks the year I discovered and entered the world of kink and BDSM. It marks the year I really began to explore my gender identity and sexuality. I came out as a kinky switch. I came out as pansexual, finally settling on queer because it just seems to suit me so much better. (I don’t think I ever actually blogged about settling on queer. There’s another New Year’s resolution: blog more!) I came out as femme.

Now to me, that’s the biggie. I had been experimenting with my sexuality for quite some time. Probably since I was 12 and first realized I was attracted to more than just guys. But experimenting with my gender identity – now that’s something that never even occurred to me until I started reading the blogs of people far more enlightened than I. It never occurred to me, even though I grew up as a tomboy, no girly girl by any means, that I could be anything but what I have now learned is called cis-female. That was a huge revelation.

It is now a goal. My big goal for 2009, aside from not being such a half assed blogger, is to really delve deep into the caverns of my femme-ininity and map every niche, stalactite, stalagmite, trench and crevasse. To test the waters of the underground streams and rivers that have shaped me. And while I’m doing that, I’m going to celebrate it and play with it. What is the point of such a glorious thing as femme-ininity if a femme can’t enjoy it, am I right?

This new year is positively brimming with possibility. I for one am eager to seize it in both hands, wrap myself in it and let it carry me away into an eyes-wide-open life.

Oh, and did I mention it will also be my birthday? Happy 22^nd to me!

Allow me to begin by explaining that I go through phases with my hair. During one phase I want to grow it out; during another I want to hack it all off and just not worry about it. I recently got over a growing out phase. It was almost to mid-back - actually, it was there, but the ends were looking really bad so I cut off a couple of inches. Well, Thursday I went and got it chopped. At its longest it resides right at my chin, and in the back it just hits my neck. Shows off my pretty little tattoo back there, which is nice.

I can't explain why I started feelings doubts about this hair over the last day or so. I think maybe I just got used to having the long hair. I certainly did enjoy twisting it up into a bun with a pretty clip. It made me feel kind of Naughty Businesswoman. Of course, that's about all I did with it. I hardly ever wore it down because it drove me crazy. That was the major prompt in getting it cut. But then after the cut, I started feeling... almost less femme than before. Nothing else had changed - I still had the nice clothes, the nice undies (ooooh, do those go a long way to making me feel fabulous). The attitude is still there. So what about not having long hair is making me feel so different?

I couldn't say. Certainly I do know that short hair isn't just a butch thing. Hell, plenty of butchier people have long hair; I've seen them! And plenty of femme people have short hair. I'm one of them! And really, the shorter hair doesn't make me look any less femme. It's kind of flippy at the ends and really quite sassy. And even though my girlfriend says she misses my long hair (pooh, I say), she plays more with this short hair, which I love. (Have I ever mentioned how damn much I love my hair played with?)

In the end I guess I would just call it a bit of a shock to my system. I wanted it, that's for sure, but it's still no less of a pretty big change, considering I've been growing my hair out for well over a year, if not into two years. It certainly makes getting ready a hell of a lot quicker and easier! The girl who cut it did a great job; I'll definitely be going back to her.

I just have to settle it in my brain that I am no less a femme without the long, luxurious (ha) locks. Hairstyle does not a femme make! The attitude, the way in which the femme rocks that hairstyle - THAT makes a femme. The confidence which leaves every femme-lover gaping in her wake - THAT makes a femme.

And oddly enough, sitting here in my black track pants and my Save The Ta-Tas t-shirt, barefoot, without a stitch of makeup and with short hair... I feel very femme.

Technorati Tags: hair, identity

Sex vs. Gender

An interesting concept, the thought of sex versus gender as though they were two opposing fighters in the boxing ring. Think about it – how often on, say, applications or other miscellaneous forms do you see “Gender: M___ F___” or “Sex: M___ F___?” (The fact that there are only two genders on these forms is a whole other, and often addressed concept.) The vast majority of the world sees these two terms as completely interchangeable, although some might argue that “gender” is slightly more appropriate, given the obvious double-entendre of the word “sex.” (Cue Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me line, “Sex… yes please!”) However, in my cognitive travels, I have reached a fork in the road, with a sign on a pole in the middle:

Yes, please forgive my shoddy photo editing. It gets my point across. And that point is: we are no longer in a time where sex can unerringly equal gender, where the two can be swapped back and forth like partners at a swingers party. If we are to adopt the theory of orbiting in a gender galaxy as opposed to standing in a spot along the linear spectrum of binary gender assignment, then we also have to make the conscious decision to separate the two terms and use both to specify the context in which we are speaking. No longer, I feel, does “sex” always equal “gender.”

Sex, aside from being a pleasurable and sometimes procreative act, should ideally refer to the reproductive and genital organs a person was born with. A person of the male sex would have the XY chromosome, a penis and testes. A person of the female sex would have the XX chromosome, and at the very least a vulva, if not also the vagina, uterus and ovaries. (I am trying to take into account those born with defects. Bear with me, for the sake of my point.) Those who are neither, or in between in the biological sense are often referred to as hermaphrodites, or intersex. (See, there’s that term again. Intersex. Not intergender.)

Gender is a whole other ballgame; one, as mentioned before, often discussed. Gender is a huge hot topic in the world of alternative lifestyle. Going even further beyond the now-well known ideas of transgender and transvestitism are the ideas of genderqueer, cisgender, and genderfuck. Those terms do tie in with the ideas and various practices of transgender – they’re almost “umbrella terms” under which the more specific identities and practices exist – but oddly enough, while transgender and transvestitism are better known and more or less accepted (even if the people who practice them are not), the terms that describe them in their general state are new, buzzworthy, revolutionary even. The genderqueer concepts of “butch” and “femme” in the newly discovered gender galaxy are becoming more widespread and being more deeply explored than ever. No longer is “butch” just a term – or a nickname – for the burly, leather vest wearing, ‘do-rag sporting Harley biker with bad tattoos. No longer does “femme” just bring to mind the movie title Femme Fatale and more importantly, no longer is femme interchangeable with the term “feminine.” The era of gender enlightenment has been born. I for one cannot wait to see it flower into maturity.

Technorati Tags: gender, identities, sex vs. gender