I hadn’t intended to take so long to write my blog post about what femme community means to me, but it’s been a busy month and at points time has just gotten away from me. Also, if I am going to be honest I’d have to say that when I wrote this months writing prompt for Femmes Guide I had no idea how I personally was going to answer it because my relationship with femme community is complicated and fraught. With this topic, I’m a little bit nervous that my sentiments won’t be understood and that this post won’t be well received, but at the same time I don’t want to write something that isn’t true for me so….. That shall just have to be a risk that I take.
For me, femme friends are a decedent and incredibly sweet desert. They are bright frosting, and glitter, best when savored and treasured, like birthday cake. They are also (for me) best in small-ish doses so my teeth don’t start hurting. I am so blessed in that I have the absolute most wonderful group of femme friends I could have ever asked for, and they are really who I was thinking of when I began planning what I was going to write in this blog. I also thought about how (with a few notable exceptions) my femme friends are spread around the world- Vancouver, San Francisco, Vermont, Ireland, Atlanta, Sydney, Boston (and so many other places I don’t have room to list – but want to make sure folks don’t feel left out). and that very few are based in NYC- and I started to think constructively about why that is….
When folks hear how spread around the world my femme friends are I have been known to get looks of pity, or it’s assumed that our friendships are less intense or close or that I should make more effort to be part of the expansive femme community here in NYC. In many ways I have stronger or better friendships with my femme friends who I have the privilege of sharing wonderful long handwritten letters with and who I keep connected with online in between letters and the occasions where we might be physically together, than I would if we lived full time in the same city.
I came to this metaphor for my needs and desires around femme community by thinking really critically about the makeup of my community. I’ve come to realize in the past few months that outside of queerness one of the most important identities for my friends to have is connection to art. I’m finding more and more that I struggle to have strong in person friendships with folks femme or otherwise who aren’t in some way artistically creating something, doesn’t matter what medium they work in, so long as they are creating. I find that I struggle to relate to non-artists. But beyond that, I realize that most of my core community (again with a few important notable exceptions) is butches and boys, and transgender men, in keeping with my metaphor they are the (veggie) meat and potatoes of my circle of friends.
I used to think that this was some sort of leftover internalized femmephobia, but I really don’t think it is. For me, and maybe it’s because that was the first queer community I came out into, and even though my identity has shifted at points it’s never stopped feeling like home to me. Maybe it’s that I feel like more or all of my gender history is more seen or understood there, or maybe it’s that I can be more relaxed, but whatever the reason my meat and potatoes group is where I feel most comfortable, most seen, most safe, most at home. All that said, I might be more interested in savory, but everyone knows dinner also isn’t complete with a deliciously decedent desert to round out the meal ☺
I know this month’s topic is on femme community—I’m working on that one right now, but I heard the best story this weekend about a femme out in California and I had to share.
Someplace in California, there is a 6 ft 3 femme walking around in stilettos, prepared to kill.
Let me back up.
I was out shoe shopping for a wedding this weekend and I had dragged two of my friends with me. They do not care much for shoes, even less for heels, so their enthusiasm for a difficult project (finding silver heels not made for a 14-year-old mess going to Jr. prom) was waning. It got to the point that they were prancing through the store pretending to wear those ridiculous ‘shape up’s and commenting on their lack of firmed buttocks and suggesting that, as I was in heels at the time, there was nothing I could do to make them stop because they could run faster than me.
Not so, dear boys. I can run as fast in 3.5 inch heels as you can in sneakers (at least when I have to—who really wants to run?). I told them this, and later proved it to them when they kept bringing faux-snake-skin loafers in unnatural colors over for me to try on when I was involved in the real mission of the day.
When we were walking out of the store (4 inch silver peep-toe sling-backs in hand, thank you very much) one of them told me the story of a friend who was also always in big heels. He was concerned for her safety on more than one occasion, and finally one day asked her why she didn’t think about investing in some more ‘sensible’ shoes so she could run if she was ever harassed. He didn’t say this, but I get the feeling that the 6’3” femme fatal had probably had several scrapes before he was compelled to say something as silly as recommending sneakers to a heel-committed femme.
Anyway, he made the suggestion and got the best response I’ve ever heard. Apparently this femme, after assuring him that she could not only run in heels and fight in heels, told him she wasn’t really that worried about running anyway.
‘If anyone messes with me, I can always do this,’ she said. Removing one of her stilettos, she glanced around, found a wooden post a good 8 or 10 feet away, and, barely taking aim, she hurled her heel at it. Not only did she hit the post she aimed for, she had put the perfect spin on her sling-back defense mechanism, and it was stuck there, heel-in, right in the middle of the post.
That was the end of my friend’s story, but I can picture the part of it he didn’t say: the aftermath of this femme demonstration of ingenuity and strength. Him standing there, mouth hanging open, while she sauntered over to reclaim her stiletto from the heart of that poor post, the words “let them try me” written all over her walk, the tough and maybe vaguely-nostalgic smile creeping on the corners of her mouth. As a heel-wearing femme myself, I appreciate the lengths someone would have to push her before she’d relinquish a heel, even in self-defense. But even more than that, I appreciate a femme that won’t be compromised by what other people view as a ‘safe’ choice for her fashion.
And, of course, I’ve found an old heel that doesn’t fit me so well anymore and set it up with a post in the backyard of my head, ready to practice my own slinging talents at night, or after a particularly bad day out in the world. I figure part of being femme is learning each other’s tricks and keeping ourselves safer and more fabulous on the inventiveness of our fellow femmes.
So here’s to the femme whose name I don’t know and face I’ve never seen, who’s inspired me to new heights of heels and self-defense. Someday, let me make wooden posts (and potential femme destroyers) cringe as much when I sway past in a pair of bad-ass heels.
Each month here on the Femme’s Guide we are all encouraged to respond to a prompt. This month it’s about femme community and I’ve realized that my thoughts on the issue are pretty scattered so I’m just going to answer these questions as best I can.
Sassafras writes:
Talk about your relationship to femme community. What does it mean to you? What does it look like? How has it it changed your life? How have you struggled with it? What are your dreams for what it could be?
I think that my real introduction to the femme community was when I started reading Sinclair’s thoughts about butch and femme… I think it has been almost four years since then, since I stopped denying my femmeininity. Even for a long time after that, I had little true communion with other femmes. I had plenty of androgynous/butch friends. I’m not sure why I never made better friends with other femmes. One reason may be that folks around here aren’t too concerned with intentional, conscious gender. Even now, four years out as femme, the majority of my femme oriented friends are scattered across the country and the world because I met them through this group beautiful sex/work/gender/survival/power/erotica bloggers. I have met almost none of them, although I feel like close friends with some… Curvaceous Dee, who has seen me through a number of hardships. My local femmes don’t all get along, due to disparate value systems and lifestyles and it’s disappointing… but each of them brings unique blessings and dilemmas to my life.
To me, femme community means: having someone to make sure you look ok when you leave the house. Or if you don’t look ok, they’ll muss the bun on their head and crimp some wrinkles into their shirt so the two of you match. being able to talk to another femme about shared struggles in life and relationships that stem from your queer femininity. Maybe femme community is about having your own personal gender posse who will defend you from the judgments of outsiders. Knowing that you’re unique, but you’re not alone.
Maybe femme community is not comprised of femmes only, but also any who identify differently but still support and affirm the power and legitimacy of a queer femme identity. Maybe femme community also means having friends and lovers provide opportunities for us to shine… by thanking you for being an excellent hostess, or acknowledging the effort you put into your appearance, holding you in the way you like most of all, or simply exhibiting chivalry so that you can behave in a courtly manner… if you’re that type of gal. Ivan Coyote gifts femmes with this beautiful poem, a very tender expression of femme community from someone who does not identify this way.
I know that this glittering femme community has affected me because I feel its lack of influence in my life so dramatically right now. I know that I flourish and thrive when I’m deep in femme-affirming territory. I sometimes dream of moving to a place with more intentional femmes and butches, to a place where it’s a little easier to be queer, where I could start over anew. But I cannot, and if I were to do that I think I would be giving up the chance to find the femmes who live right here. I would miss the out on being the voice of a Floridian Femme at the upcoming femme conference. Perhaps I underestimate the quality of community that I have, since I get to contribute to the conversation about intentional, queer femmeininity right her on Femme’s Guide. Although my comments may not be the most eloquent ones here, I’m not afraid to stand up and speak my mind. Maybe that’s what femme community is: a place where you can stand up and speak your mind about femmeininity without fear of judgment or retribution. Can we all agree to disagree and affirm each other despite our differences? When that happens, I can stop searching.
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.
It is often said that, “No man is an island,” but I’ve noticed that a lot of femmes seem to be lonely and solitary structures; islands inhabited by only one; or peacefully orbiting planets comfortable keeping just to themselves. I’ve come across a great number of reasons for this– all of them legitimate, most of them intensely painful. I’ve heard everything from femmes being kicked out of their lesbian communities for either being too “femmey” (don’t even get me started on that word) or not 100% homosexual (or both all at once) to femmes not feeling they are “femme enough” to compete with other femmes (or simply feeling sick of all the pressure, competition, and cattiness in general). Many of the femmes I know have grown content to be their own sphere of specifically branded queer femininity. They’ve grown thick skins by choice or by force and are used to walking in the world as if they are the last of their kinds… but others seek community and either find that it doesn’t readily exist in their area or are repeatedly rejected for not looking or acting enough of the prescribed part.
I have not always lived in the Bay Area. I come from small communities, small towns– I know what it’s like to be the only femme in an entire gay bar. I know what it’s like to spend a night only speaking to drag queens, because nobody else will even look at you. I know what it’s like to look for others who look like me and come up empty time and again. I know what kind of pressure it is to be told or, in so many ways, shown that if only I’d look and act differently, I’d be more attractive and more accepted. Conversely, having also lived in large cities for a many years, I know what it is to be given the stink eye from other femmes when you entire a room. I know what it is to be excluded from friendship with local femmes because you’re not _______ enough or far too _______ to be allowed into their inner femme circles. I know the pressure (and ultimately, the disappointment) in knowing that some femmes will be competing with everything you do from your hair to your shoes even if you’d rather not play that game with them. In layman’s terms, all of this fucking sucks.
Even though I am now blessed and lucky enough to live in an amazing queer community with an astounding number of diverse, wonderful, beautiful, and amazing femmes, I still often find myself looking to the internet for solace and solidarity just as I did in my earlier femme days. It’s amazing where I end up finding it some of the time. For example, very recently a large online community I belong to (FetLife, a kink-based social networking site) decided to add “butch” and “femme” as gender identities. When this decision was announced, there was an immediate public outcry complete with a full range of internet-based painful stupidity. New wounds were created by those who did not identify as butch or femme dismissively stating that femme and butch were not valid gender identities and then further complaining that adding them to the website as gender options was only serving to be divisive and confusing. Old wounds were reopened when friends of mine wanted to list the gender identity as “femme” but were hesitant, remembering all those times they’d been told they weren’t queer enough or femme enough to claim such an identity. And many folks, myself included, were somewhat annoyed that “femme” had been randomly shortened to “FE” (as the abbreviation “F” had already been taken for “female”) while “butch” was inexplicably shortened to “BU”. In short, the entire affair very quickly turned into a hot mess. I was getting irritated, it was getting late, and the more reactions I read on the website, the more rapidly I began to lose my faith in queer community (again).
The things that settled me down in the end was so simple, and they were the following. First and foremost, I turned my computer off for the night. Yes, they have an off-switch, and I like to make use of it and be among real people for awhile when the electronic personalities of actual human beings are upsetting me. My girlfriend and I had a nice, intelligent chat and then went to bed. The second thing happened this afternoon when I was finally ready to turn the computer back on. I logged onto the site to re-read a post I’d made complaining about “FE” being the new shorthand for “femme”, when I saw that a friend of mine had pointed out, in passing, that Fe is the symbol for iron on the periodic table. This stopped me dead in my tracks.
My brain started spinning in an entirely new series of directions. This statement knocked me out of the virtual and back into the literal. Femme is forged and tough like iron. Femme can be purified or left dirty; molded or natural; sculpted, shaped, re-shaped, made into art; used for tough mechanics; liquefied into something hot and fluid; formed into its own protecting locks and gates; a magnet; simple and useful; complex and decorous, necessary for health and wellness… and when mixed with carbon, the end-all, be-all, femme(FE) can be made into steel. Such a beautiful, but at the same time simple, redefinition of femme had never occurred to me and it all of a sudden made me very, very happy. Every time I am knocked back down to the brass (or in this case, iron!) tacks of things and go back to the basics, I always manage to learn something new. Femme is elemental. It’s so simple, it’s right there. We are a building block of queer life. Our element is iron(Fe), which can be just about anything it chooses, given the right circumstances.
Following this revelation, came another stunning comment from a different friend of mine. As a joke, she began to make light, science-based humor about my femme(FE) identity and ended up saying the following:
“I wish your outer electron shell happiness in attracting and combining with any other elements you desire.”
She meant it to be taken lightly, but I found it to be absolutely beautiful. She is absolutely right. Our outer shell, our femme presentation can be anything it likes, but it should be happy. We should be happy. We are allowed to be happy. And we are allowed to attract and combine with any other elements we desire. It’s so easy. It’s such a simple equation: femme = femme. The unknown is its own solution. We all know ourselves, we are all femme, if the specifics are unknown to others, that’s fine. If we are each, every day, defining “femme” and femme always equals femme, then what is there left to argue about? How can you create a fraction from that equation? Why would there need to be IF/THEN statements? What about femme = femme could ever be unclear?
The simple fact is, femme community shouldn’t be complicated. Loving each other and enjoying each others presence shouldn’t be hard. Planets in their own orbit can come together without colliding and form a entire solar system. Femme love for each other can be our iron-based, plasma sun; the peace of acceptance can be our slow-burning, glittering stars– one for every single one of us, with still an infinite number more that are yet to be named; and those constant, steady lights can guide all of us, new femmes and old, back home if ever we are lost. That is, if we let it.
You might have noticed that most of my last few posts have been about food. Starting this month I’ll be writing about my relationship to the kitchen as a queer femme. I plan to include some recipes as well as vignettes from my struggle to achieve a healthful lifestyle and diet. Living an unhealthy lifestyle really makes me feel unfemmeinine… un- a lot of things and I want to change that by “going public” with my intentions. I’m very thankful for the feedback that readers have provided in the past, and I look forward to sharing this journey toward wellness with all of you!
Like many people, I have had an ambivalent relationship with food for most of my life. My mother is diabetic and a couple of years ago my pancreas finally pooped out on me and I developed type 2 diabetes as well. That *should* have been the beginning of a revolution in my health (really, it should have happened when I found out that I was pre-diabetic many years ago) but I did not really focus on my wellness until this year. First, in March I began getting treatment for depression and mental illness, about which I had been in denial for at least a year. At the same time, I also began tracking my blood glucose levels with more diligence and paying attention to the kind of food I was eating. More recently, I’ve begun working out with a friend once or twice a week, and using sparkpeople.com to track my food intake, blood sugar and exercise. Finally, things are starting to come together!
Today I’m going to share with you my shiny new breakfast routine! It includes oats and a morning smoothie that is full of nutrients and (I think) tastes amazingly delicious! One thing I’ve learned since tracking my food intake is that I actually do no eat enough to keep my body strong and healthy. How weird is that? Usually when I do get enough calories, they’re the wrong kind. In order to resolve this problem, I gave breakfast a big makeover. Prior to this makeover, breakfast included nothing, a granola bar, or a bowl of cheerios. That kind of breakfast can really put someone off to a bad start! Now, I have a very small bowl of quick oats and at least two big servings of fruits and veggies!
Oats for Wellness
Ingredients:
1/4 to 1/2 cup of dry quick oats
boiling water
1/4t to 1t unsweetened cocoa powder
1-2 T raisins or other dried fruit
spices to taste (I use ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and clove)
1-2 T peanut butter or other nut butter
Directions: Boil water in a pot or tea kettle. Scoop your oats into a heat-safe bowl and add the spices, cocoa and fruit. Add the boiling water just a little bit at a time until you have achieved the consistency you like. (Note: the directions on my quick oats say to add oats to water and cook for 1 minute. This makes my oats way too mushy. Cook the oats by your preferred method.) I add the peanut butter at the end, but when I’m not paying attention, I put it in before the water. Either way is fine. Serve hot.
This is so easy, especially when I wake up with a “fasting” blood sugar level! I know the cocoa sounds weird, but it actually provides some extra protein and nutrients. Same goes for the fruit. Peanut butter has lots of calories but they mostly come from good fats that your bodies needs to stay in tip top shape.
Whirled Berries
Ingredients:
1 banana, any size
3-5 blackberries (the seeds don’t grind up and they’re hard to chew. I use 3)
5-6 strawberries with leaves removed
1/4 c blueberries
1/4 c raspberries
Big handful of baby spinach leaves (trust me!)
1 Serving of protein powder (I use 2 T Bob’s Red Mill Hemp Protein Powder)
1 t chia seeds (optional, I get them in bulk from the health food store)
No-sugar-added fruit juice, milk, or milk substitute to taste
Directions: No complicated instructions here! Add all ingredients to your blender and blend until smooth, adding some milk or juice to taste if needed, or if your blender is having a hard time blending frozen fruit. I use my bullet mini blender because it’s way less to wash afterward!
This is the way I make my breakfast, but it is just one example of a nutrient-packed meal to give you a good foundation for your busy day. Switch up the ingredients! Try different kinds of fruits, or combine them in a different way. Add a low-calorie sweetener like Nu-Stevia, if you like, but I think the fruit alone gives it a great flavor. You can’t taste the spinach, I promise!
Be well or pursue wellness, my lovelies!
Talk about your relationship to femme community. What does it mean to you? What does it look like? How has it it changed your life? How have you struggled with it? What are your dreams for what it could be?
So it might not come to much of a surprise to folks but I’m out, like really out. Out as queer, out as femme, out as leather, and transgender, and all manner of other lovely identities along the spectrum of queerness. I’m also really privileged in that even as a femme it’s not all that often I have to explicitly Come Out— maybe it’s all the tattoos (a few of which are visibly queer themed), or perhaps it’s just that even “safe” questions like “where do you work” or “what do you do” tend to elicit a significantly queerer answer than most folks would anticipate.
I’m an author and artist and tour to colleges, conferences, and community groups to read and teach all about you guessted it queer stuff, to queer people. Even the job that pays my mortgage outs me pretty immediately I’m “gay for pay” by which I don’t mean a straight porn actor who will shoot gay scenes for money, I mean I work in the movement of LGBT nonprofits. Confession time: I’ve never even had a straight job! My entire resume is made up of art, and community organizing for local or national queer nonprofits.
Anyway, pride is a season that gets me a little more sentimental that I might normally be about gay stuff. For me it’s not that I feel especially hailed by rainbow balloons, or floats at this time in my life but it’s that when I’m honest with myself and sitting quietly, I think about how much these things meant to the seventeen year old me who was just coming out, just wandering haphazardly and nervously into this great big world of queerness. So, two weekends ago I wandered through Brooklyn pride. Money burned a hole in my purse and there I was buying a tacky (but admittedly pretty) woven rainbow anklet. I put it on and there it’s stayed on my right ankle for the past couple of weeks.
Choosing to wear it didn’t really feel so much like a need to advertise or come out, so much as a lovely little moment of nostalgia where I remember being covered in rainbows the few months after coming out, my backpack that looked like a pride parade threw up on it. All the buttons and patches proclaiming my queerness was the armor that I carried around my very conservative high school I commuted two hours by city/county bus to get to after I was kicked out of home in order to graduate.
When I’m honest, even now seeing a rainbow makes me feel safer. So In the honor of the seventeen year old scared gay teenager I was several years ago I’ve been wearing this anklet, and I’ve noticed the ways in which it’s impacted my visibility which on some level makes me uncomfortable- I don’t want to have to wear a rainbow for folks to get that I’m queer. But I’ve been paying attention to the people who are seeing me that weren’t before I’ve noticed something interesting.
It’s youth- teens who will now look and recognize and smile, and also folks who seem somehow newer and less sure of their safety that this is a beacon to. Last night coming home from work I was ready to get off the train and a gay man – who my highly tuned gaydar had noticed the moment he walked onto the train carrying a shopping bag and plopping down across from me also stood to get off. Quietly so the rest of our train couldn’t hear he said, “I like your bracelet.” I smiled and said thank you. He then asked if I was going to the parade on Sunday, I shook my head and said not this year, and asked if he was. He got a big grin on his face saying that yes, he’d moved here from Texas and that his was his first pride. I smiled and congratulated him as the doors opened and we went our separate ways, both feeling perhaps a little more seen, a little less alone.
I’m not sure where this post is going anymore, it’s about being explicitly out, and also about thinking about ways our community is built and seen and recognized and even though sometimes I can find myself becoming a little jaded about all things gay- criticizing the corporate takeover of pride festivities, wishing people would remember it’s roots- how it was homeless queer kids that started everything off at Stonewall, I cannot ever allow myself to forget how meaningful pride can be, and the way in which that rainbow can be thread that stitches our community together.
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!
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