the trouble with femmes

This morning, I am thinking about gender and gender expression. I saw a film last night called “Boy I Am” about transmen and the queer community.

One of the thing that came up in the film (and the Q&A afterwards) was that oftentimes in our queer community, masculinity and misogyny can’t be separated–I think that Jack Halberstam said it. The girl that had the question about that seemed to take umbrage with that notion, that our society is still pretty misogynistic and that it is hard to divorce the construction of maleness from all of the societal implications. I was talking with M. about this after the film. She said that she pretty much agreed with that idea. That we hadn’t come that far as a society that we could really separate the two things. And I agree with her.

It is probably a pretty unpopular notion and I am probably going to get myself in trouble with the P.C. Police and the “Community” but I have to say that the idea of maleness and masculinity are held on such a pedestal that it is sometimes hard for me to just be.

I know that (until burlesque happened) I was afraid to express my femme-ness. I spent years “trying” to be butch so that I would have the respect of my peers. For years, I listened to butches (and now transmen) disrespect women who seemed feminine. I have personally had the experience of not being listened to in groups, being talked over, and being poo-pooed in groups of mostly butch women. And I have had a lot of experience of wanting to date someone butch and finding that all of the single butches I encountered were “only into butches”.

And I have had the experience of feeling like I am an anomaly. That the way that I put express my gender is unpopular and not “cool”. I mean, I’m not trying to bitch about it, but it’s a question in my mind every time I am going out for the evening. “Is this outfit appropriate? Will it seem too femme? Should I wear something more androgynous for this crowd?”

Even last night. I wanted to wear a new pink and white knit dress I thrifted yesterday. It’s really cute and it fits me really well. I had the outfit all planned. But I chose jeans and a t-shirt instead, because was concerned about sticking out too much in what would probably be a crowd of butches and transguys. And because the folks I would be with (Jacket and M–they finally met! Hallelujah) wouldn’t be decked out as such.

So what is it about femme that makes everyone so uncomfortable? Is it even a queer expression? Why am I so concerned about not being “too femme” in most situations? Why do I so look forward to the few times a year when I can really “do it up”?

This is what I am thinking about this morning. I mean, on the face of it, putting on the feminity that I was raised with is something that fits into the norm. It is easy for me to fit in at work, easy for me to walk down the street, and really easy for me to date (bio) men.

The thing that disrupts all of that normalcy is the fact that I am a big homo. I mean, I am a woman in cute jeans and a fitted blazer in the ladies’ at work stealing glances at the straight girls’ breasts and then saying, “Oh my God! I love your sweater!” to cover it up. I am the lady that people are surprised is gay. I guess that being femme makes people in straight society question their assumptions about gayness. And wearing that visibility proudly (and refusing to be silent about it–acting like it’s totally normal to be dating a girl, for example) is something that I do. Because I feel like it is important.

The argument I always hear is that femme is kind of like selling out. It’s easy. You can “pass” in regular society. But in my mind, if you can “pass” in regular society and you are made to feel like who you are is not OK in your own (queer) community, then where do you fit? And how is that so very different from being a tomboy and feeling like one didn’t fit in while growing up? I mean, at least butches and transmen have found “a soft place to fall” (thanks for the expression, Dr. Phil) in their adult lives.

It’s like this: I was always very girly. I have the opposite story from most butches. I was into skirts, I loved girlie frilly things and glitter, and my room was ALWAYS pink. Always. And I never grew out of it, either. Holly hobby, Charlie’s Angels, boatloads of Barbies and barbie accessories, a pink schwinn with a pink banana seat, my mom’s old makeup, long hair, never wearing pants. It was how I did. Who I am.

But my gender trouble started when I started realizing that I liked girls. And then I started thinking that I probably wasn’t gay (for YEARS) because I wasn’t interested in cutting my hair short and being butch. All of the gay ladies I met in college (in the small central Illinois town where I lived) were sporty and/or butch. I was seen as an art school interloper or as a confused bisexual dabbler for years. And I took that on because I didn’t know what else to do. Every time I tried to enter the queer community or date another girl, it was like that for me.

I suspect that this is why I always hung out in straight “alternative” communities. Because it was easier to deal with the misogyny of the men and the confusing bisexuality of the girls than to enter the queer community and navigate all of this. And it was a whole HELL of a lot easier to date men (and not really care about them too much) because I found them a lot easier, interpersonally. The whole sturm und drang of dating is remarkably absent with most straight men. But this is a sidenote and a pile of stories for a later time.

I have always been like, “Where are the femmes? The brainy queer ladies in heels with artistic inclinations?” It has taken me much searching to find this in my life. I remember when I first moved to Chicago, I befriended this social worker/case manager lesbian at my job. And one day we were out rollerblading–it was the 90’s. Forgive me.

It was the morning when a crazy blackbird actually pecked her head when we skated by. NUTS!

Anyway, she turned to me and said (with her crisp English accent), “Jeanne, you have to decide what kind of lesbian you are going to be. Here in Chicago, we choose.” And I remember asking, “Well, where are the smart, literary lesbians? The butches and their femmes? The ones who like the arts?” And she said (again, crisply) “There aren’t any. You should pick something else.”

I sighed and realized that she was probably right.

And even today (after much searching and putting myself out there as a performer for years) I don’t have a whole pile of girlfriends who express themselves in a butch/femme construction. My roommate, who is ostensibly femme (in the fact that she is girlie) HATES the idea of calling herself that. She hates the whole contruction–which I understand. Given all of the “problematics” therein. My bestest femme girlfriends are actually straight these days. Thank god for K, who is the femmest gal (but sadly, also the straightest) I have ever met. It’s really good, though, to have a sex-positive femme girlfriend with whom I can discuss anything. And who also likes shoes.

All of this is further complicated by the fact that I now recognize that I am a pretty big “dog”. I like the ladies and I enjoy being a gentleman. I get off on paying that careful attention, opening doors, asking ladies out on dates and topping girls in bed. This could be seen as “butch” behavior, but I am not at all interested in calling it a masculine thing. I guess it’s just me. I call it “gentlemanly femme” and try to think of myself as extra charming for it.

I remember coming onto a butch bartender where I worked once when I was 22 (I was drunk and confused–I thought that she liked me. Turned out it was some other girl. It was embarassing) and she poo-pooed me. She acted like I wasn’t queer. And she assumed that I wasn’t wanting to take her home to my bed and fuck her until she couldn’t remember her name.

Her loss.

Last night was good though. When the question was raised challenging the assertion that masculunity and misogyny can’t be separated, the film’s editor had a great response to it. He said that it probably wasn’t possible to separate the two, at least in the larger culture. And that when we put masculinity on such a pedestal, we have to realize that does to people who aren’t fitting that gender expression.

Yes. Word.