Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Butches and binding

In my more recent comfort, I've also been 'interrogating' butch, and how I feel it.  When I see the Meg Allen Butch photos ( I notice who binds and who doesn't.  I notice who's butcher than me.   I notice who's more ripped.   I notice that SF dykes seem WAY too cool.  And that bow ties STILL look stupid, even on the handsomest of folk.

The binding gets me though.  It feels like now a flat chest is butch.  A flat chest and hormones might be butch, might be trans.  But binding comes a little more standard. I don't bind, and my chest can give me away sometimes.  I modify my body in other ways - I work out, I wear really specifically cut t shirts so they don't cling to my curves.  Maybe I'm not that far off trying to bind, and hide my chest, my most feminine 'tell'. But for me the line in the sand is discomfort.

And really, I'm not trying to pass.  I'm trying to straddle a line that is still so unclear.  I'm ok with this body, I'm not ok with what it means to others.  And I hold that tension some days better than others.

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