#butch is a noun

[androgynealienfemme]

"I know what butch is. Butches are not beginner FTMs, except that sometimes they are, but it's not a continuum except when it is. Butch is not a trans identity unless the butch in question says it is, in which case it is, unless the tranny in question says it isn't, in which case it's not. There is no such thing as butch flight, no matter what the femmes or elders say, unless saying that invalidates the opinions of femmes in a sexist fashion or the opinions of elders in an ageist fashion. Or if they're right. But they are not, because butch and transgender are the same thing with different names, except that butch is not a trans identity, unless it is; see above."

-"I KNOW WHAT BUTCH IS", Butch is a Noun, Essays by S. Bear Bergman (2006)

[martyr0l0gy]

i need all my butch babes out there to know that you bring so much joy and delight into my life, and the world is a better place for having your handsome, diligent, charming, and warm selves in it. (and i'm giving you all a kiss on the cheek, mwah !)

[mascflowers]

please ignore if i’m asking too much

i’m curious if you could give me more information on what it feels like to be butch? i have a hard time understanding gender but butch/femme identities are even further from my comprehension. i know what it feels like to want to be treated as strong, capable, and intelligent (things that unfortunately are lacking when i’m read as a woman). i’ve also had chronic pain and fatigue fuck those things up. how would you define your butch identity? especially in visual presentation, actions, and your internal world. are there any resources you’d recommend?

thank you so much and i hope you have a good day

I'm absolutely delighted to answer your questions, don't worry!

The thing with butchhood, like most queer identities but butchhood in particular, is that it's VERY difficult to define. I step outside what is typically defined as butch, not only because I'm not a woman but because my butch presentation and overall masculinity is very... flamboyant, shall we say.

Overall, what defines a butch is that they see the word butch, hear it, and think "Yes, that's me." The word is home to them. It brings about a sense of comfort, joy, and especially pride. And when we see other butches, we feel a sense of kinship, because that's what community is. That's what we all share.

But this sense of "Wow, this word is me," isn't unique to butchhood. That's just how every queer identity works. That works with bisexuals, aromantics, transgender people, everyone! It's usually the first sign we get of figuring out we are that identity. There's no secret rulebook on what defines what. We simply are.

This is gonna get kinda long, so I'm going to link resources down bellow the cut. Hope you like reading, because I sure do love typing!

Butch is a Noun is an excellent read into what butchhood means to most butches. Unfortunately, it's riddled with toxic masculinity (as in the "I must be strong to be masculine" toxic masculinity) and just a taaaad of fatphobia in the chapter on treating femmes, and it doesn't speak too well on the singular they/them. It's an old book! But these flaws are very small for what the book does in sharing butch experiences, and showing love to butches of all genders, especially the transgender/non-binary ones.

Stone Butch Blues is a classic in butch and transmasculine literature, and it's well loved and received for a reason. Leslie Feinberg is an incredible communist transgender butch whose ideals are well- and beautifully- defined in this work. Would highly recommend.

Female Masculinity is something on my to-read, but from what I'm aware of it's a series of essays by Jack Halberstam on transmasculinity and butchhood alike. (I believe "female" is being used like we would AFAB.) I've read one essay from the work, Transgender Butch, which is about how the FTM and butch community are at odds with eachother and how trans butches often have to toe the line between this "border war". Good stuff, would recommend at least the one essay, but I'm sure the whole book is fantastic too.

My fingers are getting tired, so I'll reblog this later with my own experiences with butchhood. Sorry if it's a long wait! I'm kind of busy with college these days. I'll try to get it out in at least 24 hours though.

[macbxth-pdf]

“ I don’t want to be any work to you, just shade and shelter and fruit and fuel without any watering or pruning or feeding required. You tell me that’s ridiculous, and you tell me so; you remind me that you have never denied me anything I have asked for. You remind me that I have encouraged you a thousand times to tell me the same things, to let me offer you what you need if you’ll only tell me what it is. You’re right, I have, but that seems like my job, not yours. ”

Author, Poet, Queer Activist and Playwright S. Bear Bergman

Butch is a Noun by S Bear Bergman

[trashshouldnt]

i want to print this out in a small book and keep it in my chest forever

[laylaslibrary]

Sure, I have time. I always have time for you. Sure, whatever you need. Whatever you need.

-Bear Bergman, Butch is a Noun

[mo0nc4lf]

I just read all of "Butch is a Noun" in one sitting completely by accident

[gendererror404nswf]

[chloelouygo]

Figured since I'm working on my own today I might as well ready some queer literature while I'm on the clock 🤭 I'm so tired I need this break :')

[existentialqueer]

Tranny Bladder

In light of the renewed wave of transgender bathroom bills being pushed and passed, I thought I would share a relevant chapter from S. Bear Bergman’s Butch Is a Noun.  "I have a tranny bladder. You know what I mean, right? The amazing ability to go approximately forever without needing to pee? I am the person who leaves the house, has two meals with a soda and a glass of water at each, returns home eight hours later and finally pees, after having stood around several times, at least after each meal, trying not to look like a sexual deviant (you know, in the bad way) while hanging around the restrooms waiting for my date to finish up. I wait to pee until I can get to a "safe" bathroom, safe bathrooms being the kind in which I am not screamed at to get out immediately, where I am not followed in by the lurking-outside-waiting-for-his-daughter father looking to kill me slowly, and that I can use without an NYPD officer and an Army private on Homeland Security detail (just, you know, for example) being called in to look at my ID.    This mostly means waiting until I am no longer in a public place, and so I just wait. The years and years of waiting, and holding it, have taken their eventual toll, it seems. And so, like so many butches I have known, like so many of my trans-siblings, I have developed this miraculous ability to just... wait. I mean, we are also probably dehydrated. You do not see deviantly gendered people walking around with Nalgene bottles, getting our sixty-four recommended ounces as we go through our days. I am sure that somewhere there is an argument to be made that the trans community as a whole is a little cranky because we could all use a nice big glass of water.    It makes both my grandmothers crazy to the point of neurosis, by the way. They think there is something the matter with me (you know, in the bad way). They look at me with eyes full of the measuring, medical expertise that apparently comes with being a Jewish grandmother, and they shake their heads and quiz me like a six-year-old with an unfortunate habit of wetting myself.    Did you go? Do you need to? Are you sure? Did you try?    What do I say? No, Nana, I don't need to use the bathroom, and I will not for the entire forseeable future because I'm sure as hell not using a women's bathroom here in South Florida, which is populated entirely by slender blonde girls and elderly women with failing eyesight?    This is leaving aside entirely, for the moment, how angry it makes me to write about these things - drinking water, and pissing it out - as though they were not the most basic kinds of freedom, as though even political prisoners both here and abroad didn't have more and better freedom to drink water and piss it out than most of the transfolk I know do, or did at some stage. This is not engaging what it feels like to be quietly peeing in a women's bathroom and hear, after a knock at the stall, "Sir?" or pounding and then, "What the fuck?"    No matter how I pitch my voice when I answer, even when I use the most head-resonant and high-pitched voice I have available to me that doesn't make me sound like Flip Wilson on helium, I still have to open the door and show someone my ID and smile my beta-wolf smile at them, while the alpha inside me is tearing a hole in my chest trying to get out and teach them a lesson about manners and respect.    When I get harassed in the Ladies' room, or the cops are called, I can produce ID with the telltale F and add the story to my collection. Transgressing in the Gents can have its consequences, legal or chillingly illegal. Men's rooms can be more forgiving because the culture of a men's bathroom insists that men not look at the others in the restroom lest they be labeled fags. Most curious looks can be deflected with a quizzical but hostile glance that seems to convey the idea that a man looking at you as you enter might have some sort of queer gaze.    Transfolk wait for the day that they can use the restroom with members of their chosen genders without problem or comment, and swap pissing stories and methods like trading cards in the meantime. I have heard arguments made that bathroom experiences are the defining measure of trans-ness: have you ever had anxiety, apprehension, or problems using the restroom which corresponds to you assigned-sex-at-birth? Then you're transgendered in some fashion. It's not the worst idea I've heard.    The bathroom is where gender performance meets public perception with a resounding thwack, one that sometimes hurts and sometimes reverberates down my butch life in unexpected ways. It's where I have to make a public declaration and I can never be sure which one might match what people are expecting from me, and the consequences for being wrong are always so unpleasant, because the wrongness is so basic. I am wrong in the world, they're saying, wrong to have fooled them, to be a coyote among dogs and cats, to stand in gender's doorways and whistle, and they'll make me pay while my pants are down, if they can. When I use a bathroom in public, I piss with one hand on my belt buckle so I can make it into a weapon if I have to.    Tranny bladder is my saving grace."

[androgynealienfemme]

"We go from store to store, trying to things on and inspecting them. I give my opinions on dresses and shoes, blouses and lipstick colors. Sometimes I say things that make the other women look at me, agape, as though my mouth has been possessed by that flighty queen from Queer Eye even while the rest of my body still looks like any other big dumb boy's. I say that I like a skirt but I wish it were bias-cut instead of A-line, or that I am not fond of the fashion for surplice tops, or that the post-WWII idiom in shoes this season is amusing but rarely looks good on actual feet, or that I like the look of a bolero jacket. I know the names of colors, heliotrope and coral and Nile blue, and I can say without hesitation whether a lipstick might look better matte with a bit of powder.

These other women look at me with wonder, their boyfriends and husbands having made a fetish out of refusing to learn such words under any circumstances, as though merely pronouncing the word "periwinkle" or "princess seam" could easily turn a strong man gay as a box of birds. They say to her, "That's your husband?" in voices that loiter between admiring and disgusted, as though they know that there's no force on earth that could make their men or boys take such interest in their clothing and they think they might really prefer that to the spectacle of me, filling an armchair, legs crossed ankle over knee, looking just right until I say "tea length."

The point is that she wants other girls to see what it looks like to have a boy so cracy in love with you, as I am, that he will spend an afternoon talking about capri pants to have a boy so delighted by you that he never calls you by your name, but addresses you always as "beautiful girl," or "my love" or occasionally and with great fondness, "boss." To have a boy who will happily fetch your next-size-down and carry your bags and charm the salesclerks at the register without flirting overmuch and just generally try to make himself as useful as possible, all for the dizzy and undying pleasure of making you happy. And even though I am not a boy, I look like one, and so I can be complicit with her in this kind of wonderful afternoon, part indulgence of her great beauty and style, part guerilla feminist activism.

Later, when we walk through the mall or down the sidewalk, me laden with packages that are clearly hers, I watch the eyes of the people we pass: the women who look at me with a certain longing, wishing they had their own boys to carry the bags. The men who look at her with an unmistakable hunger, wishing that they had the honor of schlepping for a girl like her, and then look at me with a certain edge of disbelief, not quite clear about why I get to squire this marvelous example of femininity around when they are clearly wealthier, more handsome, better hung. I have learned to meet all of these gazes with a calm kind of sweetness. There's no point in defensiveness or sheepishness or challenge. I'm the one holding her bags."

"Being a Shopping Switch” Butch is a Noun essays by S. Bear Bergman (2006)

[martyr0l0gy]

I'm reading this book, The Inland Sea by Madeline Watts, and it has this quote: 'Men like Clarke believed that the effort of taming the natural world chiselled out 'the whole man' from the poor marble of his birthright. Like women, the bush came wild or tamed, and they knew which one they preferred.'

And because I'm a hopelessly Femme4Butch lesbian, it got me thinking how one of my favourite things about dating butches is knowing that I could decide to never shave again and they would only love me even more for choosing myself. But it's not just about body hair - it's about everything.

It's the freedom to come (and cum) as my entire self without a looming expectation. Its the way I can let my legs shake violently as I orgasm and snort chocolate milk out my nose laughing. It's dancing in the grocery aisle, knowing they will join in.

Femme4Butch is both part of me and is the act of letting myself simply be.

[mascflowers]

FREAKING OUT OVER THIS LINE

[tobekind]

"I know what butch is. Butches are not beginner FTMs, except that sometimes they are, but it's not a continuum except when it is. Butch is not a trans identity unless the butch in questions says it is, in which case it is, unless the tranny in question says it isn't, in which case it's not. There is no such thing as butch flight, no matter what the femmes or elders say, unless saying that invalidates the opinions of femmes in a sexist fashion or the opinions of elders in an ageist fashion. Or if they're right. But they are not, because butch and transgender are the same thing with different names, except that butch is not a trans identity, unless it is; see above. Butches are always tops. They always fuck the girls, and, for that matter, their partners are always girls; there is no such thing as a butch who is attracted to men. Well, transmen, but that's just butch-on-butch repackaged as faggotry. But no non-trans-men. Unless the butch in question is a non-trans-man, then it's okay. Except that non-trans-men cannot be butches, because butch is a queering of gender that assigned-male people cannot embody, unless they occasionally can, in which case they have to be gay men. Or the partners of femmes. Or not. But no one with an assigned-female body can be a butch and do it with assigned-male men. Unless they're femmes. Or butches. I'm really putting my foot down on this one."

-- Butch is a Noun, S. Bear Bergman

[dancerfelix]

It makes sense. It feels like a rock in my gut, still, when someone is mean to me or hurts the feeling I am not supposed to have to be hurt. I don't show it. Maybe I am only supporting an untenable myth with my stoicism, but in my injury the last thing I want to do is find the energy to offer myself up as a teaching moment and run the risk of being harmed further. I am afraid of being told that I am not entitled to hurt or to be scared. I have been told that before, in word and deed, more times than I could count, and so in the moments of impact or even their aftermath, I am not in any kind of hurry to make myself more vulnerable by betraying my hurt. Again, I am being belittled for my ways of difference. Again, she is trying to make up without apologizing. It is always again being stared at confronted. discarded, dismissed without being heard, stereotyped, taken for granted, or just plain treated poorly. And again, I am expected to swallow whatever the pain of it is. The injury may be someone else's fault, but it is mine to live with; nearly every time, the fault it creates in me is another place of weakness in a life that needs every scrap of strength I have. I'm the tough guy, the big dog, I'm the one who can take it. No one need trouble themselves with an apology on my behalf. Don't worry about me, I will adapt, just like I always have.

[timetravellingbobbypin]

Butch is a Noun is genuinely changing my life rn

[We grow around every injury, never able to heal it—we just encompass it. We take every ache, every hurt, every shame into ourselves and live with it inside our skins. Is it this that becomes our stone?

It makes sense. It feels like a rock in my gut, still, when someone is mean to me or hurts the feelings I am not supposed to have to be hurt. I don’t show it. Maybe I am only supporting an untenable myth with my stoicism, but in my injury the last thing I want to do is find the energy to offer myself up as a teaching moment and run the risk of being harmed further. I am afraid of being told that I am not entitled to hurt or to be scared. I have been told that before, in word and deed, more times than I could count, and so in the moments of impact or even their aftermath, I am not in any kind of hurry to make myself more vulnerable by betraying my hurt.]