Thursday, February 19, 2009

Schizo-femme-ia

So I got to thinking the other day. I was walking through Wal-Mart (I hate that place with a fucking fiery passion), and I saw a butch. An older lady, with her partner, which was a really nice thing to see. Yes. Butch sighting in the WalMart! Now those make my day any time, but more so here in this town where apparently you keep your 'mo on the down-low. So as she was walking by, I thought: I love when I recognize a member of the Family. But... how would they recognize me? If she heard me say "Day-um!" under my breath (I did, too), would she take it as a compliment or think I was just another uppity breeder? 

I have issues about my personal visibility because there are so many factors. (I have so many issues, I should just buy the subscriptions, but anyway.)
For one, I don't want to brodcast my identity to everyone because, well, I'm still not comfy being gay in this town. I still worry, and it makes me mad that I have to worry about losing clients or assholes accosting me, but there it is. Hell, it was a major personal triumph when I put a small rainbow decal on my car! 

Then, too, I'm sort of... in the middle when it comes to gender expression. I'm certainly not high femme, like the lovely SublimeFemme. But I'm also not butch, like the studly Sinclair. I'm a- Ellen said it perfectly: "I'm not really a lipstick lesbian. I'm more of a... Chapstick lesbian." Sometimes I feel like I'm not recognizable as much of anything. Someone tell me, is it just me? Do any other queer girls wish for a box, a label, a knowable and noticeable archetype, or even a stereotype? Anybody else wonder sometimes whether things would be different-- easier-- if you were a different flavor? Something simple like say, mint chocolate, instead of cherry-banana-vanilla-mocha-walnut? 
What the hell is a Practical Femme to do? 

So that's my issue for the week, kittens. I worry about not looking femme enough. I worry about looking too butch. I worry about being too visible as gay, and not visible enough.
And then my partner asks me why it is I get so stressed. 
Is it just me?