it's funny. i keep meeting women who, to the ignorant eye read as butch. i don't know you, i see how you dress, how you walk, how you carry yourself as a whole, and i make my assumption. but not too loud. in my mind. too myself. by now i know not to assign someone their identity. as i said in the book, labels are about the assigner, not the assignee. they allow us to put someone in a familiar and sometimes comforting box. to feel like we know who they are. but of course, we don't. so lately i've been meeting these women who read as some version of butch, who don't identify as such at all. honestly, i think it's refreshing. attractive even. i don't feel trapped by being seen as femme, i know my expression of self varies, even if it escapes the average eye. it's cool. i've learned to accept that the nuances of my gender expression are not seen as craters in the wide and complex landscape of queer identity. it's not a quiet acceptance, but i'm not blinded by pride. but i find myself more attracted to the untraditional expression of masculinity, one that is what it is, and yet escapes easy definition. i don't know, i think it comes from my life long appreciation for the balance of opposites. eh, more later.
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