butch vs. femme, or why it's not ok to play "i have it harder than you."

after a fairly successful weekend of fun, i was visiting my usual online haunts before getting ready for bed and came across the most recent vlog by resident youtube butch, AJ on her sister channel, the Beaver Bunch. i don't know how popular AJ, of Ask AJ Anything fame, is amongst us tech savvy queers out there, but basically she gives advice and makes a lot of "top 10" lists. i've never found her much to write home about, but that's just my opinion.

anyway, this week's vlog was about sharing coming out stories, which was all well and good until about 4minutes and 45seconds in when AJ starts talking about being visibly queer and how she can never not be "out" because of her appearance. shortly after this, she relays the following message that has had me fuming for the past hour. basically, this: femmes have it easy. maybe my anger is misdirected. AJ is only one of many butches i've heard voice these sentiments in the past few years and i'm officially over it. so, to AJ, and all those who might agree with her, here's my rant:

so, check it. unfortunately, most of us who are queer have had homophobic speech slung at us at least once in our lives. whether it was directed to us individually, as part of a couple, or with a group, the impact is still the same. for me personally, this usually isn't what i get called out on the street for when i'm on my own or with a group a friends. if i'm going to be heckled in broad daylight in the middle of downtown, it's going to be because i'm fat or, the way i like to think of it, because i'm a hot fat girl who defies every convention of what it is i'm supposed to do - cover up every inch of skin, wear dark colors, talk quietly. basically, do everything i can to keep attention away from me, to fade into the woodwork. though truth be told, assholes on the street would find me there too.

when i've been the target of queer bashing though, it's always been in the company of others. a big group of my homo friends at a non-queer bar or arm-in-arm with someone i'm dating who, because i always date on the more masculine end of the gender spectrum, tends to be more visibly queer than myself, thus drawing attention to us. those times have mostly been scary, some downright terrifying and, later, when safety is certain and blood pressures have resumed a normal range, angering for everyone involved. never, though, have i sat down afterward with my significant other or with my friends and deliberated which one of us motivated the attack, who's most queer in appearance, or who has it easiest/hardest...and i, frankly, can't understand anyone who would!

i know all about the differences of visibility and invisibility when it comes to butch and femme (or anyone queer who doesn't pass as straight and anyone queer who does - the labels don't matter here); i deal with what it means to be invisible to a straight world, and even a queer world sometimes, on a regular basis. for example, there are few things more infuriating to me than my lack of recognizability as queer and the swiftness with which that changes based on who my partner is. far too often, my entire gender and sexuality become about the gender identity of the person i'm dating rather than anything about me. all this being said though, i also know that i'm privileged in passing because my queerness is rarely a visible target of staring, behind-the-back whispers, or violence, and that those are things butches and other masculine-identified, female-bodied folks are forced to deal with constantly. i don't deny AJ, or any other person who exhibits female masculinity of any kind, the fact that their visibility is always more dangerous. the ways in which they bravely navigate that on a daily basis will always have my utmost respect and appreciation.

my frustration instead is about the need to make this comparison, to attempt to outdo eachothers' experiences of oppression. i would never say to a butch, a trans guy, someone genderqueer, that i experience discrimination worse than they do because of x, y, or z. i realize, in the case of visibility, their identity puts them in a different place, a more volatile place even, than myself, but i'm not going to tolerate them or anyone else telling me that i have it easy. this is not to say that differences in experience don't need to be acknowledged. of course they do! and in the particular case of discrimination as a result of visibility, i know who has a roughter time. but what's the point of sitting around contrasting whether the attack on your queerness is greater than mine? what gets accomplished in that? and more so, what significant information gets erased in this attempt? what about the particulars of space and time? or the specifics of the person and the variety of other intersecting identities like race and class and size, amongst others, that operate simultaneously with queerness and how we experience discrimination? are we really going to spend time figuring out whose feelings were hurt more or who was treated more unjustly when a stranger called you a "dyke" and me a "fat bitch"? or are we going to acknowledge the fact that it sucked in a bunch of different ways for both of us, but we learned a bit from each others' experiences as a result?

if we're queers and know what that means to us and understand the politics and investments of using that word beyond an identity of being G, L, B, or T, we need to learn what it means to be allies to one another; to be supportive, caring, respectful, self-reflexive, and to know that finger pointing and pitting ourselves against each other is futile. acknowledging the different ways we experience our lives and our identities is invaluable, but the pissing contest of who has it easiest and who has it worst seems to be a game with no actual winner.

fail: katy perry

i've been trying to write a post about katy perry's new song "i kissed a girl" for about two weeks now and every time i try to sit down and do it, i go off on these crazy tirades that take me far away from where i began. as destiny would have it though, my friend gave me the heads up on some reporter at the chicago sun times writing an article about how katy's song is the new summer anthem and asking for readers' opinions. i wasn't going to respond, but then my friend made me feel it was my queer duty. did i want some college co-ed responding instead about the merits of kissing random girls for free beer at frat parties? not really. so here's what i wrote up and sent to the reporter:


Before even getting into the specifics as to why "I Kissed a Girl" is so problematic, it seems necessary to note that the other song responsible for making Katy Perry popular is her "Ur So Gay," which details her woes of having an "emo" or "indie rock" boyfriend whose masculinity, and later sexuality, falls into question because of both his clothing style and taste in music. As a celebrity who has not gone on record as being anything but straight, we should question Perry's obsession with queer culture and her unapologetic capitalization of it through her music. Straight performers getting rich off of the experiences of queer folks should be as inflammatory as any other kind of exploitation. As far as "I Kissed a Girl" goes, the song is blatantly ignorant in its trivialization of sexual experimentation and of the lives and practices of queer women. This isn't to say that girls kissing girls, regardless of their sexuality, needs to be considered Earth-shattering events, but more so that reducing it to a naughty "game" aimed at getting a boyfriend's attention - a game that, mind you, isn't even worth Perry obtaining her girl crush's name - is just belittling for the many queer women who find significance in kissing other women! The video for the song makes any possibility of its subversion completely impossible by its rendering of girl-on-girl action down to the tired scenario of outrageously feminine women clad in lingerie and fishnets, applying each others' make-up amidst their flirty gyrations. While this demographic of high femmes, or queer women who express their femininity overtly, exists within queer communities and should be rightfully celebrated, it leads me to question whether or not mainstream music and media produced by straight people, Katy Perry now included, will ever actually attempt to represent the breadth of sexual and gender identities within queer women and lesbian communities. I'm not optimistic.

i know there's a ton more to say, but i was trying to keep my comments succinct and comprehensible to mainstream audiences. if she gets back to me and wants to use any of it, i'll press the problem of "trying on" another girl and/or queerness for a night and the ease and privilege straight girls have in giving it a go. also, props to my bestie charlotte for actually growling over that line when i sang it to her on the phone.

for reference:
"i kissed a girl" - video
"i kissed a girl" - lyrics
"ur so gay" - video
"ur so gay" - lyrics

excess baggage.

i'm thinking more and more lately about the intersections of fatness and queerness, particularly now in my own day-to-day life, not just academically, and what that means for the spaces i'm comfortable in and those where i'm not. it's interesting how when i'm in public and looked at because of my size, it is absent also of a queer read. because i'm femme and thus usually invisible as queer, the spectacle that my body becomes is only because of the "excessiveness" of my size and not also a reaction to my gender or my sexuality. this, of course, becomes complicated when i am in the presence of people who are visibly queer and takes on another dimension entirely when that person is clearly romantically linked to me. these are moments that i both cherish and fear because the transgressions are actually palpable. my fatness and my queerness, when they're both noticeable, create opportunities for rethinking love, desire, and sex despite size and despite who i'm fucking. these opportunities for conceiving differently, progressively even, of fat queer bodies, though, is also of course, made possible by the fact that i'm white and that i'm seemingly within a normative economic class. so there's potential here for blowing people's minds a bit, but there's also this overwhelming sense of danger that goes beyond queer bashing and the already serious danger of that. because now what must be taken into consideration is not only hatred of queerness, but also of fatness and the feelings of repulsion that inspires in people, let alone when fat sexuality is being made so open.

this is all to say that yesterday, when i was at a may day festival, surrounded by thousands of people and my friend - a brown, non-American, butch, my former lover - attempted to hold my hand as we made our way through cheese curd stands and kids running haywire with pink and purple paper streamers, i froze for a reason. and not because i didn't want her to take my hand because i feared what holding hands would signify in a relationship that is already complicated by our past as people who once loved a little and fucked a lot. i hesitated because of just how queer - because of the "excess" present in my size, our gender, our intimacy, our difference in skins - we were in a space where things seemed safe enough, but how and when do you really know? it was only two seconds worth of deliberation before i folded my fingers up with hers, but it's another example of thinking about this junction between sexuality and size and how it's real world stuff, daily stuff, that constantly reinspires my academic work on all of this.