On Being Butch

This morning, I have been thinking about being butch and what it means.

I often experience strange reactions from people, mostly straight women, when I refer to myself as butch. It seems some of them think that I am putting myself down when I describe myself as butch, and try to tell me 

“You’re not so butch”

To which I reply  

 Of course I am.

Being butch, is not a badge of honour nor is it a source of embarrassment, it is what I am.

I have always seen a butch as a  gentlemanly woman.

I use gentleman because I can think of no feminine equivalent.

I like the word butch. I like the word queer. I like the word dyke.

 I believe they empower.

 I use them.

My friends use them.

Butch is not about macho or aggressivity.

 It’s  about style and philosophy.

 It’s about a code of conduct the unwritten,

 Book of Butch

A butch acts in certain ways,

 with class,

 with strength,

 with dignity.

She treats women well,     always.

 She accepts no for an answer, even if it pisses her off.

Butches are romantic, send flowers, remember birthdays.

They rarely dye their hair. They usually wear boots.

They like to appear stoic. Think Gary Cooper.

 Yep, Nope.

They would all like to be handy alas, some of them,

( us) are bookish and  hire other butches or even,

 men to renovate.

They like to think of themselves as the most considerate and accomplished of lovers.

Butches have illusions about themselves like everyone else.

It’s fun, it’s silly, it’s serious.

I like the aesthetics of butch.

All of this is my interpretation and how I see it. Your version might differ and that’s fine.

I just wanted to let you in on some of my thoughts on the subject.



By Bookish Butch

I am a bookish butch in my mid early fifties. I live in Montréal and always have. I used to run a small used bookstore. Reading keeps me sane. My latest jiggie is photography, book project in the works, living the dream

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