After hitting “publish” on my last post, it occurred to me that a lot of what I wrote about feeling and expressing myself in a masculine way had to do with clothes.
And then I had a panic that “oh, oh no, the people who read this (all two of you) are going to think that my feelings about gender are only related to fashion and that’s so stuuuuuuuupid.”
So, um. Right.
Lest I need to put that out there – I know that clothes do not define gender.
Nor does dressing in a masculine manner make somebody a boy.
I know this.
However, for me, that is the bulk of my outward expression. Especially at this point in time, where I really can’t make myself look any more masculine, without actually going in for surgery (which is a tricky and complicated subject unto itself).
And here’s the trickier part – I don’t like looking “butch.” I mean, okay, the look in and of itself doesn’t bother me – I certainly enjoy it on other women, and have no problem with butch people in and of themselves. But I am not butch.
And I am, apparently (as I’ve learned digging deep into my psyche this last half year), really really bothered with the idea of looking like a butch lesbian.
Which, given that I’m an overweight biological woman, with a very large rack, who has a very very short haircut, and prefers to wear masculine clothing…
it’s bound to happen.
And I cringe at that.
Not for any reason related to what the look implies. Just because… it’s not me.
When I think of how I’d look, if I could create myself from scratch, even looking like a guy, it’s certainly not anything that would fall under the “butch” category. I definitely prefer, while not a “dapper” look, definitely a more clean, put-together, sort of metro look. Not suits and ties, necessarily, but …
I am totally failing at bringing the thoughts from my head and putting them into words on the screen.
The moral of the story, as it is, is that it’s hard for me, in this body, to find clothes that express me as ME. I can dress up as a woman, and look nice. I can wear men’s clothes, and look like a shlub. Or like a butch lesbian. Or a shlubby butch lesbian. And none of those things are me. I’m still floundering at a way to outwardly express how I feel like I’d like to look (with, you know, magic instant free & painless surgery, plus the effects of years of working out without having actually worked out), in a way that is at all feasible with this body.
So, now that I’ve muddied the waters up a bunch… that’s what I was trying to clarify. Good luck with that.