Q: Can you introduce yourself?
A: My name is A. I use she/her pronouns. I’d describe myself as a butch lesbian. I really enjoy being in lesbian spaces and around other butches. Beyond that, I’m also an artist and designer. I work in children’s education as a designer, and I’m really into making zines, film photography, and honestly a lot of the stereotypical “gay Brooklyn hobbies.” 

Q: Are there objects or aesthetics that feel tied to your identity?
A: Definitely my rings, my jean jacket, and my boots. I love wearing big boots. Vintage t-shirts too. Getting my hair cut at the barber feels really important to me as well. Those things are all part of the silhouette I want to create when I move through the world. I want people to perceive me as strong, practical, and self-assured.

I wear a lot of sturdy clothing, especially old work clothes that belonged to my dad when he worked on cars. There’s something about practical clothing that makes me feel grounded. I don’t really like frilly things. They overstimulate me, and they don’t feel useful. I like clothing that can last a long time and survive wear. 

Q: Have those things always been connected to your identity?
A: Since coming out, yeah. Those choices became intentional. As a kid, I was always taller and bigger than the other girls, even bigger than a lot of the boys. I always felt this sense of masculinity attached to my body, and I felt ashamed of it for a long time.

At the same time, there was a part of me that liked being bigger. I liked feeling protective. But femininity always felt unreachable to me, like something I was copying rather than something that came naturally. I spent a long time trying to perform femininity because I thought that was the only acceptable way to be a woman. 

Q: How did that evolve into embracing butchness?
A: Eventually I let go of trying to echo femininity all the time. I realized I could just present the way I naturally wanted to. That’s what drew me toward butchness.

There’s also a historical and relational aspect to it that resonates with me. I participate in butch/femme dynamics, and when I look back, I realize I probably would have gravitated toward those dynamics whether or not I had language for them. 

Q: What does the word “butch” mean to you?
A: To me, butch means strength and vulnerability at the same time. Being visibly butch means people immediately make assumptions about you. That visibility feels intimate because strangers are constantly reading you before you even speak.

But there’s also strength in not hiding from that. There’s strength in walking through the world visibly queer and refusing to shrink yourself around other people’s reactions. 

Q: Were there things that held you back from embracing butchness?
A: Religion was a huge one. Family pressure too. I’m the eldest daughter and the only girl on both sides of my family, so there was a lot projected onto me about femininity and womanhood.

Growing up, being gay was framed as ugly or sad. My parents would literally say things like that. For a long time, I genuinely thought coming out meant condemning myself to a miserable life. 

Q: How do you feel about your life now?
A: Happier than I’ve ever been. Also less anxious than I’ve ever been. Before coming out, I felt disconnected from my body and from myself. I was dissociating a lot and just going through the motions.

Being butch made me feel more present. I stopped trying to force myself into becoming someone other people wanted. Letting go of the idea that I could “fix” my lesbianism or change my desires was honestly one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. 

Q: You mentioned your rings earlier. Why do they matter to you?
A: The rings I wear belonged to my great-grandmother. I wear them to honor her memory, but also because they feel connected to this lineage of strength and masculinity in my family, even if those family members weren’t queer themselves.

One of the rings almost looks like a man’s ring. It was actually a matching set with her husband’s ring, except hers wasn’t made dainty or feminized — it was just scaled to fit her hand. That means a lot to me. I think part of butchness is finding masculinity and strength in everyday objects and building your own meaning around them. 

Q: How has location shaped your identity?
A: Living in Brooklyn exposed me to so many different ways of being butch. At first that was overwhelming because I thought there was one “correct” way to be masculine — cold, stoic, emotionally distant, almost modeled after cis men.

But over time I realized masculinity can also include softness, vulnerability, communication, tenderness. Brooklyn really expanded my understanding of what butchness could look like. 

Q: Where are you originally from?
A: Oregon. But I wasn’t really out there. I came into myself in Brooklyn, so my understanding of lesbian identity and butchness feels deeply tied to New York. 

Q: Do you feel like you present differently depending on where you are?
A: Not really. The way I present myself is very visible. I know how people perceive me, and there’s no real way to hide that. Even if I don’t verbally disclose things in certain spaces, my presentation stays consistent. I don’t really want to change it. 

Q: How does outward perception affect your sense of self?
A: A lot. If people perceive me as butch, it validates something internal for me. There’s this feedback loop between how I feel inside and how the world responds to me.

When people see me as strong or grounded in myself, it reinforces the truth I already feel internally. That’s part of how identity gets formed — outward perception reflecting inward truth and vice versa. 

Q: Did accepting your identity change other parts of your life?
A: Completely. Once I accepted I was gay, it felt like something clicked into place. I stopped spending all my energy worrying about going to hell or trying to suppress myself. Suddenly I could focus on work, friendships, dating, school — normal life things.

It felt like I unlocked access to the rest of my personality. Not that everything became perfect, but one massive weight disappeared. 

Q: Is there anything else you want to say about butchness or identity?
A: Being butch and being a lesbian feels deeply meaningful to me. It feels almost ceremonial, like inheriting a history and responsibility.

Especially right now, being visibly queer can feel scary. But visibility is also where I find strength. Sometimes I feel like by being openly butch, I can make things safer for other people too.