R, 27
For me, realizing that I was trans and realizing that I was a lesbian were all one thing
Q: Can you introduce yourself and talk a little about your identity?
A: For me, realizing that I was trans and realizing that I was a lesbian were all one thing. For a couple years
, I knew I was queer, but I wasn’t sure if I was a lesbian. And then honestly one day I was just like, ‘You know what? I’m just going to start calling myself a lesbian.’
If some magical man comes along, then fine, whatever.
He’s not going to come along. Has he come along?
No.
As soon as I realized I was a lesbian, I was like, ‘Well what the fuck am I doing with the rest of all of this?’ I realized I’d always had a really masculine energy, even when I looked very much like a straight girly — long hair past my waist, very femme.
But it never felt right.
Q: What changed once you started embracing that identity?
A: I used to hate having my picture taken because I didn’t like how my face looked. It felt eerie looking at myself in pictures. Now I like getting my picture taken because I actually like how I look.
Pretty soon after realizing I was trans and a lesbian, I started hormones. It was quick. I was like, ‘Alright, I get what’s going on now. We need hormones.’ Everything suddenly made sense.
Q: Were there signs earlier in your life that pointed toward this realization?
A: I always felt weird about my voice. I hated hearing recordings of myself. I sing too, and I always wished I had a deeper voice. I was a mezzo soprano before hormones, but I always wanted to sing tenor songs/
If some magical man comes along, then fine, whatever.
He’s not going to come along. Has he come along?
No.
As soon as I realized I was a lesbian, I was like, ‘Well what the fuck am I doing with the rest of all of this?’ I realized I’d always had a really masculine energy, even when I looked very much like a straight girly — long hair past my waist, very femme.
But it never felt right.
Q: What changed once you started embracing that identity?
A: I used to hate having my picture taken because I didn’t like how my face looked. It felt eerie looking at myself in pictures. Now I like getting my picture taken because I actually like how I look.
Pretty soon after realizing I was trans and a lesbian, I started hormones. It was quick. I was like, ‘Alright, I get what’s going on now. We need hormones.’ Everything suddenly made sense.
Q: Were there signs earlier in your life that pointed toward this realization?
A: I always felt weird about my voice. I hated hearing recordings of myself. I sing too, and I always wished I had a deeper voice. I was a mezzo soprano before hormones, but I always wanted to sing tenor songs/
When I was in middle school and went to Cedar Point, I’d scream myself hoarse on rides so my voice would get raspy and deeper. I’d be so happy about it. Definitely very cis behavior.
Q: How did butchness specifically resonate with you?
A: As soon as I realized I was a lesbian, I was like, ‘Okay, so I’m a butch lesbian and I want to take hormones.’
I also always wanted to be big and beefy, which is definitely what every straight woman wants obviously.
Q: Are there objects or aesthetics that feel tied to your identity?
A: I wear a lot of leather. My leather jacket is one of the things most tied to my identity. In winter I’m fully decked out — leather pants, leather jacket, leather boots.
My carabiner too. I recently got into leatherworking and made these little leather clips so my carabiner sits exactly where I want it on my pants.
Q: Were there things that held you back from identifying as butch earlier on?
A: A lot of it was growing up in an immigrant household where being queer wasn’t expected. I was raised Catholic too.
I internalized this idea that I was just a straight woman, so the feelings I had around men must’ve been attraction — even though it was clearly anxiety and disgust. Once I realized that wasn’t attraction, I could finally identify as butch.
Q: Did media or literature influence your understanding of butchness?
A: I read Stone Butch Blues during lockdown and tore through the whole thing in one night. It resonated deeply with me — not just lesbianism, but the identity of being butch itself.
Q: Did you ever feel pressure around what “counts” as butch?
A: I really like labels, but I also use them spitefully. I decided I’m a butch lesbian, and I don’t really give a fuck what other people think about it.
I had a coworker once who said they didn’t want to wear a leather jacket because they didn’t want to look ‘too butch.’
I couldn’t relate at all. I was like, ‘That’s the goal. I want to be a leather butch.‘
Q: Has living in New York shaped your identity? How?
A: Completely. I came out to myself as butch when I moved to New York for college, so my introduction to queer spaces happened here. Most of my friends when I first came out were trans femme lesbians.
Because of that, transness, lesbianism, and butchness have always gone hand in hand for me.
New York has so many trans people that it shaped how I understand myself.
Q: How does being in places outside New York affect you?
A: I went back to rural Michigan recently and it was tense. There was literally a handwritten sign on a gas station bathroom that said ‘Women only please.’
I bleach my eyebrows and wear all leather and black, so walking into places there gets reactions. At a Costco, a woman fully stopped in fear staring at me. I thought it was hilarious honestly.
Q: Do you change how you present depending on where you are?
A: Not really. Growing up as a child of immigrants in a white suburban environment already gave me a ‘fuck all of you and your opinions’ attitude. I honestly enjoy scaring suburban white women sometimes.
Q: How do people perceive you now?
A: In New York I get he/him’d most of the time. At this point I genuinely don’t know what people think I am anymore.
I use any pronouns because there are only very specific ways people gender me correctly, and honestly I don’t even know how to explain it. I resonate with womanhood because I’m a lesbian, but I also like when people recognize my masculinity.
Q: How does your identity interact with queer community?
A: My first girlfriend in New York was trans femme, and there’s something really unique about trans femme/trans masc relationships. You’re both building new identities from different directions.
I’m really grateful my introduction to transness wasn’t through toxic masculinity or misogynistic trans male spaces. It was through queer trans lesbian community.
Q: How do you define your own masculinity or butchness?
A: My butchness is about having a loving and nurturing masculinity. A lot of normative masculinity is about being hard and tough.
To me, butchness is about loving and taking care of the people around me. Though also being a hard tough leather butch at the same time.
Q: Outside of butchness, who are you?
A: An artist, mostly. I’ve been doing a lot of printmaking and leatherworking recently. I love cooking too — my spice cabinet has basically overtaken my apartment.
I describe myself as spitefully optimistic. I refuse to believe the only possible life for queer people, trans people, or people of color is a miserable one. I spitefully believe I can have a beautiful happy life, so I’m going to make it happen.
A: Not really. Growing up as a child of immigrants in a white suburban environment already gave me a ‘fuck all of you and your opinions’ attitude. I honestly enjoy scaring suburban white women sometimes.
Q: How do people perceive you now?
A: In New York I get he/him’d most of the time. At this point I genuinely don’t know what people think I am anymore.
I use any pronouns because there are only very specific ways people gender me correctly, and honestly I don’t even know how to explain it. I resonate with womanhood because I’m a lesbian, but I also like when people recognize my masculinity.
Q: How does your identity interact with queer community?
A: My first girlfriend in New York was trans femme, and there’s something really unique about trans femme/trans masc relationships. You’re both building new identities from different directions.
I’m really grateful my introduction to transness wasn’t through toxic masculinity or misogynistic trans male spaces. It was through queer trans lesbian community.
Q: How do you define your own masculinity or butchness?
A: My butchness is about having a loving and nurturing masculinity. A lot of normative masculinity is about being hard and tough.
To me, butchness is about loving and taking care of the people around me. Though also being a hard tough leather butch at the same time.
Q: Outside of butchness, who are you?
A: An artist, mostly. I’ve been doing a lot of printmaking and leatherworking recently. I love cooking too — my spice cabinet has basically overtaken my apartment.
I describe myself as spitefully optimistic. I refuse to believe the only possible life for queer people, trans people, or people of color is a miserable one. I spitefully believe I can have a beautiful happy life, so I’m going to make it happen.
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