Once in a blue moon, from the depths of a hidden cave inside of my left baby toe, emerges my “Butch Swagger”. It is woken from slumber when behind the wheel of a pick up truck, portaging a canoe and food pack, or while on a Search and Rescue call.
And you know what, I love when it surfaces. Yes, I am a femme and a good one at that. But, occasionally it feels good to go without make up, heels, and a dress. Some woman love to glam up, I love to glam down. My voice slowly deepens and develops a slight twang. My back relaxes into a slight slouch. My walk resembles a cowboys, spread and in need. All of my polite manners and gentle gestures roughen. I become the son my parents had been promised. I become my closeted butch alter ego. She really should have her own name.
I think these small moments of switching my gender presentation strengths my core values and beliefs as a femme. I have a moment to break out of my ingrained role as a lady, a vacation from perfection and polish. It is like breathing deep in the heart of the city and in the middle of the remote wilderness, you aren’t changing your actions…but one feels like it hits a little deeper.
I ask that you allow this to occur. I hope that you not to judge me or question my femininity. And I welcome you to sit back and chuckle slightly (to yourself) at my dramatic transition.