_As part of my New Years resolution to drop a few pounds--a resolution which has been slow-going, to say the least--my DGF and I decided to join a gym.  I've had gym memberships before, and sometimes I've been good about using them; other times I haven't.  (Bizarrely, the likelihood that I will use a gym seems to be inversely correlated with the gym's niceness.)

I'm an afternoon or evening workout person.  Working out in the morning makes me feel virtuous, with a nice post-exercise buzz, but the habit doesn't stick.  Turns out I'd rather loll about in pajamas (on days I work from home) or drive grudgingly to work, down some coffee, and allow my mind to wake at roughly the pace of a banana slug.  I covet the virtuosity of Morning People.  I spent a brief time as a Morning Person in college, cheerfully forgoing Jell-o shots so I could go to sleep at eleven, wake up at six, lift weights, and run a mile.  I have no idea what got into me, and no idea where it escaped to.

All of this is to explain that although I've worked out at gyms in the past, I've never needed to change clothes there.  I either change at the office or wear gym clothes under my work clothes.  Then right after I work out, I just drive straight home.

But this new gym we've joined has a pool.  And for some reason, I have been obsessed with the idea that I want to swim.  I do not have a swimmer's physique, nor am I particularly good at it.  But surfing is on my bucket list and I need to be in better swimming shape if I want to surf before I hit 40.  Also, I recently read Haruki Murakami's South of the Border, West of the Sun (which I liked very much), and the main character is always swimming to clear his mind.  Murakami himself also swims, and I am presently a little obsessed with Haruki Murakami, so my burgeoning interest in swimming makes a fuzzy kind of sense.

Anyway, since I don't want to drive home sopping wet after a swim, I need to use the locker room at this new gym.  I hate changing in front of other people.  It's totally uncomfortable and I avoid it when I can, sometimes even changing in the shower stall.  But whatever.  I'm an adult.  I can handle being embarrassed about my body or my half-nakedness or my brilliantly white day-glo upper arms.  Here's the part I didn't anticipate but should have: some women are weirded out by seeing a butch in the locker room. They don't read me as male, but correctly read me as a dyke, and some of them kind of stare and look uncomfortable.

Honestly, I don't blame them.  One of the main rationales for having separate men's and women's locker rooms  (along with the safety issue) is that people want to be able to change their clothing without worrying about being looked at as sexual objects.  I get this.  And since I'm obviously a lesbian, some of them probably feel that it's a little like having a guy in the locker room. 

Even those who are quite progressive (and there are many of them at this gym), and don't blink at seeing a lesbian couple hold hands on the street may feel uneasy when there's a dyke in the locker room, because it makes them uncomfortable to think I might be looking at them in a sexual way (which I'm not).

So far, my basic strategy has been to try to make myself as small and unobtrusive as possible.  I avert my eyes and position my entire body away from the other women.  I guess this has worked okay so far, but it still makes me *and* them uncomfortable.  And probably one of these days, I'm going to get told, "This is the women's locker room!"  I guess I *could* wear tight pink T-shirts or lavender capris sweatpants things to announce my girlness, but, uh, that's not going to happen. 

I know I have just as much right to be there as everyone else and yada yada yada.  But for me, the issue is not about being ashamed to be a butch or not wanting to hold my head up high, or anything like that.  Just as *I* have a right to feel comfortable in the locker room, so do they. 

I'd really prefer to allow everyone to be as comfortable as possible.  I don't *want* to ignore their discomfort.  After all, I would feel totally uncomfortable if there was a guy in the locker room.  Not because he looks different from me, or because I think he's going to do anything he shouldn't, but simply because he is sexually attracted to women and I am a woman.

Have any of you other butches ever felt uncomfortable in a locker room?  How do you deal with it?  Just keep your head down and your gaze averted?  Or is there a magical approach I haven't figured out yet?

(Update: Wendi at A Stranger in This Place had a great post on this last year!)

I recently read this story in the New York Times about a photographer who takes pictures of old animals.  I find the pictures beautiful, and they made me think about aging.  I've long thought societies that revere and cherish older people have gotten it right.  I live in the U.S., where people start saying they're "getting old" in their thirties or forties, where people love getting carded, and where it's considered insulting for someone to guess that a person (especially a woman) is older than she really is.

I'd like to think that the lesbian community is different, and that we have tons of respect for the older (by "older," I mean 60s or 70s plus) dykes among us.  But I'm not sure this is true.  More than once, I've heard people my own age (30s) talk disparagingly about older lesbians, saying that they don't "get it" with regards to boi culture, or trans culture, or some other aspect of contemporary queer life.  (And, to be fair, I've occasionally heard older lesbians say disparaging things about queer youth culture, too.)

Why does this age divide exist?  Maybe because LGBTQ history and culture have evolved so rapidly in the last 50 years.  Maybe those who came of age in the Stonewall era share less with their younger counterparts than is true for straight people.  I don't think so, though; I suspect it's a manifestation of a broader tendency to dismiss older people rather than integrating them into society and seeking their wisdom.  And why does this tendency exist?  Are we obsessed with "progress," which we conflate with youth and newness?  Does hanging out with old people scare us because we don't understand it?  Does it force us to confront our own mortality?

It's especially important for the LGBTQ community to take care of its older members, because in many ways, it's harder to be an old dyke than it is to be an old straight woman.  Here are a few reasons why:

• Lesbians have more health problems than straight women do.  (This stems in part from higher rates of obesity, smoking, and alcohol abuse among lesbians than among straight women.)  Heath problems become more severe with age.
• While many lesbians have kids, we are less likely to have them than straight women are.  Old people are often taken care of by their kids; a lot of lesbians lack this resource.
• Lesbians are more likely than straight women to be alienated from their families.  This means fewer financial resources, but also fewer social ones--leading to increased rates of depression.  
• Lesbians often have few legal resources if their partner dies.  The deceased partner's family may challenge the living partner's legal standing to keep property or other assets that previously belonged to the couple.
  

I'm curious to know what you all think about this.  In general, do you think the queer community takes care of older dykes?  Should we? 

Do you ever hang out with older lesbians?  What's it like?  Tell us about your experiences: positive, negative, whatever.  And if you're a 60+ lesbian reading this blog, I'd love to hear your perspective about younger queers.

The huge amount of responses I got to my last post made me wonder if queers are more likely to feel alienated from their families than straight people are.  I mean, if your family doesn't respect your queerness, this is pretty self-evident.  But I know a lot of queers whose family is cool with their queerness, but they still feel alienated.  Why would this be?

One reason I can think of is the kid factor.  Plenty of queers have kids, but on average, we're less likely to procreate than our heterosexual counterparts (partly because homo sex ≠ babies, and partly, I'm guessing, for a whole host of other social/cultural/maybe-even-biological reasons).  Holidays tend to center around a traditional family structure, and also tend (for good reason) to center around kids.  Sometimes we don't really fit into that.

My own family is an example of this.  I have a brother (I'll call him DB for Dear Brother) who is married and has a young daughter.  I love my niece dearly, and love DB and his wife as well.  Partly because DB has a kid, a trend has emerged: My parents and DB's wife's parents, who live 10-12 hours' drive apart, spend Christmas together.  Actually, it's more like my parents have been subsumed into DB's wife's family, since the group includes many other members of her family as well.  So DB and his wife each get to be with both sets of parents every Christmas.  This is convenient for them, and also great for my niece, since she gets to be with all four of her grandparents every year.

As you can probably figure out, this leaves me in a slightly weird place.  Do my DGF and I drive 10-12 hours to spend Christmas with DB's wife's family?  Last year, we did; we rented a car and spent some time on our own and some time with them.  This year, however, they are renting a house in a remote, snowy location and spending four nights there.  DGF and I were invited to come (though we were not invited to help decide where Christmas would happen).  DGF and I decided we would not come along this year.  Our decision was met with much sadness and consternation by my parents.

The first two years it happened, I was annoyed that my parents decided to join a new clan.  But now I am at peace with it: they want to be with their grandkid, and this way they can see her every Christmas.  I understand.  The hard part for me is the expectation that I will always join them.  My mom is upset that I am not coming this year.  And while I am sad that I will not be with my parents, DB, sister-in-law, and niece, I do not wish to drive 12 hours to spend four nights with my DB's wife's family.  They are nice people.  But I have decided I will come along some years, and not others.  This is the first year I've said no.  I'm okay with my parents' choice about how to spend their Christmas, but I wish they better understood my decision to sit this one out.  I'm not trying to prove or anything by not going, either.  I just don't feel like going again this year.

If I had kids, things would probably be different.  Either my parents would switch off between my brother and I for Christmas, or I guess I would go along so the cousins could be together.  But I don't have kids, and I don't foresee having them in the near future.  And so as a result, Christmas is as I've described above.  And it just leaves me feeling weird and sad.  Am I being selfish?  Independent?  Petulant?  Self-actualizing?  I don't know.  I wish Christmas wasn't loaded with so many weird emotions. 

I'm hoping that this year, the DGF and I can start some traditions of our own.  Last night, we lit a candle for Hanukkah (we're not Jewish) and I gave her all of her Christmas presents.  It was wonderful and unexpected and romantic.  On Christmas, we're planning to spend some time with our friend M, and some time with our friends C&D (C is my butch buddy; D is her awesome wife).  Maybe we'll think of some other traditions to incorporate.  Will we bake cookies together?  Go to church?  Eat Chinese food with Jewish friends on Christmas eve?  Who knows.  But despite my weird guild/sadness/confusion about family stuff this year, I'm looking forward to creating some traditions that are mine and my DGF's. 

How about you guys?  Any sticky family situations you're avoiding?  Any cool new holiday tradition ideas that you and your DGF share?

If you grew up celebrating Christmas, the holiday that used to bring you unbridled joy may now bring a big ol' dollop of mixed emotions.  When we were kids, Christmas was less complicated.  After all, what can top the idea of a benevolent, costumed, bearded man leaving gifts while you sleep?  (Hmm, come to think of it, that sounds like something a gay man dreamed up.)  But if you're like me, somewhere along the way, Christmas stopped being so easy.  Note: if you're totally stoked about the holidays this year, this entry doesn't apply to you: go have a cup of eggnog or something.

My own mixed feelings about Christmas have to do with divorce, with people I miss, and with various types of guilt.  For others of you, it has to do with a falling out with your parents, or with the death of someone you love, or with the frustration of having to pretend to be someone you're not.  These aren't exactly thoughts you can bring up at the office holiday party.  Instead, they're the kind of things that hit you when you're in line at the drugstore at 9:30 pm with a box of Red Vines in one hand and a bottle of zin in the other (just hypothetically, of course), and "The Little Drummer Boy" starts blaring from the store speakers, and--BOOM--a wave of Holiday Depression.

The first thing to know about Holiday Depression is that you're not alone.  Lots of people deal with it; they just don't talk about it.  The second thing to know about Holiday Depression is that it passes.  Don't let yourself think that your unhappiness during the holidays is somehow symbolic of the shortcomings of your life more generally.  Because this is not true.  Holidays are the time of year when the highest number of people report feeling depressed.  You will feel a hell of a lot better in January.  I promise. 

A few quick fixes for dealing with a sudden wallop of Holiday Depression:
-    Lay on the couch.  Put your headphones on and listen to the least holiday-ish music you can think of.  Angry, not sad.  I recommend Tool, Rage Against the Machine, or whatever the current equivalent of that stuff is.
-    Open up Pandora and create a "Suzanne Westenhoefer" station.  Listen.
-    Start planning a trip for somewhere you're going to go in 2012.
-    Write to me.  Ask me anything.  Or tell me something you don't feel like telling anyone else.
-    Do a project that involves plants or animals.  Personally, I love paperwhites, and they're only about $1 each for the bulbs.  You can grow them in anything and it's mesmerizing. 
-    Buy yourself a new watch, or some other stylish thing that you will look awesome in.  My DGF (and others) call this "shopping therapy." 
-    Clean your whole house.  Rearrange stuff that's been bothering you.  It will distract you, let your mind wander, and make you feel like you accomplished something.
-    Go for a walk or a run--anything that gets you outdoors.  Don't come back until you're exhausted.  Then take a nice hot shower.

These are only temporary fixes, but sometimes a quick fix is all we need to get us over the hump.  So let's hear from you: Do you ever get hit with Holiday Depression?  And what do you do about it?

(If you didn't read my last post, it's probably best to start with that one.)

...Where was I?  So, anything sexual between me and the DXH* was getting less and less frequent.  I was becoming extremely frustrated with myself.  Why wasn't I interested?  It wasn't because of the DXH--he was as great (and handsome!) as ever, plus ridiculously patient.  He didn't want to push it--he just wanted me to feel better.

The following year, we moved to a new town, and I started a grad school program, which I had thought I'd enjoy, but hated--and hated myself for hating, which (of course) is a totally healthy outlook.  This made me even more anxious, and I was convinced I'd made an irreversible, horrible mistake by starting this new (expensive) program.  Things were dark.  I'd stay up for hours, hating my work and plagued by guilt that I was a crappy wife.  I stopped reading fiction (one of my great joys in life), and also stopped doing any kind of art (another great joy).

And then I met this woman.**

She was a barista at a coffee shop I frequented, and also taught community college math (how's that for an interesting combo?).  She was seven years older than me, and for reasons I couldn't figure out, I was interested in everything about her.  I told myself it was just a straight girl-crush, and that these things happened all the time; even the New York Times said so.  Still, there was the fact that when she walked into a room, I stopped breathing.  There was the fact that for reasons that eluded me, I couldn't stop thinking about her hands.

Well, I thought...  I might be just a teensy, tiny, miniscule bit bisexual-ish.  So what?  Lots of people were partly bisexual, right?  No big deal.  I didn't act on it.  She was married; I was married.  We hung out a lot.  Nothing happened.  I don't think either of us really wanted it to. 

But once I let that door in my mind crack open the slightest amount, my true sexual orientation elbowed its way in, little by little.  My inability to control my thoughts drove me crazy.  It was like a one-way ratchet: I could become more interested in women, but not less interested.  I decided the solution was to stop it in its tracks, to not let it get worse.  I hadn't breathed a word of my struggle to anyone at this point.  Sexual thoughts about women?  HELL no--I didn't let my mind go there.  I buckled down.  I studied more.  I got a new occupation. I found a terrific therapist.  (I made sure she was trained in LGBT stuff just in case that was contributing to my depression, which I highly doubted.)

And then I met this other woman.

I'd actually known her before.  She was a photographer from Brooklyn who had done some work I'd written about for an online magazine.  Our paths crossed again when she had an opening at a gallery in the city where I live, and from that reconnection, we started spending time together occasionally, a couple hours in a used bookstore or chatting away at a coffee shop. Eventually I found myself thinking about her more frequently.  Not this again, I thought--I can't handle another one!  I tried to stop myself from thinking about her romantically, but it was tough.  She lived with her girlfriend, which was another layer of insulation against the possibility of anything untoward happening between us.  Ah, but life is not so simple, is it? 

One evening, this woman and I went out to a bar with some friends.  My DXH was home with a cold and her girlfriend was out of town for the weekend.  We all had a few pints of beer, and the others left early.  This woman and I weren't 100% sober enough to drive yet, so we decided to walk off my Fat Tires and her Pilsner Urquells.  I don't remember what we talked about, only that as we passed people on the street, I hoped they would think we were together.  I felt guilty--not because I thought homosexuality was wrong, but because I was married.  Eventually, we came upon a park, where we sat and talked.  The sprinklers came on.  We didn't move.  We talked some more.  There was a moment of silence when I wanted more than anything in the world to kiss this woman.  In that moment, I realized: Oh, so that's what that's for.  By "that," I mean some piece inside me--some indescribable component that had always been sitting there, unused, in my head and heart.  It clicked into place and was suddenly a fully activated part of me.  Uh-oh, I thought.  Uh-oh.  I don't know if this woman wanted to kiss me, too.  I think she did.  I guess I'll never know.  I've replayed that night many times in my head, wondering what would have happened if I'd done it.

But the moment passed and was gone.  I walked her to her car and left, full of wonder at this new realization, and full of regret for my inaction (plus, full of guilt for the regret--I was becoming a veritable expert on guilt by now).  Later, I wanted to tell this woman how I felt, but I couldn't.  Soon, she began to treat me coldly, and ground our burgeoning friendship to a halt.  Much later, I realized that maybe she had been interested in me and decided to cut me off before anything happened.  But at the time, I decided she hated me, which caused me a ton of pain.  And I was also disturbed that this THING inside me had been unlocked.  So... was I a lesbian? 

To be continued...  Next up: Craigslist!  Suicide!  More!


* Someone asked me if my DXH knows I'm posting all this, and is okay with it.  Yes, and yes!
** BTW, I reserve the right to make up immaterial details.

I've been putting this off for a long time.  But a few evenings ago, something about the alignment of the rain and the fall chill and the smell of damp earth outside made me realize that it's time to start writing about my personal coming out story.  I'm going to do so in four or five separate installments.

As my regular readers know, I used to be married to a man.  This shocks people who meet me now, but I made for a somewhat convincing straight woman.  I loved my husband dearly, and had few doubts about marrying him even though I was relatively young (23-24).  Back then, I didn't think that I might be gay.  Sure, there were signs, but the idea of kissing another woman actually kind of grossed me out.  (Looking back, I think this was because I didn't know any soft butchy women, which turned out to be my type.)

Beginning right after I got engaged to the DXH (that's "dear ex-husband" for the uninitiated), I started to feel like there was something deeply and irrevocably wrong with me.  There were days when I would retreat to my bedroom and cry for hours.  I had no idea why.  I only knew I felt hopeless.  I had felt for a while like there was a thin film around my whole body, separating me from other people like the cell membranes I learned about in high school biology.  I figured this was fairly normal for us introspective types, but I saw a doctor (a general practitioner) about the sudden crying.  He prescribed Effexor; I took it; the tears subsided.  I figured a therapist would be a waste of time and money, so I didn't bother to look for one. 

Despite my occasional depressed days, I was overjoyed to marry the DXH, and the wedding was one of the happiest days of my life.  We were surrounded by friends and family, and I felt like I was becoming part of this neat club known as "married life."  People gave us advice, congratulations, and a new set of dishes.  I felt like I was part of this big tradition, and I was especially pleased at how great it felt to be following in my parents' footsteps, and how proud they seemed of me.  I didn't have doubts about my love for this guy, so I didn't have doubts about marrying him. 

The bad stuff started slowly.  Effexor seemed to be worsening my feeling of separation from other people.  (Someone I was working with died abruptly and I couldn't cry!)  Tired of my dulled emotions, I quit the Effexor cold turkey.  (This was before all that research came out about Effexor withdrawal and suicide.)  Two days later, I was sitting on the bathroom floor, overcome by  incredibly strong self-harming impulses.  Thankfully, the DXH came home before anything happened, and nursed me through the next couple of days.  [Note: never go off of meds without a doctor's supervision.]

Things settled a bit.  Some days I would grow despondent and not know why, but much of the time I was okay.  My emotions eventually sharpened back to their pre-medication state, but as this happened, the depression returned too, and so did my terrible conviction that there was something wrong with me.

The DXH and I had never had what I'd call a raucous sex life, but at least in the beginning, it had been pretty good.  Sex wasn't as earth-shattering as the movies promised, but it was an enjoyable enough form of intimacy.  (Sometimes I felt kind of disembodied, almost like my brain was watching itself and thinking, "Hmm.  That's interesting.  Now you are having sex."  I thought this was normal.)  But in the two years after we got married, I became completely uninterested in physical intimacy.  We first chalked this up to the Effexor (which extinguished my sex drive), then to my birth control pills...

...To be continued.  Next up: more sex, plus BW's first female crushes.

Ah, summer!  Season of snorkeling, lemonade, and butch anxiety about what to wear to the pool.  If you feel like sporting a regular ol' swimsuit, but want something a little more conservative than the bikinis lining the racks at Macy's, check out Speedos.  They tend to be comfier, sleeker, and provide more coverage than most bathing suits.  They even offer suits that look like conventional swimsuits with bike shorts sewn on. 

But if you're like many butches (including me), something that form-fitting makes you look like this guy, but with bigger breasts and less hair.  If so, your options are less obvious.  A good standby formula for a butch in the water = shorts + boob coverage + shirt.  I'll discuss each component separately, and you can mix and match as you like.  (And of course, you should always wear sunscreen, even if your shoulders are covered.)

COMPONENT #1: SHORTS

Boardshorts are long (at or a little past the knees, usually 21"-22"), lightweight shorts that come in a variety of brands and colors.  Some of my favorites are Hurley's Puerto Rico Board Shorts (pictured at right), Quiksilver's Cypher Alpha Board Shorts (pictured below), and Quiksilver's Slightly Choppy Boardshorts.

You'll find boardshorts in the men's section of department stores, Pacific Sunwear, and online retailers like Zappo's.  Some brands make women's board shorts, but these tend to be far shorter than men's, presumably because it's more important for women to show off their bodies than to reap such trivial benefits as coverage and functionality.

Workout/running shorts can double as swim shorts, and often have more coverage and lining.  My favorite are Brooks men's Infiniti Notch Shorts.  This style has full lining--thin, built-in bike shorts under the regular shorts.  There's no need to wear underwear or a swimsuit under them, and no one underwater gets a glimpse of more butch than they bargained for.  Plenty of other running shorts come with built-in lining, too, though usually it's underwear-style rather than bike-short-style.  Check out your local running store for ideas (Nike, and North Face often have cool styles).

Standard men's swim trunks can also be a good, cheap option, as this post from Butch and Pregnant suggests.  Standard men's trunks are lightweight, dry fast, and have mesh lining.  Note that unlike boardshorts, you shouldn't wear swim trunks to the mall.  Also, make sure to get a pair with a drawstring.  Since most ladies have bigger hips than guys, you may have to buy a baggier size than your waist requires.  A drawstring will ensure that you don't expose yourself to that cute lifeguard you've been eyeing--well, not unless she asks you to...

COMPONENT #2: BOOB COVERAGE

Swimsuit or bikini top: This option is pretty straightforward, right?  Buy a swimsuit or a bikini and, assuming you don't want to wear it on its own, you can use it as the "boob coverage" component of the BW Swimming Formula.

Next option: Sports bra.  Or, to many butches, "bra."  (First, a sidenote: other bloggers, such as A Stranger in this Place and the Sartorial Butch, have written eloquently and humorously about butch bra shopping.  My everyday bra preferences are slightly different from theirs, but I'll save that TMI post for later.)  As you probably know, sports bras by brands such as Nike and Champion come in sizes of the S/M/XL variety.  If these suit you, great!  If they're not perfect you might want to look into bras that come in actual numbered sizes (more on this, too, in a later post).  One great place to buy sports bras is Title Nine, an athletic clothing chain for women with a great selection and a rating system to help you find a sports bra with the amount of support you want.  Moving Comfort is my favorite brand, and I particularly like their Fiona model.

"Tankini" sounds like a cocktail made from vodka, a twist of lime, and a splash of water from the bartender's fish tank.  Basically, these creations are like swimsuits that end at your belly button.  Though I dislike nearly all tankinis (ugh--just typing that word gives me an eye twitch), a few--like this one (pictured at right)--aren't too bad.  And if there's enough coverage built in, you can wear just a tankini and shorts--no other shirt necessary.

COMPONENT #3: SHIRT

A tank top over one of the "boob coverage" options I listed above is a good bet if it's extra hot or you want to look casual.  If you're feeling saucy, go for something with attitude, and/or a little queer pride.  Note that a tank top itself does not constitute "boob coverage."  You may not think your smallish breasts merit coverage, but if you are over the age of 12, I assure you that they do.  Your fellow swimmers should not be able to discern the water temperature by glancing at your chest.

Next, a regular cotton T-shirt is always a decent choice, and I'm guessing your closet is chock full of 'em.  The downsides are that they feel wet and heavy while swimming and take a while to dry (you can pack another one to throw on afterwards).  Also, make sure the shirt is darker than your boob coverage du jour; it's not uber-classy to showcase your sports bra through a wet tee.  Since chlorine and salt water can cause fading, don't wear a favorite to the beach unless you're prepared to relegate it to sleepwear status at the end of the summer.

Now, a story: One day, a tank top and a T-shirt met in a forest.  They decided they loved each other very, very much.  Soon, they made a baby.  That baby's name was muscle shirt.  Muscle shirts offer more coverage than tank tops, on which the arm holes are sometimes too large.  One tip about muscle shirts: in public, don't wear one you "made" by cutting the sleeves off one of your T-shirts.  Such creations are appropriate only in one's own home, while running on secluded trails, and at the home of one's DGF ( with the DGF's consent).  And if you decide to buy a new muscle shirt, why not choose one that shows your butch pride?

Rash guards are cool-looking, sold in lots of different places, and come in hundreds of colors and styles--both men's and women's.   (I was pleased to see that Butch Style and the Sartorial Butch have endorsed rash guards--so you know you'll be in good company!)  Unless the water is especially cold, I recommend a short-sleeved rash guard.  They're made of thicker material than T-shirts--usually lycra, nylon, and/or polyester, kind of like the top half of a wet suit.  A quick Googling suggests that despite the thickness, you should probably wear something underneath, such as a bikini top or a sports bra. 

So, fellow butches, when in doubt about swimwear, remember that shorts + boob coverage + shirt = happy butch.  And trust me on the sunscreen.