_I've heard some of you say that compared to our more traditionally feminine counterparts, there aren't many ways for butches to show off our style.  That's why one of my many missions is to debunk this myth and show you how awesome butch fashion can be.

Cufflinks are a fun, underused part of men's "jewelry" that butches can totally rock.  Like watches, they can add a bit of class, a splash of color, or a touch of whimsy to your outfit. 

It helps, of course, to know what you're doing, which is where I come in.  Follow a few easy guidelines and you'll be sporting cufflinks like a pro.

_First, only wear cufflinks with French cuff shirts--aka "double cuff" shirts.  Instead of buttoning normally, they have cuffs that fold back and are secured by your cufflinks (as pictured, right).

Historically, French cuffs were only worn with suits.  This rule is a relic, and no longer holds true.  Sure, you can wear French cuffs and cufflinks with a suit.  But you can also wear them with jeans and no jacket for a night of dancing.  The key is to match the formality of the cufflinks to the rest of your outfit.  Fuzzy dice cufflinks + a tuxedo is a no-no (unless it's Halloween and you're going as Irony).

Cufflinks are supposed to add a touch of style, not function like a neon sign.  There's no need to be flashy or gimmicky.  That said, have fun with them.  Assuming that you are a non-male-presenting butch, it will take a truly huge fashion offense to make you look like an arrogant tool.  Guys have less leeway.  Unfair, maybe, but a fact nonetheless.

Finally, wear your cufflinks with confidence!  Yeah, some people say that you shouldn't wear French cuffs if you're under the age of 40.  But I say: critics be damned!  And Frank Sinatra and the Sartorial Butch both agree with me.

_Check out this excellent GQ video, in which the "Style Guy" shows off his cufflink collection and says a little more about how to wear them.  Tomorrow I'll write Part 2, in which I'll tell you some great places to buy cufflinks.  For a preview, check out my new Butch Store Cufflink page!)

Remember how, when the DGF and I moved in together recently, we were excited to have found a place that would allow the world's most angelic cat to be safely separated from yours truly?

Well, the cat was miserable.  Truly, utterly miserable every moment he had to be separated from people, especially my DGF.  This created a problem, since the world's most angelic cat also happens to be the world's most allergenic.  We tried everything, but ultimately decided that it was too serious of a health risk for me to be around him, and too miserable for him to keep living in just one part of the house.  Even though my DGF gave him special one-on-one time every day, and even though we kept the window open so that he could spend as much time outside as he pleased, he was still bummed out virtually every second he wasn't with people.  He would release this heartbreaking cry that just killed us.

So after a ton of heart-wrenching deliberation, we decided it would be best to re-home him.  We spent more than six weeks finding him the perfect home: a four-acre parcel of land in a semi-rural area with a big house owned by a cat-loving bachelor who has one other cat whom he dotes on like crazy.

In other words, the GK (that's "Grey Kitty;" shown above being typically attentive and saint-like) is going to be in total cat bliss.

Today was re-homing day, and it was really sad.  I feel a ton of (unjustified, I know) guilt for being hyper-allergic to this excellent cat, and my DGF is very, very sad but handling the situation with great aplomb.

Ironically, I'm not too allergic to her other cat (shown here practicing yoga), who is grouchy and hisses at my dog.  I can't cuddle with him for long, but I can be in the same room as him without anaphylaxing.

Thinking about pets today made me wonder if the "pet-crazy-lesbian" stereotype is accurate.  It also made me wonder what kinds of pets you have, dear readers.  I hope you'll take the short polls below.

_I'd love to hear from you in the comments: what's the most extreme example of lesbian pet-obsession that you've ever witnessed (or personally enacted)?

_This is the second part of a two-part post written by my dear ex-husband (DXH).  Before you read this, please check out the first part, below.


To be clear, this period of my life was not good.  I was separated from and not talking to my wife (at the suggestion of her counselor), living on my friend’s couch with about a car trunk’s worth of belongings, starting a new job in a new profession, and incredibly isolated because nobody else knew about it.
 
I kept my back straight and shoulders square for two reasons.  First and foremost, I knew that what ever I was going through, BDubs had it worse than I did.
 
She needed me. I promised to be there for her.  As she has written about, though we had a great marriage, there were still problems and I just wanted her to be happy.
 
I was also proving something to myself.  Years before I met BDubs, I let down somebody else to whom I owed support.  I disappointed her and myself.  It had deeply affected me. In fact, when BDubs called that first time, I literally thought, “Here is your chance.”  This was my chance to stand tall during a crisis and to redeem myself to myself.  I set out to do so.
 
In support of BDubs, I buried a lot of my emotions. I also buried myself in my new job because it gave me control over how I spent my time and did not highlight so clearly the fact the BDubs was not next to me. I kept such a tight grip on my emotions that I actually created a playlist called "Release" comprised of songs such as "Anybody Else but You" by the Moldy Peaches and "Troubled Mind" by Catie Curtis. I would listen to this list at night when it was quiet, away from work, and just cry.  Then I would collect myself, go to bed, and start over the next day.
 
One of the places I found solace was a Yahoo group called “Men Married to Lesbians.” It is a hard place that is full of men in severe pain. The intent is to be a place where men can go to try to figure out how to make a mixed-orientation marriage work. It is also a landing spot for men whose world has been turned upside down.  One man came home on a Friday to his wife telling him that she was gay, having an affair, and was leaving him and the kids. She moved out on Saturday. On Sunday she sent an e-mail to all their friends and family explaining the situation.  It made me feel lucky.
 
I admired the way that BDubs handled herself through this process.  She was always honest and earnest. She went out of her way to be sensitive to me and was deeply respectful of our marriage. She was a most reluctant lesbian.  She is a woman of the absolute highest integrity and I cannot tell you how much I respect what she has done over the past couple of years.
 
More than one of you has asked whether I regret marrying BDubs.  I have never regretted it for a moment.  There were dark moments when I was angry about the unfairness of it all.  But I always felt lucky to know and to have been married to BDubs.  Living with her was like getting a graduate degree in critical thinking. She pushed and challenged me in a way that I had not been before. We had some great times together and some tough times, but I definitely grew and improved as a person through it all. We did great things for each other. She taught be how to use a semicolon and I taught her how to do shots and listen to music that was not created by her parents' generation.
 
In writing this entry I thought a lot about how alone I felt in the process.  I was very scared to lose my friendship with DBubs and there was not a blueprint for how to keep it.  We ultimately decided to dissolve our marriage in order save our health and friendship.  It is heartening to hear that others have been able to do the same and I look forward to some random couple finding this entry in a Google search and hope that it will give them a little light.
 
Here, I need to stop for a moment and say thank you to my wonderful, extraordinary DGF.  I could sing her praises in a lot of different ways, but I want to focus on one.  My DGF and BDubs are friends.  Actual, legit, not bite-my-lip-forced, friends.  I really admire the DGF in this way because I can see the myriad of ways in which this would be difficult, but she recognizes the importance of my ongoing relationship with BDubs and accepts it as a part of me.  That takes a lot of trust and a textured view of relationships.  I admire her for that.
 
In the years since our divorce, I have watched BDubs's shoulders relax as depression and anxiety have loosened their long grip. Earlier in her blog, she described being with a woman as natural, like she did not have to pretend or guess.  That natural ease has really permeated many parts of her life now in a way that is profoundly related to her being able to square her sexuality.
 
Where she once moved through life with sheer determination and grit she is now moving with purpose and self-awareness.  It is a beautiful thing to see.


BW talking now: Thanks for reading this.  Even though the DXH and I talked throughout the process, reading his story from beginning to end like this was newly powerful for me.  I hope his perspective has been useful to you, too, and that you'll pass our story along to couples who might benefit from it.

And from the bottom of my heart (and I do not use sentimental phrases lightly), thank you to my DXH for sharing what he went through.  Writing about my own coming out was incredibly tough, and I know you went through something similar in writing this, DXH.  Without you, I would not be who I am now, and I doubt I'd be half as happy as I am now, either.  You are a brave, strong, courageous man, and I consider myself damn lucky to have gotten to be married to you back then, and to still be in your life now.

_As regular BW readers know, I recently told my coming out story ("Coming Out Married") in five parts (links: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V).  When my DXH (that's Dear Ex-Husband, for the uninitiated) offered to tell his version of the story, I jumped at the chance.  I think this side of the story--that of those to whom we come out, and whose lives are dramatically altered as a result--deserves to be told, and heard.

My DXH's story will be posted in two installments.  His story starts during the business trip I describe in Part III.  (Oh, and he refers to me here as "B-Dubs," short for "BW.")


BDubs called and asked me if I had time to talk.  Very uncharacteristically, I said, “not really” because work was overwhelming. But she persisted and I relented.  After a little hedging, she said “I am not sure I am 100% straight.”  Laying on our bed, I let those words sink in a little bit.  I asked her what she meant and she said that she wasn’t sure, but she needed to tell me. In that moment, I straightened my back, squared my shoulders, and told her that it was going to be all right, that we were going to be all right.  She was coming home the next day and we could talk then.
 
Then I hung up the phone.  And cried.  For about an hour.
 
In that moment, I did not take what she said to be fatal to our marriage, but it was profound and I could hear the pain and relief in her voice.
 
I did not know then that we would be separated within six weeks and divorced within the year (at least we would decide to be divorced. Paperwork was never our strong point).
 
When BDubs got home the next day we left the airport and grabbed a late meal at a diner. There, we began a relationship talk that would last about a year and continue through separation, dating, holidays, and isolation. The constants were that we loved each other, we would do our best to take care of each other, and that we trusted each other.
 
What was I thinking at the time? In the early going, I felt very clear that this would be a fairly quick and clear issue.  In the beginning I, very logically and cleanly, divided the process onto two steps.  First, we had to figure out BDub’s sexuality; then we could figure out the implications for our marriage. I figured it was no use to contemplate the implications until after you knew what the issue was.  If she was a “5 percenter” then it may not be a big deal for us.  Clear.
 
Clear and fanciful.
 
In short order, it became obvious that this was not going to be a clean and quick process. First, BDubs was very reluctant.  She did not want us to get divorced and she was facing the prospect of a very scary change for her life.  And so I found myself trying to get my wife to kiss a girl (but not in the typical male way).
 
Second, underlying this neat intellectual, two-part framework was a profound and dark fear that I was going to lose my best friend.  I met that fear the first night she stayed over at somebody’s house.  That somebody happens to be her current DGF.  I think that might have been the worst day, or at least in the top five of worst days.  The night before I had practically pushed her out the door with a charge to sleep with somebody else (as long as the somebody was a female). By the time she came home, I was a wreck.  Out of my head pacing the apartment.  I envisioned BDubs and this woman having morning coffee and contemplating how to break it to me that she was going to be moving out and I would lose everything I had.
 
And thus emotion eats intellect for lunch.
 
We had to separate. We had to figure this out, but neither of us could handle living together as it was happening.  Our lease was up, and she moved to a place where we had been planning to move together, and I moved to my friend’s couch (the separation day and the initial splitting up of our house was torturous and also in the top five worst days). We settled into what we knew was going to be a longer process...


It's BW talking now: Wow, right?  Wow.  Even now, years later, I get choked up when I think and read about this.  I'll post the second half of his story in a day or two.  Meanwhile, how about some comments from readers who have gone through something similar?  Any men reading this who are, or were, married to lesbians? 

I really enjoyed this article by Peggy Orenstein, the author of the soon-to-be-released and wonderfully-named book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture.  I'll be interested to read it, and certainly wonder what Orenstein means by "new."

In any case, the Times article from a week and a half ago talks about the push for "girl-friendly" kids' toys, which have been getting some extra press in the wake of Lego's release of a "girl-friendly" line of toys, which includes a "Butterfly Beauty Shop" and a  "Fashion Design Studio."  These "girls'" legos are, of course, decked out in "girl" colors: lavender, pink, and powder blue:

_
Orenstein points out that although gender-specific toys are founded in research that suggests that girls and boys play differently from one another, these very preferences are--at least in part--products of nurture, not nature.  To take it a step further, girls prefer pink in large part because we teach them that pink is what girls like.

Even if we accept, for argument's sake, that little girls and little boys have different toy preferences, why do the toys need to be gender-segregated?  Why can't we just have pink legos and navy blue legos and green legos all mixed together, and individual kids can decide what they want?  Why are so many toy stores grouped into "girls" and "boys" toys?  Why not put dolls alongside race cars?  If boys end up gravitating toward some toys more than others, fine.  But why spell out gender norms by labeling toys by gender before the kids even get their paws on 'em?

For one, gender-normative toys make gender non-normative kids feel even less normal.  It's not just that a girl who wants a toy race car is choosing a toy that the boys in her class also tend to choose; it's that she has to go to a section of the toy store that specifically excludes her to get the toy she wants.  That is insane.

What if research suggested that black kids and white kids had different toy preferences or play styles, and that it would be much more efficient for everyone to simply have an aisle called "black kids' toys" and one called "white kids' toys?"  Not a perfect analogy, of course--but to me, it underscores the absurdity of categorizing kids' toys by gender.