Five Incredibly Basic Butch Fashion Guidelines

1. Do not tuck in your T-shirt.
2. Do not wear socks with your sandals.
3. Always wear a belt with pants that have belt loops.  If your belt is brown, your shoes should also be brown.  Black shoes, black belt. 
4. Do not get a flat top or a mullet, even if you're an old-school butch.
5. No pleated pants.  Really. 

(You can find a few more great basic tips here.)

Five Great Gifts For the Butch in Your Life
1. Tickets to see a favorite play, musician, or sports team
2. A couples massage.
3. A personalized tie
4. Cuff links (I especially like the typewriter key ones)
5. Boxers, especially sexy ones (but only if you're sleeping with her, OR plan to, OR it's a wedding/bachelorette/honeymoon gift for her and her partner)
(The Sartorial Butch had some great ideas in this post.)

Five Ways to Make a Regular Evening Romantic (hint: none of this should involve televisions, cell phones, computers, iPads, etc.  Digital screens are a romance-killer--well, MOST of the time...)

1. Buy your girl's favorite kind of ice cream or dessert and surprise her with it while you put on her favorite music.
2. Turn off the TV and announce, "It's sexy time!"  (Especially if you're not the one who usually initiates sex.)
3. Take turns reading chapters of a book, or magazine articles, to each other (ideally the listener gives a foot massage to the reader at the same time).
4. Bake cookies together, then stay up late and eat them with milk.   
5. Do something creative together, or something that requires problem-solving.  Drawing, painting, putting together a puzzle, playing with clay (think of that scene from "Ghost"--possibilities abound!)
   

Five Awesome Butchy Comedians You Should Know About

1. Tig Notaro
2. Deanne Smith
3. Julie Goldman
   
4. Kelli Dunham
5. Sabrina Matthews

Five Best Responses to Being Told You're in the Wrong Bathroom

1. Say to the person: "No way--YOU'RE really a man?  Geez, you totally pass."
2. Say, "Sorry, but the men's room was full.  Hey, mind if I use this sink as a urinal?"
3. Lift up your shirt to show your bra (my DGF has actually done this).
4. If the person does that annoying exaggerated look at the door to make sure she's in the women's room, just say, "Yeah, you're in the right place.  And so am I."  (My friend C has done this.)
5. Ignore the person while doing a little dance and singing, "Man, I feel like a woman."

A few of you have sent in pics of yourself rocking suit vests.  As promised, here they are!  (And if you want to be added, just let me know and I'll include you in this post.)

First up, here's Cris in a textured mahogany vest sporting a pin instead of a tie.  She notes that she usually wears pins or brooches in place of ties these days, and also that suit vests can be a good choice for job interviews.

Next, here's Alyson Cheney, an aspiring model from Washington.  She's wearing what appears to be some kind of women's jacket/vest thing, but she butches it up with a tie and an attitude and looks great!

Third, here's Bren, author of the butch-femme blog Buzz Cuts and Bustiers (photo by Jess Orlando).  Bren says her favorite way to wear a suit vest is "with an untucked button-up shirt, dark jeans, sneakers, and a skinny tie."

Last but certainly not least: here's Whitney, who wore this outfit to a birthday party at a wine bar a few days ago.  I love the dark vest/dark shirt combo, and can think of a huge range of ties that would match the outfit, too.

And as a bonus, here's a photo of dyke fashion maven k.d. lang looking good (um, as usual) in a suit vest.  (BTW, if you haven't heard her recent album, Sing it Loud, get it!  It's awesome!  Here's the video for the first song on the album.  It's kind of weird, and--toward the end--pretty hot.)

There you have it, folks.  Suit vests and music for a happy Wednesday!

This is me, far more dressed up for work on Friday than was necessary, but it was *really* fun to wear this.  As you can see, I had on a grey men's suit vest (Goodwill, $15), a grey-and-white striped shirt (Nordstrom Rack, $30), a green paisley tie (Ross, $20), and--in addition to the black watch that I mentioned in a previous post--a matching leather wrap from Urban Outfitters.



 




 
With this outfit, I didn't wear suit pants.  Instead, to convey an "I'm-dressing-up-whimsically" tone, I wore grey cords and green Converse high tops.  So fun.  I love men's suit vests, and although I only own one, I plan to use the summer weddings I'm attending to excuse the purchase of a couple others.  (For the weddings, of course, I'll make sure that the suit vest and patnts match.)  Never sported a suit vest and want to give it a try?  Here are ten fashion tips for happy vesting:

1. If you're wearing the suit vest casually, as I was on Friday, don't tuck in your shirt.  Yeah, it'll extend past your vest; that's part of the look.
2. If you're going for anything beyond a casual look, tuck in your shirt.
3. Leave the bottom button of your vest unbuttoned.
4. Don't worry about wearing a jacket with it.  You can if you want, but especially in the summer, and especially if you present as female, you can easily get away with going jacketless.
5. Do something fun with colors.  Whether it's a casual or formal occasion, add at least two matching splashes of color.  For example, I threw in the leather wrap and green Converse to match my tie.  If I had just worn a green paisley tie but everything else was grey or black, the tie wouldn't "pop" as much, and might even look kind of random.
6. Make sure the suit vest is big enough to accommodate breasts, hips, etc.
7. The vest doesn't have to be a neutral color, though they're more versatile.
8. If your vest has a pattern, your tie should probably not have one.
9. If you're going for "dapper," try a four-in-hand knot, generously loosened.  You might even consider adding a driver's cap.
10. Even if you usually wear a T-shirt under your dress shirts (as I do), you might consider going without it for this look, to prevent the vest from creating a bulky appearance.

I'd love it if YOU would send me the pictures of you or your friends sporting suit vests, and I'll post them on the blog!  What's your favorite suit vest look?

Last week, I mentioned that my Fourth of July would be dyketastic.  The plan was that me, my DGF (dear girlfriend), my DXH (dear ex-husband), his DGF, and R & J (a very nice butch-femme lesbian couple) would go backpacking.  My acquiescence to the plan was a Big Deal, as I have zero desire to camp.  Yes, this makes me a bad lesbian.  My objections to camping are fivefold:

1. Camping requires sleeping outside on the ground, an activity I can understand in some situations (e.g., war; homelessness), but not when there are perfectly good B&Bs within driving distance that are positively brimming with toilet paper and clean linens.
2. Tents offer scant protection from riffraff (e.g., bears, serial killers).
3. I love being clean.  For me, part of hiking's joy is getting gloriously muddy and sweaty and tired, then coming home and taking a shower and curling up with a novel, a glass of cold beer, and a goodly amount of artificial light.  The last thing I want to do after a hike is crawl into a tiny enclosure with another sweaty person and sleep on the ground.
4. Camping requires an additional set of household items.  Frequently, these items are not only expensive, but inferior to the ones I already possess, such as cups, pans, a stove, and overhead shelter.
5. The number of espresso beverages attainable while camping are, to say the least, woefully limited.
   

My DXH loves camping, and tried (without success) to persuade me to camp while we were married.  My DGF also loves camping.  Now that they are friends and we all hang out happily, it was only a matter of time before they conspired to drag me into the wilderness.

Now, let's be clear: I like nature.  Indeed, I spend quite a bit of time in it.  But I also like bookstores and coffee shops, and I don't feel compelled to sleep in either of those places.  They are places for visiting, not temporarily relocating, and I feel that forests occupy the same category.

Anyhow, the DXH and DGF persuaded me to try a one-night backpacking trip.  I was secretly hoping to like it enough to do it in the future, because it would make me seem dashingly rugged while providing me with new excuses to go to REI.  Also, I wanted to use my pocket knife.

Loading heaps of our belongings into giant backpacks for a one-night stay felt a little absurd, but as we scaled the two-mile uphill trail to the campsite, I found myself enjoying it.  We arrived and set up camp.  (Admittedly, I had a short "OMG WTF my life is so strange" moment upon pitching a tent ten feet from my ex-husband's, but then I realized how awesome it is that he and I are such good friends, that the disparate parts of my life are so integrated, and BLAH BLAH BLAH.)  My DXH's DGF consulted a map and suggested we hike to the nearest body of water.  The farthest I'd previously hiked was six miles, and this would add up to nine or ten, but--butch that I am--I stayed silent and tried to exude "I'm cool with whatever, 'cause I'm so tough" vibes.

A mile into the hike, the back of my neck began to itch.  After another half mile, my thighs itched.  Then my arms and face.  Two miles in, my throat started to feel funny, and another half mile later, I asked my DGF to examine the back of my neck--which, it turned out, had sprouted giant hives.  Meanwhile, R (the butch in the aforementioned butch-femme duo) was having other allergic reactions: sneezing, congestion, and a swollen face.  (My DXH commented that two out of three butch lesbians were apparently allergic to local flora.)  I had never had a reaction like that, and--truth be told--I was a little worried.  But going back at that point seemed silly, since we were nearly there.  I grew increasingly miserable.  Little hives sprouted on my arms and I itched all over.  I quietly braced myself for anaphylaxis.  (R had an EpiPen, so I was semi-confident that death was not imminent.)

Eventually, we passed a campsite and accepted Benadryl from some kind strangers.  R and I still felt lousy, but at least our symptoms stopped getting worse.  When we reached the water's edge, I sat and reflected upon several  important things, namely: (1) how in God's name would I hike four more miles? and: (2) would I finally get to use my pocket knife?

Meanwhile, my DGF had approached the water.  She stepped in with one foot, then--in response to its chill, turned around quickly and started to run back to shore.  Only...  she didn't get far.  She was suddenly limping, then her calf gave out.  Luckily, one of my DXH's DGF's talents is medical expertise, and she quickly determined that it was a muscle tear. 

My girlfriend was no longer ambulatory, and we were four miles from our campsite.  This, I thought, did not bode well.

It soon became clear that my DGF wouldn't be hiking back to the campsite.  The map showed a parking lot a mile and a half away.  We figured we'd try to hitch a ride to my car, drop my DGF there, hike back up to the campsite, then I'd pack our stuff and hike back down and drive home.  (Admittedly, this prospect had perks: I'd get to be super butch AND not have to deal with the actual "camping" part of camping.)

The six of us made our way toward the parking lot.  R and J ran up ahead to begin assessing the generosity of strangers.  But they soon returned with an armed federal ranger.  The ranger asked my DGF lots of questions and made notes on a pad of paper.  He also shared the freeze-dried ice cream that R had cleverly brought along.  My DGF flirted shamelessly with the ranger (in her defense, he was in uniform), who seemed startled and flattered at the attention he was garnering from our little group (half of which, I'll remind you, was butch lesbians). 

Our ranger called another ranger, who arrived in a white ATV.  My DGF and I got in, but the others weren't allowed to come (some nonsense about "seatbelts").  We said our goodbyes, then my DGF and I peppered Ranger #2 with questions as he drove us back to our campsite: Why did he have two giant guns in a locked cage next to the passenger seat?  (A: "Because you never know who you'll be dealing with.")  Was the pay reasonable?  (A: "We get paid in sunsets.")  Had he ever seen a mountain lion?  (A: No, and he sounded sad about it.)  What was the most dangerous situation he'd ever been in?  (A: Raiding illegal marijuana fields.)  Did people ever try to live in the woods permanently?  (A: Yes.)  Who does that?  (A: "Crazy people.")

At the campsite, Ranger #2 told my DGF to stay in the car, and told me to pack up fast while he "checked out" nearby campsites. 

As I have mentioned, I am not much of a camper.  I hadn't broken down a tent in at least 12 years.  Picture a stereotypical prissy gay man trying to break down a tent.  Then double his confusion and give him a pocket knife, a small hammer, and some zip-off cargo pants.  That was me.  I managed to get the task done with only one serious injury (a large cut/blood blister on my left thumb).  When the ranger returned, we loaded in the bags and he drove us back to my car. 

On the drive home, my DGF and I stopped at an excellent Italian restaurant.  We were dirty, sweaty, and my DGF couldn't walk, but we had a great meal and spent a lot of it laughing.  It occurred to both of us that my DGF's injury may have saved me from midnight anaphylaxis, and also that it was a little pathetic that two butch lesbians couldn't make it through a one-night camping trip.

So there you have it, friends: I tried camping.  "Dyketastic?"  Maybe not.  But I've concluded that camping isn't half bad--as long as it doesn't involve sleeping on the ground, and it ends with some great Italian food, a drive home, and a nice, hot shower.

Some of you know Kelli Dunham personally, and others of you--like me--know her only through her amazing, hilarious comedy.  (If you don't know her stuff, check out some clips here and here.)

Earlier this month, Kelli's partner, Cheryl, died of cancer.  (This would be bad enough in itself, but Kelli's previous partner died of cancer, too.  Can you imagine??)  This page was put up by some of Kelli's friends to help her get through the next rough bit of life.  If you've ever laughed at one of her awesome stand-up gigs, I encourage you to give $5 or $10.  Think of it as buying Kelli a virtual beer. 

I'm going to buy Kelli a virtual pastrami sandwich, cream soda, and pretzels right now.  And Kelli, if you're reading this: we love you.