Butch Wonders
  • Blog
  • Butch Store: Genderqueer Us
  • About
  • Contact

Guest Post #1: Baby Dyke; Baby Homophobe

5/10/2012

3 Comments

 
I'm thrilled that this excellent piece is kicking off the BW guest post feature!  I hope you enjoy it!  And if you're interested in contributing, email me.

Baby Dyke; Baby Homophobe
By "Melanie Shortcake," ex-baby dyke extraordinaire

Growing up, I was a closet homophobe. If I felt even a twinge of excitement while looking at a picture of a girl in Seventeen, I’d force myself to stare at the image until I could control my reaction. Then, I’d force a fantasy about one of the male heartthrobs of the 1990s--J.T.T, Ryder Strong, Hanson (admittedly, I could never get off on Hanson, no matter how determined), or Jonathan Brandis (RIP).

Even though I didn’t have any out lesbian friends until late in college, those I did encounter seemed--to my dismay--to pay me special attention, offering a comment on my hairstyle or a masculine wardrobe choice (of which none of my friends approved).

In sixth grade, there was Betsy--the one student who would bring a same-sex date to prom years later.  Betsy homed in on me, offering to carry my books and going out of her way to say hi during art, our one shared class.

Betsy, a particularly large 12 year-old, towered over me and weighed at least twice what I did. We were truly polar opposites--she outgoing and voluptuous and me, scrawny and reserved. The art classroom, tucked away in a far corner of the middle school, was equipped with metal shelving on which students dumped their backpacks. Making it to my next class on time proved nearly impossible due to the chaos of navigating the book bag shelf and the distance between the art wing and the rest of the building. One day, I made the strategic error of arriving at the shelf first, only to find my small self cornered by the oncoming horde of much larger preteens. There was no way out. Just as I resigned myself to tardiness, I was swooped up like a small child, backpack and all, carried over the crowd, and placed carefully on the other side.  Disoriented, I looked around and realized that my savior had been Betsy. Too shocked to speak, I scampered away.   I never spoke to Betsy again.

Lesbians like Betsy seemed to inhabit a world completely foreign to my own, yet on some level, I knew they noticed me because they picked up on what should have been obvious--that was I a baby dyke. Evidence of my this proved ubiquitous despite my determination to be “normal”:

When I was about six years old, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles came out with a line of underpants.  [BW note: TMNT boxers still exist!  Yeah!]  I eagerly asked my mother to take me to the store for the big purchase. It hadn’t occurred to me that the company had neglected to manufacture Ninja Turtle panties.  Did I still want them? asked my mother, concerned I’d feel uncomfortable in boys’ underwear.

Secretly, I wanted them more than ever.

As we paid, I wondered what the cashier thought of me. I hoped she assumed I intended to gift the purchase to my brother. But despite my self-consciousness, I refused a bag and carried the package home, cradled in my arms like a new puppy. When I tore into the plastic, I shyly asked my mother to explain how the boys’ underwear worked--specifically what the extra hole was for--and she patiently outlined the anatomical differences that allowed boys to pee without removing their underwear and pants. Now I was really jealous (my few attempts at peeing standing up had proved utter failures).

At age 11 or 12, when it was clear my breasts needed some control, my mother took me to a local lingerie store.  The training bras horrified me, and I begged the crotchety saleslady for something androgynous: “no lace, not pink, and nothing shiny.”  She stared at me, baffled by my lack of enthusiasm for both intimate apparel and my burgeoning breast tissue. When she busted into the dressing room with her measuring tape and went in for the kill, I screamed like an assault victim.

We left with a generic sports bra, which I left undisturbed, tags on, in the bottom of my sock drawer for years, toughing through puberty with baggy shirts and chafed nipples. After a year of breast development pain exacerbated by my bra phobia, I concluded that I had cancer. But given how little attention I wished to draw to that general area, I decided to wait for the cancer to spread to a less embarrassing body part before reporting my condition to my mother. By then, it would probably be too late.

In adolescence, I was the target of frequent makeovers. Girls would gather around, proclaiming that I had so much “potential.” Eyebrows were plucked, legs were shaved, hair straightened, makeup applied, heels and dresses awkwardly administered. Though I appreciated the rare (positive) attention of my peers, makeover days felt more like Halloween than the long-lasting transformation of romantic comedies. I never attracted the high school quarterback, and I inevitably made a swift return to baggy jeans and T-shirts.

When I came out in my twenties, I finally shunned the makeovers and embraced my androgynous style. For the first time, I allowed myself to walk, sit, and speak in a way that made me comfortable (studies suggest that women speak significantly higher than their natural voices). Being around other lesbians helped me feel at home in my own skin, but joining the “community” still terrified me. I realize now that I feared lesbians because they embraced qualities about which, in myself, I harbored so much ambivalence. 

A recent New York Times editorial explored the intersection between homosexuality and homophobia, citing studies that suggest that many homophobic individuals actually harbor same-sex attraction. In college, before I came out, I was fascinated by a similar study that measured physical arousal in men as they watched straight and gay porn. The homophobic “straight” participants actually exhibited more sexual arousal while watching gay porn than their less homophobic counterparts.

When my father delivers a wildly inappropriate joke at a dinner party, I become irrationally angry. But at a recent Passover Seder, I myself had a few too many glasses of wine and started telling a group of corporate lawyers about strap-on sex. It wasn’t until the next morning (after the wine haze had lifted) that I realized why I get so infuriated at my father. The two of us are just alike, except that he fully embraces this inappropriate side, while I spend hours obsessing over how to phrase the apology letter to my host or hostess. Perhaps the studies are right: Watching someone else embrace a quality that you’ve invested considerable energy into suppressing can drive you a little crazy. Maybe even crazy enough to hate on the gays.  

3 Comments
bat
5/10/2012 09:14:34 am

today came across a gal that was yelling abuse at myself and g/f she so fit the sporty dyke image it amazed me how much hate she showed even before we walked across the street and came into her view she was cursing any how my point is I've seen this happen a few times then I've seen them come out as gay I still think there is not enough same sex class to tell people nothing is wrong with being attracted to the same sex , well kiss my gal goodbye as she got on the bus and the young girl was punching the bus stop and yelling out hate once more as I walked home

Reply
Sim link
5/11/2012 01:35:29 am

That makes a lot of sense. If people expend so much energy repressing a big part f themselves, they will surely feel annoyed and angry when others not only don't feel the need to repress it, but they embrace it. It hurts them to see others so happy.

I was laughing through the makeover descriptions... how many times did I go through similar?

Reply
I concur.
5/12/2012 08:28:31 pm

"Perhaps the studies are right: Watching someone else embrace a quality that you’ve invested considerable energy into suppressing can drive you a little crazy."
Oh hell, is this *horribly* right...

In any case, if it irks people, either they actually are just straight homophobes that have no reason to be annoyed by homosexuality or they are actually gay and not comfortable. And TBH, i think the latter makes more sense. Usually, it seems straights don't care that much - why should they? It doesn't impede on their lifestyle. Whereas if you constantly have to say homophobic comments about someone you know and make a point of how bad it is, it must surely be because you are insecure about something in yourself. Usually. I mean why else would one go to great lengths to make a point of saying stuff about people when their sexuality doesn't affect you? Unless, of course, you're conservative and you believe gayness is contagious to straight people.

Reply

Your comment will be posted after it is approved.


Leave a Reply.

    TWITTER
    FACEBOOK
    INSTAGRAM
    EMAIL ME
    Picture


    ​Blogs I Like

    A Butch in the Kitchen
    A Stranger in This Place
    Bookish Butch
    Butch on Tap
    Card Carrying Lesbian
    ​
    Chapstick Femme

    Effing Dykes
    Feral Librarian
    Lawyers, Dykes, and Money

    Mainely Butch
    Neutrois Nonsense
    Pretty Butch
       

    Categories (NOT up to date...  working on it)

    All
    Accessories
    Adventures
    Advice
    Bisexuality
    Blogging
    Books
    Butch Identity
    Cars
    Clothes
    Coming Out
    Community
    Dating
    Family
    Fashion
    Female Masculinity
    Fiction
    Friends
    Gaydar
    Gender
    Girlfriends
    Guest Posts
    Hair
    Health
    Humor
    Husbands
    Identity
    Interviews
    Intro
    Lgbt Community
    Lgbt Law
    Lgbt Relationships
    Lists
    Marriage
    Media
    Politics
    Polls
    Pride
    Pride Project
    Readers
    Relationships
    Religion
    Reviews
    Search Terms
    Shopping
    Silliness
    Social Change
    Ties
    Trans
    Work


    Archives

    September 2022
    May 2019
    February 2019
    September 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    March 2018
    November 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    April 2017
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011

    RSS Feed

 
  • Blog
  • Butch Store: Genderqueer Us
  • About
  • Contact