My Identity Crisis of Summer 2013

Since June is Pride Month, I’m going to write about my identity crisis of summer 2013.

There are many ‘types’ or classifications that come to mind when you think of homosexual females, and that’s where my mind dwelled for a while during that summer. The most common classifiers: Dyke, Lipstick, Femme, Butch, have about 20 different subcategories between the four. (Maybe I’ll post about the endless list and definitions of the inbetweeners one day) Lots of people say they don’t want to be labeled, that they love who they love and don’t need a word to describe that. Welp, I like labels. They give me a clear picture of what’s in front of me.

I decided that I identify as Femme, and that’s where my problem began. How the beep am I going to meet someone if I don’t appear a certain way? Lezbehonest here, most lesbians have a telltale sign that you can pick out pretty quickly: clothing choices: baggier jeans or gym pants, plain t-shirts, hooped lip rings or eyebrow piercings, slicked back ponytails or short hair, white watches (that’s a theory of my own. Straight individuals- don’t stop wearing yours in fear of catching the gay). Others are sneaky and can only be identified when you join our secret club (handshake included). It might be the gate of her walk, the style of her not slicked back hair, the choice of accessories like wallets, belts, or shoes; subtle similarities that you can find amongst us that only the trained eye can spot.

And then there are gays like me, who look ‘too straight’. I don’t have piercings other than my ears. I wear only eye makeup regularly. I wear regular work clothes during the day and my ‘never seen yoga’ yoga pants at night or on the weekends. I wear my long hair in either a bun or down and curled. I carry bags and I don’t think I have the lesbian swag that some of us do. So, again, this is where my distinctiveness is hidden.

I’ve heard things like, ‘you’re too pretty to be gay”, ‘you just haven’t found the right guy yet’, and ‘you don’t even look gay, you don’t have to lie about not wanting to go out with me’. Really, though? These make me face-palm. Every. Time. This is why I don’t like going out. I don’t like getting hit on by guys because it’s awkward. I don’t want to waste your time, and I sure as hell don’t want you to waste my time. I don’t like the pretentious asswipes that don’t take no for an answer. I just haven’t found the right guy yet? Maybe you haven’t found the right guy yet... how about that? Oh, you don’t like guys like that? Neither do I, BYEEE. And then I’m a bitch for turning them down, watch out... might get shot for that one of these days.

So, without a blinking light over my body or a tattoo across my forehead, how am I supposed to put myself out there to get noticed by the right people? I can always catfish online, or pick someone up at a gay bar, but is that really where I want to meet someone I might have a future with? After being handed my orientation on a silver platter at an all-girls college, the real world does not make finding someone as easy as it was before. I guess that leaves me waiting for the right time, or whatever. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.

And that was my identity crisis of last summer.