Fernanda Panela Supersônica

I get misgendered in public a lot. Never cruelly. Just a lot. Which makes sense.

I'm 190lbs of muscle with a deep voice. Which I enjoy. Typically I'm wearing leather and jeans. The vast majority of people are going to gender me as male because my gender presentation is inherently masculine, and other parts of me are also masculine.

This is a problem that cis butches face regularly, and that fact helps me cope with constantly being read as male. But it aches the most when I see other lesbians/queer women.

I don't really get to be 'publicly' lesbian. If I see another dyke on the street, I'm just a man. There's no quiet solidarity there. There's no recognition.

Femmes don't preen under my gaze at a bar. Instead, I have to walk up and explain my whole situation and hope that they're cool. Which is rough, because sometimes they're not. Or, worse, they say they are, but they aren't. Which results in a lot of wasted time for everybody.

It takes a supreme amount of self-confidence to walk up to a cute girl and boldly declare yourself also a girl in a voice that immediately gives some kind of lie to what you're saying.

So, baseline, I'm pushing and establishing boundaries. I'm already testing her just by talking to her. Which makes flirting hard, you see? If I feel like I'm already toeing a line, then I'm not going to make a sly comment about her dress. I am, instead, going to be as non-threatening as possible.

This is a great way to make new friends and acquaintances (I have a lot), but a terrible way to get laid.

A lot of people relate to what I've said here, which is great. But a lot of people also don't understand what a butch is. I'm not gonna explain that, but I am gonna explain some more about myself.

I enjoy being masculine.

I enjoy having a deep voice. I enjoy dressing in leather and jeans. I enjoy being muscular. And, while I do feel isolated, that's just a result of my condition. Which I accept.

I'm not repressing myself. I'm not 'boymoding.' And, most importantly,

I do not want to pass.

I do not want to look like a cisgirl. I do not want be mistaken for a cisgirl. I don't want to read as feminine. I'm a trans dyke and I'm quite pleased with that.

I'm glad everyone relates and supports, but I think a lot of you are getting the wrong message.

Sometimes, I try to write this post over again. I want to nail down the feelings of frustration and isolation that I glazed over in the original. I want to take the nebulous blob of emotions that I'm feeling and pin them to a corkboard.

I'm sure you're familiar with the quiet and often accidental ways transwomen get misgendered: assumptions, requests, warnings, expectations. Things that you can't really say something about without sounding insane. Wounds that get triggered by something completely innocuous. And I'm sure you're familiar with the latent paranoia that comes with all this.

I'm sure you're familiar with the sensation of your teeth on your tongue.

I'm sure you're familiar with the smile, the nod, and the gesture of acceptance. I'm sure you're familiar with standing silently in the circle. I'm sure you're familiar with politely excusing yourself and walking away.

I'm sure you're familiar with taking a long drag off something that's going to end your life sooner or later while you stare at Orion in the night's sky.

I know you know. I know, too.

I know you think about why so many of us fetishize weakness.

I know that you're walking through life this way because you don't have a choice. I know that you choose everyday between yourself and the world.

It's the looks and the whispers or it's death, isn't it?

No need to answer. I already know.