Open Letter: Dear Femme

[apretty]

Originally Posted by NJFemmie

High femme to me is a high maintenance femme - one who is - yes - fussy - over makeup, heels, appearance, and carries the attitude and the demeanor.

'high maintenance' is just some term that men have applied to women to demean their accomplishments, their independence, their equality. 'HM' is what a man calls a woman who won't date him, finds him uninteresting, realizes early/instead of sleeping with him, that he's got not much to offer her. 'HM' is when a man finds a woman 'difficult'. 'HM' is for when a man fancies himself 'evolved' so he won't call this woman a "bitch", at least not to her face.

with regards to attitude and demeanor. that's not HIGH anything. we've all got that, it's power that we're born with by virtue of being (wonderful, fabulous and amazing) women.

perhaps you find your friend more self-possessed than yourself?

and count me as another who's never known a 'low femme'.

[blush]

Originally Posted by apretty

'high maintenance' is just some term that men have applied to women to demean their accomplishments, their independence, their equality. 'HM' is what a man calls a woman who won't date him, finds him uninteresting, realizes early/instead of sleeping with him, that he's got not much to offer her. 'HM' is when a man finds a woman 'difficult'. 'HM' is for when a man fancies himself 'evolved' so he won't call this woman a "bitch", at least not to her face.

with regards to attitude and demeanor. that's not HIGH anything. we've all got that, it's power that we're born with by virtue of being (wonderful, fabulous and amazing) women.

perhaps you find your friend more self-possessed than yourself?

and count me as another who's never known a 'low femme'.

I think the darker side of the HM stereotype is someone who is completely shallow and insists on being the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral.

[Gemme]

Originally Posted by blush

It's the Cinderalla complex. Or part of it. We are taught that there is only ONE beautiful woman in any given room. If that's "not us," then it must be something flawed in ourselves.

I don't think it's in "our nature," though. I think it's Disney-based.

I can see that, I suppose, but for myself...it's not so. In one room, I can see the beauty in everyone, except myself. My internal mirror is jacked up.

Disney does promote the 'one girl is beautiful and perfect and everyone else is an ugly stepsister or non-essential to the story' theory. So does every bit of advertising I see on TV, movies, magazines, etc.

[Lynn]

Originally Posted by Gemme

I can see that, I suppose, but for myself...it's not so. In one room, I can see the beauty in everyone, except myself. My internal mirror is jacked up.

That's really more where I am coming from. I admire beauty and confidence in other women. I'm kind of oblivious to the idea of competition, and I never would consider myself a threat to anyone. And, after being around these sites and "communities" for a few years, I realize that this is rather naive.

I do think that every group has an established hierarchy, whether or not we're all aware of it. When I was in college, I really liked one of my classmates, and I tried to reach out to be her friend. She was pretty rude to me so I finally just asked her, "You and I have so much in common, and I really like you. Why do you keep pushing me away?" She told me that it was because I was a threat to her and to her position in our program. She told me that I, like her, was smart, pretty, and I asked good questions. And, that was too much for her. I was flabbergasted. Just floored.

[blush]

Originally Posted by Gemme

I can see that, I suppose, but for myself...it's not so. In one room, I can see the beauty in everyone, except myself. My internal mirror is jacked up.

Disney does promote the 'one girl is beautiful and perfect and everyone else is an ugly stepsister or non-essential to the story' theory. So does every bit of advertising I see on TV, movies, magazines, etc.

I'm not trying to throw Walt under the bus. Of course, the Cinderella story is a Grimm Fairy Tale from wayway back in the day. I think it is so rampant in our culture that we have to fight NOT to fall back into that "one girl" mentality.

I agree with you, I've fought the conditioning too. Usually what I find beautiful in a person has little bearing on their clothes.

As an aside, kids are best, imo, at seeing people for who they "really" are.

[Medusa]

Speaking of internal mirrors.

I am really resonating with the posts here. SUCH good space.

I used to have a kind of reverse-Cinderella complex going on around my weight. I would scan the room when I was around other women to confirm that I , indeed, was the fattest one in the room. A lot of that self-hating bullshit was the need for my widdle baby feelings to stay firmly planted in their diaper because working through them was much scarier than sitting in a pile of shitty feelings.

At one of the first events I ever attended, waaaay back in 2003, I met up with a bunch of Butch/Femme/Queer folks in Kansas City. Some of those very same people are on this site
Up until that event, I had only shown myself from the "myspace" angle. You know the one: You hold the camera WAAAAYYY above your head and look up innocently so that all of your chins are hidden, your wrinkles fall to the back, and you look ever SOOOO tiny!!! WIDDLE BITTY THAANG!
Needless to say, I had much trepidation about attending and went on a CRAZY crash diet, eating ice cubes, riding an exercise bike for 4 hours a night, taking laxatives, and wrapping myself in a rubber suit while doing housework. Before the gathering in Kansas City, I lost about 30 pounds in the 6 weeks prior, all the while telling myself that I "wasnt going wasnt going wasnt going wasnt going".
I went.
I was scared that people would judge me for being fat. I was scared that people wouldnt like me. I was afraid of being the fattest person there.
Over all, the party was amazing and painful for 100 different reasons.

Once home, a "friend" sent me an email that had been circulating between 2 other Femmes talking about how I was "much fatter than they expected" and that I "was probably fatter than X and Y combined."

It was painful but I think a small part of me already had a nice soft bed made for the validation of my self-hatred.

The moral of the story is that my Princess often felt like "everyone who isnt me".

I could have had a very nice after school special about "tricking" everyone into thinking I was skinny and arriving with my fat self and people falling in love with me anyway. It didnt happen because I made no room for anyone to love me. (and dont get me wrong, I wasnt responsible for the gross behavior or judgment coming from other folks). But I walked into that party *expecting* to not be good enough. Because it was what I knew. It was what was comfortable for me. It was what fit my history.

Im writing a new life every day now, but I never erase the past.

I lost my train of thought, but the rainbow vomit looks kinda nice on the floor here. *tip-toe*

[blush]

Originally Posted by Medusa

Speaking of internal mirrors.

I am really resonating with the posts here. SUCH good space.

I used to have a kind of reverse-Cinderella complex going on around my weight. I would scan the room when I was around other women to confirm that I , indeed, was the fattest one in the room. A lot of that self-hating bullshit was the need for my widdle baby feelings to stay firmly planted in their diaper because working through them was much scarier than sitting in a pile of shitty feelings.

At one of the first events I ever attended, waaaay back in 2003, I met up with a bunch of Butch/Femme/Queer folks in Kansas City. Some of those very same people are on this site
Up until that event, I had only shown myself from the "myspace" angle. You know the one: You hold the camera WAAAAYYY above your head and look up innocently so that all of your chins are hidden, your wrinkles fall to the back, and you look ever SOOOO tiny!!! WIDDLE BITTY THAANG!
Needless to say, I had much trepidation about attending and went on a CRAZY crash diet, eating ice cubes, riding an exercise bike for 4 hours a night, taking laxatives, and wrapping myself in a rubber suit while doing housework. Before the gathering in Kansas City, I lost about 30 pounds in the 6 weeks prior, all the while telling myself that I "wasnt going wasnt going wasnt going wasnt going".
I went.
I was scared that people would judge me for being fat. I was scared that people wouldnt like me. I was afraid of being the fattest person there.
Over all, the party was amazing and painful for 100 different reasons.

Once home, a "friend" sent me an email that had been circulating between 2 other Femmes talking about how I was "much fatter than they expected" and that I "was probably fatter than X and Y combined."

It was painful but I think a small part of me already had a nice soft bed made for the validation of my self-hatred.

The moral of the story is that my Princess often felt like "everyone who isnt me".

I could have had a very nice after school special about "tricking" everyone into thinking I was skinny and arriving with my fat self and people falling in love with me anyway. It didnt happen because I made no room for anyone to love me. (and dont get me wrong, I wasnt responsible for the gross behavior or judgment coming from other folks). But I walked into that party *expecting* to not be good enough. Because it was what I knew. It was what was comfortable for me. It was what fit my history.

Im writing a new life every day now, but I never erase the past.

I lost my train of thought, but the rainbow vomit looks kinda nice on the floor here. *tip-toe*

I wonder sometimes why the horrible, ugly things stay with us the longest? Why do they seem the most true? Why do we blow off the compliments that waaaay outnumber the asshat shit? Why do we feel that the compliments are insincere, but the asshat shit are an accurate assessment of ourselves?

[Medusa]

Originally Posted by blush

I wonder sometimes why the horrible, ugly things stay with us the longest? Why do they seem the most true? Why do we blow off the compliments that waaaay outnumber the asshat shit? Why do we feel that the compliments are insincere, but the asshat shit are an accurate assessment of ourselves?

And here's an even better question:

I dont know if this is true for anyone else but I remember in blinding detail the negative comments that other women have made to me. Very rarely do comments from Butches, Transmen, or Men sting me in the same way. (well, except there WAS that one time that an ex of mine circulated a rumor that I was actually a man )

Perhaps its because of the desired validation. Perhaps its because of my family history with other women. Perhaps its an acceptance thing. I think that for me, a tiny part of it feels like a violation. Cant put my finger on it just yet.

[julieisafemme]

Originally Posted by blush

I wonder sometimes why the horrible, ugly things stay with us the longest? Why do they seem the most true? Why do we blow off the compliments that waaaay outnumber the asshat shit? Why do we feel that the compliments are insincere, but the asshat shit are an accurate assessment of ourselves?

I think for me it is because the bad stuff reinforces my core beliefs about myself. My therapist calls it selective filtering and it is a cognitive error. I am constantly gathering evidence that I am bad. Those things that do not fit the core belief I have are discarded. This is a very hard habit to break. I work at it every day. Some days I do very well and other days it is like I have not learned a thing over the past 4 years of therapy.

[hippieflowergirl]

Originally Posted by Medusa

Speaking of internal mirrors.

I am really resonating with the posts here. SUCH good space.

I used to have a kind of reverse-Cinderella complex going on around my weight. I would scan the room when I was around other women to confirm that I , indeed, was the fattest one in the room. A lot of that self-hating bullshit was the need for my widdle baby feelings to stay firmly planted in their diaper because working through them was much scarier than sitting in a pile of shitty feelings.

At one of the first events I ever attended, waaaay back in 2003, I met up with a bunch of Butch/Femme/Queer folks in Kansas City. Some of those very same people are on this site
Up until that event, I had only shown myself from the "myspace" angle. You know the one: You hold the camera WAAAAYYY above your head and look up innocently so that all of your chins are hidden, your wrinkles fall to the back, and you look ever SOOOO tiny!!! WIDDLE BITTY THAANG!
Needless to say, I had much trepidation about attending and went on a CRAZY crash diet, eating ice cubes, riding an exercise bike for 4 hours a night, taking laxatives, and wrapping myself in a rubber suit while doing housework. Before the gathering in Kansas City, I lost about 30 pounds in the 6 weeks prior, all the while telling myself that I "wasnt going wasnt going wasnt going wasnt going".
I went.
I was scared that people would judge me for being fat. I was scared that people wouldnt like me. I was afraid of being the fattest person there.
Over all, the party was amazing and painful for 100 different reasons.

Once home, a "friend" sent me an email that had been circulating between 2 other Femmes talking about how I was "much fatter than they expected" and that I "was probably fatter than X and Y combined."

It was painful but I think a small part of me already had a nice soft bed made for the validation of my self-hatred.

The moral of the story is that my Princess often felt like "everyone who isnt me".

I could have had a very nice after school special about "tricking" everyone into thinking I was skinny and arriving with my fat self and people falling in love with me anyway. It didnt happen because I made no room for anyone to love me. (and dont get me wrong, I wasnt responsible for the gross behavior or judgment coming from other folks). But I walked into that party *expecting* to not be good enough. Because it was what I knew. It was what was comfortable for me. It was what fit my history.

Im writing a new life every day now, but I never erase the past.

I lost my train of thought, but the rainbow vomit looks kinda nice on the floor here. *tip-toe*

damn. you're good...

[Diva]

Originally Posted by Medusa

Speaking of internal mirrors.

I am really resonating with the posts here. SUCH good space.

I used to have a kind of reverse-Cinderella complex going on around my weight. I would scan the room when I was around other women to confirm that I , indeed, was the fattest one in the room. A lot of that self-hating bullshit was the need for my widdle baby feelings to stay firmly planted in their diaper because working through them was much scarier than sitting in a pile of shitty feelings.

At one of the first events I ever attended, waaaay back in 2003, I met up with a bunch of Butch/Femme/Queer folks in Kansas City. Some of those very same people are on this site
Up until that event, I had only shown myself from the "myspace" angle. You know the one: You hold the camera WAAAAYYY above your head and look up innocently so that all of your chins are hidden, your wrinkles fall to the back, and you look ever SOOOO tiny!!! WIDDLE BITTY THAANG!
Needless to say, I had much trepidation about attending and went on a CRAZY crash diet, eating ice cubes, riding an exercise bike for 4 hours a night, taking laxatives, and wrapping myself in a rubber suit while doing housework. Before the gathering in Kansas City, I lost about 30 pounds in the 6 weeks prior, all the while telling myself that I "wasnt going wasnt going wasnt going wasnt going".
I went.
I was scared that people would judge me for being fat. I was scared that people wouldnt like me. I was afraid of being the fattest person there.
Over all, the party was amazing and painful for 100 different reasons.

Once home, a "friend" sent me an email that had been circulating between 2 other Femmes talking about how I was "much fatter than they expected" and that I "was probably fatter than X and Y combined."

It was painful but I think a small part of me already had a nice soft bed made for the validation of my self-hatred.

The moral of the story is that my Princess often felt like "everyone who isnt me".

I could have had a very nice after school special about "tricking" everyone into thinking I was skinny and arriving with my fat self and people falling in love with me anyway. It didnt happen because I made no room for anyone to love me. (and dont get me wrong, I wasnt responsible for the gross behavior or judgment coming from other folks). But I walked into that party *expecting* to not be good enough. Because it was what I knew. It was what was comfortable for me. It was what fit my history.

Im writing a new life every day now, but I never erase the past.

I lost my train of thought, but the rainbow vomit looks kinda nice on the floor here. *tip-toe*

Medusa,
I think You say so much of what some of us are feeling here I just had to repeat is, as blush did.

Similar to Your story, I was nervous about going to a big ol' "family party" in 2007 in Dallas. I was looking forward to meeting everyone, but once they saw me, what would they think THEN? Right?

One of the most empowering things for me ~ and there were 3 things that weekend that DID give me a great deal of personal power ~ was hearing Your letter to Your Mama, Medusa, during the spoken word segment of the cabaret deal. I remember all the pieces of paper....I remember being mesmerized by Your passion, Your fierceness. And I remember thinking, "Gimme some~a THAT!" because I was intoxicated by that fierce passion!!! Here was this big, beautiful bombshell beauty who was "screaming" about her heart's desires.

And it was during Your letter in spoken word that I fell in love with Medusa.

What did You DO with those bits of paper? I hope to that Wire Sculpture 'Dusa that You have it in a safe place. It should be in every Femme Manual.........jus' sayin'......

[Medusa]

Originally Posted by Diva

Medusa,
I think You say so much of what some of us are feeling here I just had to repeat is, as blush did.

Similar to Your story, I was nervous about going to a big ol' "family party" in 2007 in Dallas. I was looking forward to meeting everyone, but once they saw me, what would they think THEN? Right?

One of the most empowering things for me ~ and there were 3 things that weekend that DID give me a great deal of personal power ~ was hearing Your letter to Your Mama, Medusa, during the spoken word segment of the cabaret deal. I remember all the pieces of paper....I remember being mesmerized by Your passion, Your fierceness. And I remember thinking, "Gimme some~a THAT!" because I was intoxicated by that fierce passion!!! Here was this big, beautiful bombshell beauty who was "screaming" about her heart's desires.

And it was during Your letter in spoken word that I fell in love with Medusa.

What did You DO with those bits of paper? I hope to that Wire Sculpture 'Dusa that You have it in a safe place. It should be in every Femme Manual.........jus' sayin'......

Thank You, Janeylove.

I have no idea where that piece of writing is. Im sure it inhabits a piece of a dark corner somewhere in one of the boxes in the office (hopefully).

It was a paper liner off of one of those room service trays, a scrap writing tablet from a last-minute, mad-dash attempt for anything, something to say. I almost called Eve that night and told her to cancel me because I had been listening for the muse up until weeks before that performance and she just wasnt giving it up.
I think that piece of writing was, for me, one of the most healing things I have ever done. Not just writing it, but saying it out loud in front of people. Showing my hurt spots, showing my rage, showing that I was pissed right the hell off.
Many people do not know this but there were some folks in the room that night that I had become estranged from. My ex was also there.
I caught myself as I was sitting in the bathroom messing with my hair getting all nervous and jerky. There were a million thoughts running through my head. A million pieces of anger and sadness and joy and resentment and disappointment and love and hate.
And there I was, this thing in a gold lame' dress, covered from head to toe in glitter, wearing gold gogo boots and I felt shiny and starry and new and bright and enormous (not size-wise, but spirit-wise), because I had maintained myself at multiple points during the weekend when there were some shitty situations in my face.
I looked at myself in the mirror and knew that I was the woman that *I* thought I was and not the woman that *they* thought I was.

And by god, was I fucking fabulous.

So I sat down and scribbled out my rage, leaning in an uncomfortable chair and pumping my body into that writing like I was playing a piano. Hard and fast and racing the clock.

And when I performed, I spoke to not just my Momma, but to the people in that room that were part of that hole. The people who let me down. The people who hurt me. The people who betrayed my love for them.

I let go of all of it in front of that crowd in Dallas and nobody but me knew it.

I guess you could say that I forced everyone into my masturbatory therapy - but really, isnt that what all poetry is on some level.

When I was done speaking, a rush of people surrounded me and hugged me, thanked me, applauded me, kissed me. There were a lot of tears. I felt loved.
I felt a tremendous shouldering of that rage from my sisters. I felt like every woman in that room knew exactly what I was talking about and that every one of them would help me rip to shreds the pain and anger.

I keep that moment tied up with red string in the memory part of my mind. I have rarely felt that kind of rush of empowerment where the shitty stuff that was ripped out by pain was replaced with shining diamonds. But it was.

And they are still there. About a million carats worth.

<3

[hippieflowergirl]

Originally Posted by Gemme

I can see that, I suppose, but for myself...it's not so. In one room, I can see the beauty in everyone, except myself. My internal mirror is jacked up.

i'm in high dudgeon at the mo' so excuse me. the fact that any of you amazing women has been shoved into the "less than" dressing room to find some culturally artificial (and not even decently tailored in order to actually be personal) shame to wear is pissing me off!

Gemmie-poo...like Medusa, Arwen, Diva and Bit...to me you're already so damn beautiful in words...i'm afraid of having to wear sunglasses in order to merely hang out with you. so let's drag that freakin' mirror down here to eye level. i'll get the step stool, you find the dust rag and we'll just haul it down and see what's so darn scary.

Originally Posted by Gemme

Disney does promote the 'one girl is beautiful and perfect and everyone else is an ugly stepsister or non-essential to the story' theory. So does every bit of advertising I see on TV, movies, magazines, etc.

and for that reason, if no other, we should all be writing fairy tales that include the plain/ugly/nerdy/genderqueer/fat/or whatever sister kicking ass, taking names, falling in love only if she damn well feels like it, and living happily ever after.


just sayin'

[NJFemmie]

Originally Posted by apretty

'high maintenance' is just some term that men have applied to women to demean their accomplishments, their independence, their equality. 'HM' is what a man calls a woman who won't date him, finds him uninteresting, realizes early/instead of sleeping with him, that he's got not much to offer her. 'HM' is when a man finds a woman 'difficult'. 'HM' is for when a man fancies himself 'evolved' so he won't call this woman a "bitch", at least not to her face.

with regards to attitude and demeanor. that's not HIGH anything. we've all got that, it's power that we're born with by virtue of being (wonderful, fabulous and amazing) women.

perhaps you find your friend more self-possessed than yourself?

and count me as another who's never known a 'low femme'.

Hmmm ... no. Can't say that would be the case.

My friend used high maintenance to describe herself. This was about the very first time I have ever heard that being used. (Which is why when I hear that, I automatically think of her).

Will come back to this when I have more time (and am more awake).

[cara]

...I wasn't really drunk, btw. Just trying to be funny. Don't think it worked, though.

[SuperFemme]

Originally Posted by cara

...I wasn't really drunk, btw. Just trying to be funny. Don't think it worked, though.

I laughed and visualized Hello Kitty stumbling through the Arwen's living room.

Chuckles.