The Pinhook (Is Why I Leave Campus)

Last weekend I went somewhere worth gushing over. I’m talking about the Pinhook.

I was wary of going to the Pinhook because I heard it was very “homonormative.” As a femme, I equate homonormativity with the erasure of my identity. But the Pinhook is not solely homonormative. Yes, there were girls in jorts. Girls in ties and plaid button ups. Girls with alternative lifestyle haircuts and an array of v-neck shirts. But, there were also girls in tutus and dresses. Larger girls and smaller girls. Girls wearing lipstick while rocking doorknocker earrings. It was like everyone I had seen on sites like Fuck Yeah Femmes, Fuck Yeah Dykes and Genderfork was at one big party. (Everyone I had seen on OK Cupid was literally there too.) And they were dancing! Not sullenly standing against the wall or trying to wade through a blockade of gay men to find each other. No need to ask “Are you straight?” For once, I felt it.

I know this gushing might make we sound naïve or inexperienced. I’ve only been to gay clubs in San Antonio, The Triangle and New York. (I'm aware that the Pinhook is not specifically a gay club.) Even gay clubs that aren’t entirely populated by men present an obstacle to queer gals. For example, most of the women who go to Vespa are straight. When I’m feeling entrepreneurial I approach everyone I fancy. This can get tedious. My $10 cover goes towards seeing more homo PDA than I would at a Duke Selective Living Group party. It goes towards catching up with members of the Duke and UNC gaystream. Do I expect to meet other queer femmes? Not really.

The Pinhook felt like an alternate universe, a dream, a drug-infused terrarium. It was a flurry of bodies writhing to danceable music. Piercings, tattoos, glitter, binders, soft skin, tube tops, gym shorts. I was slightly buzzed but felt too drunk to walk straight or talk cohesively. To outsiders (read: Duke students) this group might have seemed impermeable. Fun to look at, not to join. Through some inspired dancing and the queerfemmeness I radiated I became part of the potent organism that lived on the dance floor. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t feeling bold. Women pulled me to them.

Now that I’ve exhausted the pros, I’ll head to the cons. The Pinhook crowd was quite white- not as white as a Portland potluck, but close. The non-white contingent was represented mostly by light-skinned ambiguous looking people and cute black guys. I knew that if I came to the Pinhook every weekend I would get bored seeing the same small group of folks over and over. I don’t know if I want to become embroiled in the gossip and drama endemic to small, tightly connected communities.

Gossip and drama. All queer ladies must deal with them eventually. Sure, I’m an upper middle class Duke student, but these are Triangle hipsters, not necessarily denizens of the Bull’s Eye. Even the most sheltered Duke student would feel comfortable walking in this neighborhood at night. Am I really afraid of pot, crafting and social justice? No. In high school this was my scene. Really, I’m afraid that by delving into Durham (not as an observer, as a participant) I’ll shake loose the foundation of the successful social life I’ve finally erected at Duke after three semesters. Hopefully I can strike a balance. Durhamite (not just Durham) friendly in theory and practice. Duke friendly too, even if nothing at Duke will ever be as queer as the Pinhook.

Crucial question: Will the second time be as great as the first? I’ll find out soon.

Butch/Femme

“I like butch girls and I cannot lie

You other femmes can't deny

When a butch walks in all the femmes make a fuss

Because there's like one of them and thirty of us”

-“Butch/Femme” by Team Gina

Don't hate me but...I can somewhat relate to the characters on the L Word. Don't get me wrong- I am just as annoyed that there were no real butch characters. I find the level of wealth and glamor unrealistic. Yet I can't help myself. I am attracted to the women on the show and aspire to be like them. My race and socioeconomic status also play a role, but I will address those identities another day.

Today is all about gender expression.

I see myself as a queer femme. It makes me feel like I’m in a burlesque troupe. While I am not the typical femme girl, I am a femme girl nonetheless. (And really, regardless of sexual orientation, who is the "typical" femme girl?) Before this year I assumed that since I wasn't “femme” in the most narrow, stereotypical sense I wasn’t a “femme” at all. I also assumed that in order to be “femme” I would have to date only “butches.” I changed my mind partly because Tiffany kept telling me how femme I was. I also realized that well…I wasn’t like all the other LGBT girls I knew. This realization wasn’t of the “OMG I’M SO ALONE WHAT EVER AM I GOING TO DO WITH MY LIFE” variety (we've all had plenty of those.) Rather, it was accompanied by a sly grin. One more hitherto unanalyzed part of me was finally beginning to make sense.

Part of the reason why I was so hesitant to claim the identity was because I was I was a flaming tomboy growing up. When I was younger I would often pass for a boy. I envied girls who could wear shorts and a t-shirt and still look like girls. In many arguments with my mom and grandma where I have been accused of “not being feminine enough.” Someone was always willing to explain to me that I was too loud, too logical, too brash, too sporty, too ugly, too to-the-point to be a girl. I still don’t feel like I have correct femme foundation. Whatever “femme” is, it’s not completely instinctive.

We all have many sides and histories. The word “femme” to me is not about wearing heels everyday, wanting to be a mother, having a million cute pictures on Facebook, heightened sensitivity to colors or shopping stamina. It’s not about only dating women who can pass for men, though I do find masculine women appealing. The aforementioned qualities are more stereotypical than realistic, though sensitivity to colors is based in biology. What makes me a femme? Well, my love for skirts, dresses and all things beautiful. My hair-flipping ability. My freakish emotional intelligence and sensitivity. My aversion to physical pain. My desire to comfort others. To you this may sound like outdated stereotypes. Yet for me the details are less important.

I am constantly "hacking" the word femme, teasing out of it new meaning.

Putting a definition to “feminine” and “masculine” is one of the hardest tasks I can imagine, slightly less hard than running the Federal Reserve or being a neurosurgeon. I understand why someone wouldn’t want to identify with a label. This may surprise you, but I can wear a suit and tie or play a contact sport and it has no effect my status as a femme. I have femme tenure.

Femme is also more liberating because I made the choice to identify as such and feel no shame in it. Of course I would feel no shame- as a woman I am encouraged by society to be "femme." And you'd be right to assume that it's easier for straight women and I to find common ground when I look similar to them. I also find it easier to introduce straight women to a girlfriend who looks like a boyfriend. But I don't have a firm ally in men or women. While straight women can relate to me and make up most of my friends, I am still too often seen as the tainted lesbian. I'm like a slut or a whore. And I have difficulty forming strong friendships with straight men.

This exercise has taught me to me more sensitive to the unique gender expressions of those around me. You are free to identify as butch/femme, genderqueer, androgynous or just yourself. I not vulnerable to harassment because of how I look, walk, dress or talk. I am vulnerable to harassment because I choose to be visible. I'm angry whenever I hear the line "If I wanted someone who looked like a man, I'd date one" on a television show, especially one that is LGBT themed (Sugar Rush comes to mind.) The gender expression chauvinism is our community needs to stop. I know the butch/femme dynamic seems passe, but it's just as passe as only valuing feminine (or non-butch) lesbians.

Identifying as femme is not about putting myself in a box. It’s about finally finding a box that so many people hid from me and saying

“Hey! That’s my box!”