On being femme in public.

(NOT REALLY)

here at femme in public we are drinking prosecco and talking about heartbreak. We have so many things to talk about BUT HOW DO WE TALK ABOUT THEM????

Here are some topics that we will be getting back to:

• “Hating Men” an exploration into living in a sexist rape culture, not apologizing, a nuanced gender understanding, and so forth. 
• Why Hoes before Bros is ESSENTIAL 
• How boring is it that our community is just full of some masculine/butch/boy love. Which is great cuz all genders are FUCKING HOT AND AWESOME but we here think that femmes need to put our money where our mouths are AND FUCK EACH OTHER.
• Can we talk about body policing and dominant beauty standards? Can we talk about how the rise with femme visibility+digital online queer culture+capitalism has reinforced certain ideals of beauty and hotness and authenticity? Can we talk about how this is hurting us all, especially our denial around this subject? Can we talking about how this is a tough conversation to have because it has everything to do with classism, racism, fatphobia, access, ableism, our own relationships/histories/trauma with our bodies and it is very loaded? 
• WHAT ABOUT THE NEW SNOW WHITE/ KRISTEN STEWART MOVIE AND WHEN WILL SHE COME OUT ALREADY?

We will be back! We need to think about these subjects when we have not been drinking bubbly Italian wine. Also, what do you think?

Also, street harassment and sexism still blows. We are sure you want an update but it would go something like this: “blah, blah, someone made us feel uncomfortable”. So, when we are less busy having SO MUCH FUN TOGETHER we will write about our daily experiences with harassment with humour and panache! 

It’s been a while.  Been super busy, and that’s such an understatement.  But male entitlement is apparently endless, so no need to worry about running out of material!

So one of us was on a date one night. It was a while ago, but in the interest of privacy we’ll keep it vague and the narration omniscient.  She was on a date and the date activity was actually one that she’d been wanting to have with a date, ANY date, for years—go to a playground at night and like, whatever, do monkey bars and make out on the swings. Maybe she watched too much Buffy, remember how Buffy and Angel were always like lurkily meeting up after dark in playgrounds?  And it was totally fine because even though they usually got accosted by vampires Buffy (AND Angel) both knew crazy martial arts and kicked ass?  Yeah, I forgot about that part.  So the date was going pretty well.  Our fair hero scored some free dessert at Whole Foods, courtesy of being a pretty girl, they took it to the park, ate, played around, and were having a discussion on the swings that our game-impaired protagonist was totally hoping would end in some sweet makeout action.  I forget what it was about.

Some dudes walked by.  I’m not sure if it’s relevant to mention that Hero and Date are both conventionally hot babes who by heterosexist standards should only be in a park after dark accompanied by a male boyfriend or other chaperone-y personage, and maybe not even then. 

So obviously they were looking for some male attention, being all out in a park without men.  I mean, maybe the whole thing was a bad idea, probably?  But at the time she was seriously living the dream and actually a little bit dizzy from proximity to this amazing amazing person: Date (hereafter to be referred to as Leander, since, let’s just go all the way with this).  It was hard to breathe.  The whole thing was very sweet and maybe romantic, or could have been, had it not been for the approaching presence of the dudes. 

Despite a deep-seated longing to be optimistic and hopeful, Hero tensed up.  “You all smoke weed?” the guys asked. 

“No.” Hero said firmly.

The dudes seemed content with this answer, smoked the weed themselves, fucked around for a while.  It was super annoying since Hero had not yet figured out how to put the moves on Leander and anyway, however calm the guys on the basketball court were being, the sight of two girls making out on a swingset was sure to be blood in the water for them.  The great question: Should she quit while ahead or hold out for the dream? Hero opted for optimism again, thus this entry. She was going to wait those motherfuckers OUT.  Surely they would get munchies and go home! 

They did not.  She waited too long, and even without the sight of two pretty girls on a swingset making out, the guys were irresistably compelled to walk closer.  It’s a truth universally acknowledged that two pretty, unaccompanied girls must be in want of a man.  If not two men.  I mean, right?

They walked closer.  “Hey, are you all Russian?  Are you like speaking Russian or something?” Hero blinked.  He continued, “You all are like, lesbian, bisexual, or Ukrainian.  I can tell.  Are you lesbian, bisexual, or Ukrainian?” (I am not even making this up although it’s the kind of line that is so ridiculous and yet spot on with my own monomania that it would be pardonable to assume I did)

Hero gave a gasp of laughter.  Leander looked blankly unamused.  Hero tried to control her unfortunately encouraging reaction.  “We’re having a private conversation.”

“That’s okay,” the other guy said.  “You can have it in Russian.”

Despairing of ever getting to make out again, and getting increasingly stressed out, Hero increased her volume and added force.  “We do not want to talk to you. We’re talking to each other.” (“Lesbian, bisexual, or Ukrainian?” her brain belatedly echoed.  “Wtf?”)

The guys circled the swingset. “Why don’t you two want to talk to us?  Do you want to make out?  You should make out right now. Yeah, you should!” It crossed Hero’s mind that her Buffy-inspired daydream of romantic playground date was a deeply stupid daydream that she should have tried to make happen during actual day (altho—kids) or just kept as a daydream, because, what if her stupid idea got them both assaulted?

It took far too long, many moments of arguing that ruined the moment, and by the time the guys finally backed off and left, Hero and companion took it as a sign and decided not to press their luck, they left before anyone else could happen along.

On the way home, Date wondered if the guys, both much taller and in general larger than H&L, fully understood how intimidating their persistent attention and invasion of space was. “Sometimes they just don’t get it.  Sometimes they’re stoned and having bad boundaries—”

“—and sometimes they’re genuinely terrifying.”

Still a busy summer at the LLC!  This update comes to you from the bedroom of Adrienne, currently in the midst of packing.  Last week was her birthday, and we met for drinks and dinner before the actual party, drinking iced tea in the sun and enjoying life, when strident manly tones grated through our calm afternoon. 

“Hey, you, RED!  You better watch out—you’re gonna cause an ACCIDENT and someone will get HURT,” smirked an on-coming bike punk, satisfied at his scintillating wit.  

Tilly, forever daydreaming, was caught off-guard and once again had no good comeback.  Adrienne, more alert, gagged.  ”Ew, please!” 

(Tali, on hearing this story, commented, “You should have told him ‘Hope it’s you!’” and Tils agreed.  L’esprit de l’escalier, people. So frustrating!) 

The guy looked deeply disappointed that we did not appreciate the compliment, and mumbled things as he pedaled off.  What comebacks he had, we will never know, cause Adrienne’s gagging drowned him out. 

We here at the LLC apologise for the silence.  It’s not that we haven’t been enduring all kinds of obnoxious commentary—it’s summer, we’re femme, I’ve already had about as much as I can take from the interested bystanders of Portland, OR—but as you may know, last month was declared by none other than our very own president to be the month of the gays!  so the LLC had a lot to do.  You know, pride parties, anti-versary parties (Tilly’s.  Beginning a relationship during Pride is a stupid mistake many of us make, let’s just be glad that’s over) more pride festivities, barbecues, and outdoors times. 

Tripping merrily up to one such queer dance party, laughing giddily and ready to dance, the LLC &co were approached and passed by a small group, two girls & a guy.  Crusties, they looked like they had been partying by the water front and not as if they were coming from the party we were going to.  Tilly, spaced out on a crush, was fucking around with her phone and lagging behind everyone else, and thus became the target of the man’s advances. 

“Hey!  Hey you!” he yelled.

Startled, Tilly looked up. “Um—?”

“You DROPPED SOMETHING!” he enunciated helpfully.

Tilly began fumbling through her purse and looking on the ground.  “Oh my god, thanks!  Where?  What was it?”

Adrienne, paused up ahead, groaned and started to yell something, but Dude cut in.   “YOUR SMILE!  YOU FORGOT YOUR SMILE!”

“AUGH!”  yelled Adrienne.  “SHUT UP, DUDE!”

“Wait, what?” Tilly asked, still scanning the ground trying to figure out what she lost.  Slowly it registered.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  Don’t fucking tell me to smile!”

Mission accomplished, the man was already moving off down the street totally not paying attention to the fury he left in his wake. 

“It’s PRIDE!” Tilly raged.  “They don’t get to tell me to smile during Pride!  That should be, like, a RULE!” She paused.  “But, I didn’t drop anything, right? He was fucking with me?”

“No, honey,” Adrienne assured her.  “He was just being a douche.”

“Well, that’s good anyway.  Cause that would have sucked!”

adrienne:

a week ago i was biking to a party with my girlfriend. side note, a fabulous femme was throwing this party, for her own birthday, and this lady is one classy dame. she is friends with my girlfriend and the best hostess ever. she always has multiple fancy cocktail choices she is ready to mix you at a moments notice, as well as all the food and snacks you were already craving but did not even know. but oh. she knew. she is like a queer femme martha stewart, except she is a bohemian vintage dress wearing hot tattoo artist. but still. this lady can host her ass off.

because said hostess is adorable, i wanted to look tres chic, just for her (you know that old adage is true, i honestly dress up most for femme/feminine people in my life rather than the “masculine gaze” even if it is queer masculinity. i could kinda care less what some random butch/dude person thinks about my style/hotness, but a femme friend/stranger can send my heart atwitter with a compliment). I DIGRESS.

anyways, i wear this new maxi dress, just for her. see, i have been wary of this trend, but recently gave in due to a new dress i procured, very 70’s style, form fitting, with various stripes and patterns abound, and very cleavagey. I think the secret to maxi dresses is a)fit and b)showing some décolletage. Because, LEZ BE HONEST, if your hemline is hitting your ankles you need some boobs to make the look a little more missoni than sisterwives.

WAIT! this is becoming a fashion post instead of a post about sexual harrassment! BACK ON TRACK!

I had that moment, as i was getting dressed, applying some Russian Red, noticing just how booby the dress was, that total internalized sexism moment where I almost change into a sack just to “not put it all out there”. Fuck that, I think with a final swipe of eyeliner.

Darling butch girlfriend and I were biking along, enjoying the summers eve. Said sweetheart is zoning out, as per usual, enjoying a bird call or two. We swing past Pix (a french dessert place in our neighborhood) and I glance over and see a few people, including a dad with a small baby on his lap, dining al fresco.  

Dad looks at me, looks at my chest for about 56 hours, looks back at me, and while HOLDING A MOTHER FUCKING BABY makes a “MMMMMMHHHHH HHHHHHHHHMMM HMMMMMMMM!” sound, like, you know, “yummy, delicious” ETC. He then manages to make a final lewd gesture with his mouth, a sort of lip licking/cunnilingus mash-up.

I barely manage to trill out a “EWWWWW, SICK!” before we are past the dessert place, speeding down the street. Needless to say, my outfit confidence is lost. Thanks, DAD.