Camp is family, after all.
I have every faith in you, baby butch. I know you will be careful with this word and its legacy. It looks like a badge but it feels like a battleaxe, and I need you to know that it’s five times as difficult to earn and ten million times more dangerous.
Why is it that time and time again, people act like they can’t make me uncomfortable? That as a butch — as well as a queer person, a top, someone who likes to flirt and be sexual just like most human beings — it’s impossible to sexually harass me?
She looked me up and down, shook her head like she was clearing her ears, and then turned to check the sign on the door. Ah, I thought.
This week on Bomb Girls, the sunshine is gone and nothing will ever be okay again.
“It’s easy for us to say that we don’t participate in the patriarchy because we are women, or because we have been women, that we have known what it’s like to be objectified, oppressed, fetishized. The thing is that we queers can perpetuate rape culture just as much as the next frat boy…”
This week on Bomb Girls, Gladys continues to take mystery-solving lessons from the Pretty Little Liars team, Kate and Betty plan a wedding in which they are not marrying each other, and Vera is a flawless queen who calls out bitches when she sees them.
I want to talk about shape-shifting, and clothing, and being a butch who wears things, because so much of butchness is tied up in the things we put on our body.
This week on Bomb Girls, Betty’s military booty call goes long distance, Vera makes everyone teary-eyed with her perfection, and Gladys’ magical vagina continues to act as a doofus magnet.
It’s a double feature of 1940s lesbianism, burlesque dancers, and Rosie in funny hats that are not allowed in munitions factories.
This episode has everything: enough human tears to power the Canadian equivalent of the Hoover Dam, your (okay maybe second) fave lesbians shackin’ up, Marco once again taking first place in Son, You Gotta Stop With These Workplace Romances, and Vera saving the entire operation for the one zillionth billionth time.
Welcome to the most in-depth amazing massive guide to queer-girl star-sign compatibility anywhere in the entire universe. “What’s your sign?” is a totally valid pick-up line, and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.
Cantaloupe sorbet is the “perfect ending” to our lemon-pepper linguine movie night extravaganza with Wolfe Video!
If you’re an artist, writer, poet, or generally rad person with feelings about gender and/or your gender identity, The Bandit Zine is in need of your submissions.
Make some delicious breaded tilapia with sweet potato fries and chili aioli, then stream “The Four-Faced Liar” from Wolfe Video! Your Monday night just got so much better.
The most important question I can ask is what do you want from Butch Please? What do you want to see in this space?
If you’ve read this column, you’ve probably come to understand that I have a bit of an obsession with the written word. I find that self-expression through language is very powerful stuff, and in the right hands, it can be positively erotic.
In honor of upcoming Valentine’s Day and the lady you’d like to smooch, here’s a movie about forbidden romance and really beautiful kissing that will get the two of you in the mood for equally beautiful kissing. You can stream it right now, in fact!
Anxiety on a butch is no different than anxiety on anyone else, but somehow I feel an immense shame as a result of the two’s interactions.
This week on Bomb Girls, half of my early season predictions came true, and there was hardcore lesbian kissing!
This week on Bomb Girls, Betty McActuallyGerman wants to know if you are ready to rumble, and almost everyone needs to take a serious look at their lives and choices.
“There are so many terms for what I am – genderqueer, genderfluid, agender, pangender, neutrois – but none of them feel quite right. So Kade takes the place of that descriptor, and Kade feels right.”
This week on Bomb Girls and arguably the best episode of the show thus far, we discover that Betty did not, in fact, get pickles, and Gladys can sing, too?
An open letter to all the male icons I have consciously (or subconsciously) based my butchness upon over the years.
22. You can’t decide if you want to be or do your Confirmation saint.