Call me sir like everyone else? Or call me by name: Butch. See my effeminate flourish and hear my voice. You will not have to look hard for my girlish curves either, if you are able to see past the shroud of male clothing I wear to obscure my sex from visibility.
I am tall and broad, capable of doing the work of men, and yet somehow still another complicated girl underneath it all. I must be here to confuse and beguile, because that's what I do best. Being able to fend for myself in this world of men paints me as some kind of feminist pirate, but in reality, I profit from my ability to assimilate with men. Is it mutiny against my sex? How can it be if I am thereby a successful woman?
The truth is that the patriarchy and all of its components make me want to conceal my sex. I do not wish to be any less woman, I just want to be judged fairly and given equal access, and I achieve that more frequently when I let people assume I am male. It is not a new innovation. Women have done it for centuries. I am not even as savvy as some of my predecessors, who maintained elaborate ruses to conceal their true identities. I don my masculine personae as a farce; a burlesque. I mock the tired institutions of gender and work hard to do my part to change the status quo, and thus be a successful woman in this world of men...but make no mistake. I am butch. I am a butch. I am Butch Mystique.
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