In case you’ve ever questioned it, here are 25 signs you might be a butch.
You own more than five baseball hats.
You get a huge amount of satisfaction from holding the door open for just about anyone. Or offering them your umbrella. (Or jump-starting their car. You get the idea.)
You keep your wallet in your back pants pocket.
People ask you to fix things.
You can actually fix things.
You are way too obsessed with your extremely short hair.
Women’s sizes completely flummox you. (Also, what’s the difference between a “shirt” and a “blouse?” You certainly don’t know.)
You bristle a little when people describe Ellen as “butch.”
You call your male friends “dude.”
Your straight female friends flirt with you.
You turn around in the grocery store when someone asks, “Can I help you, sir?”
You own three or more fleece vests.
You are saving up for a suit from Saint Harridan or Kipper Clothiers.
People have assumed that you “must” identify as trans and/or genderqueer (but you know you’re a butch)
Your “regular” bra is a sports bra.
You’ve been the only woman in your entire section at a concert (e.g., Tool; Rage Against the Machine).
You go by a nickname less “girly” than the name on your birth certificate.
You hesitate when ordering a mixed drink to make sure your drink isn’t “girlier” than your date’s drink.
Your favorite comedians include Julie Goldman, Tig Notaro, Kelli Dunham, Sabrina Matthews, Hannah Gadsby, DeAnne Smith, Rhea Butcher, and/or Cameron Esposito.
No makeup. Ever. Unless it’s guyliner, and even then you feel a little weird about it.
Guys pass you from the back and say, “S’cuse me, dude.”
Figuring out what to wear to a job interview has, at some point in your life, been the bane of your existence.
You can open any bottle or can using an item currently attached to your keychain.
When you’re walking down the sidewalk with a woman, you stand on the outside, closest to the street. Obviously.
You know that no 25-item list can tell you whether you’re “butch.” You just are.