Working While Butch

Finding the butch parts in every job

I started working at 14 and I’ve never stopped. Having a job and working has always put me in closer proximity to my butchness. My first job was working as a host at Big Boy and part of my duties included refilling the ice on the soda machine. Scooping through the ice, the loud sound, and feeling my still tiny biceps flex in tight navy polo sleeves. Picking up the big full bucket and balancing it on my shoulder had me feeling some kind of euphoria I couldn’t understand. When I think back, I remember most fondly the pieces of my jobs that solidified my butchness and/or independence:

Kids R Us- unloading trucks, bringing my favorite femme manager coffee (I got hot chocolate and told her it was coffee)

community college video cart jockey - I fell in love with the commute to a job, started working every hour I could, and got my first taste of working two jobs

fitness center attendant - lifting the weights to clean and put away, watching how folks used weights to masculinize their body, memorizing their form to replicate later

Starbucks - pulling shots, steaming milk, using my hands to work quickly and effectively, flirting shamelessly with soccer moms through the drive-thru, bringing my crush her favorite frappuccino

Costco bakery - picking up huge bags of flour and sugar, using my hands and arms to mix huge batches of dough, working midnights felt like a rite of passage in the workforce

softball/baseball umpire - the hat, the belt bag with my dust brush and counter, the hand signals and keeping count behind my back, being an obvious dyke doing a cliché dyke thing because kids need to see butch dykes out in the world

videographer - climbing scaffolding, wrapping heavy cables, lugging equipment around, throwing the camera and tripod over my shoulder, wearing cargo pants for function and not their impeccable lesbian style, my first experience in a male-dominated office and industry

media technician - pushing around and lifting heavy equipment, supervising men older than me and learning more about misogyny in the workplace, connecting with the LGBTQIA+ campus group by setting up their media equipment each week

software engineer - gaining trust from women and non-binary coworkers

I spent a lot of time thinking about what pieces of writing software solidifies my butchness. There aren’t many. But one thing that stands out is continuously striving to be a pillar of emotional support for my non-male coworkers and colleagues in the industry. I started by teaching introductory workshops on JavaScript, connected with a few women and non-binary students, and mentored them through their journies into software development. I recognized my masculine privilege early into my tech career and have tried to harness it for good. Male managers and coworkers treat me like one of the guys. They point out short skirts in the office, talk about their Tinder date disappointments, and ask me who in accounting I’d fuck based on their Slack pictures; all without thinking twice about my gender. I know I can’t change how Men in Tech™️ are, but I can use their respect for my masculinity to build emotional safety nets around them for my teammates who are not afforded the same respect due to how feminine they present on a Zoom call. I like to force my way into the HR process and volunteer to perform culture interviews so folks in marginalized groups can see a visibly queer person being their authentic self at an organization they’re considering joining. I push myself to speak at conferences so baby butches and other queers can see the representation of someone like them doing the thing. Talking the talk. Walking the walk.

A butch at work atop a giant baguette pillow

I know that my whiteness, my age, being able-bodied, and my economic status all afford me the privilege to show up in the way that I do today and have enabled me to climb the tech ladder for the last decade. When I think about how that aligns with my butchness, it’s in ways I never expected: It’s finally relieving myself of feeling like a predator around women and non-men. It’s feeling the gravity of their trust as we talk about impostor syndrome and retrospective anxiety. It’s not carrying the heavy equipment, but it’s doing the emotional labor because my non-male coworkers deserve a fucking break.