Identity crisis: Futches rise up and unite

Off Our Backs, Oct 2000 by Smith, Jenn

Identity Crisis: Futches Rise up and Unite

It would be an understatement to say that I spent the majority of the time at my very first Michigan Festival, stumbling around overwhelmed, confused, and dazed. I had moments where I was barely coherent, times when I was laughing and giggling uncontrollably, and instances where I fought back tears as I reflected on the "reality" of the life I would have to return to in the near future contrasted with the beauty I was witnessing in the present.

I was in the position of "observer" for the entire time, I was quieter than usual, unable to engage in intense political discussions as I normally would, and felt like a sponge merely soaking up as much of this "culture" I was being introduced to. There are rarely experiences that leave me speechless, but my first Michigan did just that.

What was most interesting to me was that my time at Michigan, at least while I was there made it nearly impossible to discuss feminism, separatism, and participate in heated political debates. I would have thought that this environment would promote and spark those kind of discussions. Yet I was absolutely unwilling and on many levels unable to engage in this kind of dialogue.

Perhaps I did not want to think about issues of male violence against women while I was in this space, perhaps it was the first time in my life I didn't have to. I was not fighting against the world anymore, I was just existing, and I was existing in an atmosphere of unparalleled safety.

So I avoided the political workshops and went to ones on herbalism and almost made it to the "weaving and spinning" lesson--even though I've never been all that interested in weaving and spinning usually only happens after a few too many beers one night.

I think I also knew that my experiences whether or not I conceptualized them as political at the time would have dramatic political consequences for me in the future--and I was content leaving my reasoning at that. Let me provide an example.

As we were nearing the end of our time at the festival, Butch/Femme identity came up. After all, you see many kinds of women at Michigan, some who identify in those categories and many who do not. So we decided to conduct a little experiment. I have always considered myself pretty androgynous, I can be ultra feminine if I want and quite butch too. But most of the time I feel like I am somewhere in the middle of these identity categories--usually neither butch nor femme (at least in physical appearance).

So one of my newfound friends and I began asking multiple women whether or not I was butch or femme. We stressed to them that they had to base it on physical appearance or some limited questions about my personality. Many women, rightfully so, were hesitant about answering that question on physical appearance alone, but usually did with a little convincing.

We found that many women thought that I was indeed somewhere in-between butch and femme (we labeled this category `Futch'). But we also found that women who we would consider more butch or who self-identified as butch labeled me femme, whereas femme women labeled me butch. They would look at my style of dress and think butch, but then look at my painted toenails and immediately change their answer to femme.

On a tractor ride into "the land" the entire tractor had a debate on my identity. This time, women asked me questions like, "well do you own any power tools?--and power screwdrivers don't count." (My answer: No). Or "if your bike tire blew would you fix the tire yourself or call someone else to do it for you?" (My answer: I would fix it myself, but bitch the entire time about the fact that I am fixing it myself.) This answer threw me back into the Futch category. Yet when the tractor passengers looked at my toes (spurred by someone yelling, "But LOOK at her FEET!") I was once again labeled a femme.

This was a fun little narcissistic game at the time, one that made me laugh and smirk, but the political consequences and observations that came out of this fun experiment are truly intriguing. Now I know there are so many people out there uncomfortable with labeling and gender stereotyping. There is an entire movement and theory out there designed to debunk these "myths" about gender and racial identity. People can claim that they don't "see" gender, they don't look at color, or they don't assume anything about anyone based on appearance--but alas, I think this is bullshit.

Humans seem to have a strong need to make sense of their world and of their surroundings. We often make sense of other people by categorizing them into labels and boxes that we ourselves feel comfortable with. Dominant discourse tends to dismiss this process as inherently negative, one that limits people and their understanding of self and projected identity.

It may mean that people unfairly jump to conclusions about someone else based on appearance, but when we get to know someone, their personal complexities and hypocrisies make it more and more difficult to fit them into boxes and categories (although I would argue that predominantly, gender and race distinctions stay somewhat more stable then labels identifying political convictions or even class status).