Lee Initiative Lunch Break: “Why do you have to act like a guy all the time?” 

by Ashlee Martinez

photos by Jon Cherry

Queer Kentucky is a proud partner of the Lee Initiative. This is the first part of a series of stories uplifting Queer voices within the hospitality industry in partnership with the Lee Initiative.

“We started The LEE Initiative in Louisville, KY in 2018 after we saw a need for more diversity, more training, and more equality in our own industry. We wanted to redefine what it means to give back to our local community based on our research, our experiences and most of all, our instincts. We are in the business of hospitality, helping people, and solving problems. We put the needs of our guests first. So why should it be any different when we approach the complex social issues that arise in the restaurant industry?”

My first boyfriend asked me this after I won at video games, board games – definitely after getting better paychecks. But he was also critical of everything “feminine” I did, like spending too much money on beauty products or clothes. There was a constant toxic balancing of my “threatening” masculinity and my “exasperating” femininity, and it made my head spin. Coupled with lifelong insinuations of being gay from outsiders, you have a recipe for self-denial. I was in an abusive cis relationship for 12 years.

I liked playing sports when I was younger, but had no interest in watching them on TV. I love being outdoors but hate getting dirty. I work on my own cars but want to be a Suzy Homemaker. These contradictions, emphasized by gendered stereotypes, built me up to believe that no one would want me because I wasn’t enough of one or the other. 

When I finally realized that I was gay all along – pansexual attracted to femmes – I began to build friendships and community with people who share the way I would ultimately begin to see the world: tomboy femmes, gay men, lesbians, and straight geeks. 

I am now a chef. As many of you know, fine dining is a male-dominated industry. I’ve spent so much time in kitchens drowning in toxic masculinity, dirty jokes, and sexual harassment/discrimination. Despite this, I was still trying to be “one of the guys” – to be accepted and not seen as weak. Femininity is not an asset in the kitchen, and many women chefs suppress it to succeed.

In January of 2020, a few months before the Covid-19 quarantine hit, my brother killed himself. My brother was also queer and had been struggling with his bisexuality – what that meant for his masculinity – for years. My grief and my anger were massive wounds. I had not been tapped to become the Chef of my restaurant yet, but it was on the table. Before I had time to make a decision on how to express my grief, I was told, 

“You can take time off, but I know you – you’ll want to tough it out and work.” 

Thinking that strong behavior was expected of me, I made the decision to work through my loss. Crying at work was seen as a liability, so I held it in. I transformed it to anger instead. 

Then the world decided to end, and quarantine began. I worked my ass off, never really mourning or showing the emotions that I know now that I had every right to show. I followed the “Bro Code” of “Harden the Fuck Up” and was eventually tapped to be the new Chef. My new crown weighed heavy on my head. 

Often, we save softer expressions for our family  or our partners. But dating as a chef can be tough, due to lack of time and energy. Women chefs often end up dating within those same toxic professional circles. I was hurt many times by my own expectations. My dating choices were usually other line cooks with the same schedules who, instead of seeing our commonality, saw my successes as competition to their own careers. Ultimately, I wasn’t girlfriend material, because they also saw me as one of the boys. 

In 2022, I decided to leave my job in Virginia – moving 3000 miles cross-country to California. My grief from my brother’s death became compounded when our mother passed away. I was not happy at my job, my health was suffering, and I had ghosted my last situationship. In California, I decided that I was giving up on dating. 

Then I met her. 

My girl is a trans woman who has spent most of her life being forced to be a “dude’s dude.” Our first date was San Francisco Pride. I spent most of it not really knowing yet that I was actually gay. She was also in the restaurant industry – my expo to be exact. She was a Jill of All Trades – lead server, bartender, bar back, and expo – and one of the hardest workers I’d ever seen. I found that incredibly attractive. She had recently put in her two weeks notice to go back to school, and I thanked my lucky stars that I had gotten up the courage to ask her out before I missed my chance. 

The area of California where we lived was conservative, and being queer was still risky in areas. But I encouraged her to be herself, and we traveled throughout the Bay Area, attempting to be more open about our queerness. In turn, she allowed me to be as openly masculine or feminine as I wanted to be. But I still struggled with gender roles. 

Did I need to be the “guy” or the “girl” in this relationship? The end answer surprised me, even though I think my brain knew all along. There is no male/female role. Only love, responsibility, loyalty, and a belief in each other – that we can survive and thrive in any situation. I’ve spent most of our relationship being the breadwinner, due to her school obligations, but I know now that that doesn’t need to be associated with masculinity. Being ready to defend her if someone is cruel is not toxic masculinity; it’s support and care. 

I’ve ended up in Louisville, and I’m currently working for a wonderful female chef. Being back in my beloved South is wonderful and terrifying at the same time. 

I don’t feel like my new family can go back to my home state of Tennessee, due to their current laws prohibiting trans people from existing. I know legislative powers in Kentucky are trying to accomplish the same thing. But I still left California to secure us a future in a space where we can be freely queer and also have opportunities to succeed and chase our dreams. We are both working towards getting away from conservative areas that stifle her own femininity – areas that try to force her back into a masculine box. 

I am 40 years old. It turns out that I can hold space for masculinity and femininity at the same time. And my masculine and feminine urges are in complete agreement when they say to smash that box.