Mask-Ulinity

Story by Noa August

Photos by Jason Morales

I tried my best to play the role of masculine partner in my relationships. I was stoic, providing, logical, strong, domineering… I thought that if I was this unbothered, mysterious, nonchalant person, I would be identifiably queer. I wholly embraced mysteriousness, assertiveness, decisiveness, independence; and while some of these “masculine” traits are part of my being, they also are only fractions of a whole. Acting that way didn’t make me happy, and it wasn’t sustainable. I did get more attention from feminine women, yes, but that came with unbearable stipulations. When embracing the expectations that came with being masculine centered/presenting, I was losing freedom of full expression. I traded in my authenticity, and that lovely gray area I really enjoy existing in was lost. I was suffering. 

In performing masculinity, I hid the parts of me that were more “feminine;” the parts of me that are fragile, empathetic, nurturing, soft, receptive, warm, sensitive, sweet, sassy, and what my friends would call “sometimes bratty.” I didn’t feel like I had space to be more than one-dimensional. There was cognitive dissonance, because anyone close enough to me knew I was way more feminine than I allowed the rest of the world to see. I felt pressure to hide those parts of me for a lot of reasons: trauma, the way I grew up, the folks around me, and because of the way the world views masculine presenting folks. Even some of the most progressive people I know hold values that are steeped in heteronormativity. 

Conversations with my masc friends can be summed up as, “Nah man, if we are masculine we can’t be soft.” As if we were supposed to be the, “man” of the relationship. “Bro, am I supposed to expect my girl to take the trash out?” And comments like, “Bruh wtf, because then she is going to start expecting that I want the strap.” And while all of this was said in a joking way, we were just kicking back, there was a truthful insecurity underneath those jokes that was so clear to see to me. My reaction to those kinds of comments has always been: “What the hell are we really talking about?” 

Why are we using heteronormative ideas as the base of how we relate with one another when we are queer? Yes, she can take the trash out too. And yes, some of us like internal pleasure, and you can still be the boxer-wearer and receive pleasure without that having to define how masculine or feminine you are. Our conversations would start off with a NEED to protect and hold on to our fragile masculinity, but a few conversations (and drinks) in, it was clear to me that some of us masc-presenting folks actually wanted more space to be soft in, to be vulnerable, to rest in femininity, and to feel taken care of and seen. We wanted the same treatment our feminine counterparts expected from us – shit, I would even say demanded from us. 

We don’t always want to be the provider. Sometimes we need space for receiving, and to not feel judged when we express anything “femininely.” 

I started to hold resentment towards the queer community. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the expectations of what I was expected to talk like, move like, look like, sound like, fuck like, be like… I lived within a constant policing of my expression in a community that is supposed to be open to what is different. 

Queerness is “the quality or characteristic of having a sexual or gender identity that does not correspond to established idea.” This, I thought, was supposed to be the foundation that connects us all. But when we don’t embrace that our connection as rooted in queerness, queerness being the binding element – then what will actually bind us together is fear.

But I want to be nuanced. I want to live in the grey area. But every time I tried to step out of the typecast of masculinity, I felt ostracized by my own community; like my fluidity made others uncomfortable because they couldn’t understand why a “woman” in Timbs and boxers walked with a little sashay in “her” step. 

When I began my healing journey, I was ultimately led back towards the balance that I really desired. Masculinity and femininity don’t have to exist in opposition to one another, and both of these energies can and do coexist within me. I learned that in not expressing and experiencing the world with the full fluidity of my being, by not living in my truth, the only person actually being hurt was me.

I also found that if I showed all of myself without giving a fuck, and allowed folks to see me as I am, it actually helped me weed out the folks who are not here for me, and inspire those who were. Stepping into the full spectrum of gender expression was a great opportunity for me to assess compatibility in my relationships, and to let go of the folks who wanted to box me into what felt safe for them. 

So, I stripped away each piece one by one of the costume I was wearing; I, I took off my hyper-independence hat and started to receive more. I started shaking my ass more when I went out with my friends instead of posting up on a wall, because, yes, what I actually want to do when my song comes on is wind my hips and feel sexy and free. Restricting myself to fit in felt like a cage, so fuck what was expected of me because of the clothing I prefer. The fact that me and my homies walked in this club with baggy pants, Jordan 1’s, and fitted caps on wasn’t about to get in the way of me having a good time. 

So I am writing this as an exploration that hopefully reaches some shadowy parts of at least one masculine-presenting person so that they feel seen, heard, or just more confident to be all of who they are. I am writing this because I love masculine women, and I want them to reflect on what it might look like to embrace a softer side of themselves alongside their masculinity. I want them to know that the #SOFTLIFEis not reserved just for fems, but something they deserve to opt into as well. My hope is that masculine Black women find this and feel more confident playing with the fluidity of their gender expression. And I know that is so hard to do sometimes. Being soft is such a privilege and can be so vulnerable, especially for Black folks, because the world has proven itself time and time again to not hold safe space for us. 

Queerness is an act of liberation from established ideas of sexuality and gender; it is going against the status quo; it is living in opposition to societal norms.

This is personal.