This post was submitted by Katrina.

This is what a queer woman looks like.

Not the queer woman, or all queer women, but rather, just this one.

One week ago, I laughed at a statement made by one of DC’s big queer-woman movers-and-shakers that included me in a group of “non-stereotypical queer women.” It wouldn’t have seemed a funny statement then – with a cute short dress on and a pair of high-heeled Mary Janes boosting me up four inches and my hair pulled back, I seemed the epitome of “femme,” and probably superficially passable as straight. But today I sit in my typical garb, short-haired with a plaid shirt and bandana, skinny jeans, boy shorts, and classic Converses. There’s nothing about that that wouldn’t leave someone familiar with stereotypes within the LGBTQ community screaming “LESBIAN” (that is, if they weren’t already screaming “hipster,” which is pretty likely).

This dual life that refuses to be defined goes deeper than just my appearance. That same night I was dining and mingling with the DC lesbian and gay elite, clinking glasses, networking, networking, networking, and flashing charming smiles for photographers from Metro Weekly and The Blade. The night before though, I found myself in a friend’s apartment, having queer theorist discourse around a hookah—the only thing that came close to furniture in the room—while Audre Lorde’s overt and empowering words, “Your silence will not protect you” watched over us, painted in bold black letters on the wall, reminding us all of our dedication to the queer movement and our refusal to be silenced.

Although radically different in conversation, venue, and perhaps most noticeably, budget, both groups that I encountered, in the end, were striving for the same thing—equality. So why is it that on Wednesday night I felt like a ritzy lesbian socialite celebrating a great victory whereas on Tuesday, I simply felt like a beatnik-y bohemian queer radical on the cusp of revolution?

Is this what a queer woman looks like, and is this what a queer woman does?

This queer woman is a proud self-identified lesbian and politically-identified queer. She is a feminist and an activist and passionate about women’s health issues and the ongoing struggle to obtain full bodily autonomy. She’s the co-founder of American University’s Queer Women’s Advocacy Committee, a group dedicated to finally giving our queer sisters a voice and a face on our campus and in our city. But that’s not all! She’s a woman of color, a first-generation Filipino fighting for immigration rights and against the consequences of white privilege while grappling with a traditional Catholic family that’s less than supportive of her “decisions” and “lifestyle.”

This queer woman is also a single girl trying to meet other single girls and sometimes remorsefully finding herself apologizing about statements that may objectify or sexualize other women (and even sometimes herself) in a way that would be unacceptable coming from, say, a straight man. She hits the clubs and flirts with the girls and calls back – most of the time.

Do these identities oppose each other? Do they cancel each other out? Can they even exist within the same person without tearing her apart at the (multiple and sometimes poorly sewn) seams?

Apparently so.

Queer women may be invisible in the public sphere, and we may not have a face or an image that an “outsider” could use to identify one of us on sight. We may not even be able to identify each other. You probably wrongly identified that cute straight girl you saw walking down the street in a vest and skinny jeans (no, really, we’ve all seen her). It’s more than annoying, it’s disempowering and discouraging and can make a queer grrrl feel very alone in this world. But here’s the thing, no one knows what a queer woman looks like, so what are we to do but define it for ourselves? We can take the reins and make our own decisions. We can tear down walls and build up dreams.

A queer woman is whatever we want it to be, but we’ve got to be loud and proud and unafraid. We’ve got to come out and be unafraid and make it known that, believe it or not, we queer women do exist, and we’re done being invisible.

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