Becoming Butch

I read ‘The Butch Manual’ on the Long Island Rail Road, heading out to Fire Island Pines – just as I imagine countless men did in 1981, when the campy guide, with its self-aware tagline ‘The current drag and how to do it,’ first hit the shelves. Its author, Clark Henley – a San Francisco-born satirist – believed sexual survival was simple: be butch, get laid. Henley’s book is back this month thanks to a reissue by San Francisco-based record label and publisher, Dark Entries. Today, in an age of gender freedom that embraces range and dismantles binaries, its reprint forces the questions: is “butch” still a baseline gay male fantasy? How do we define butch 44 years after this guide was written? And – is Henley’s advice still useful to us today?

With a knowing wink, Henley’s hilarious time capsule captures his generation’s central identity paradox: As children, he and his peers paid a high price for refusing to force themselves into masculine norms. And while they thrived as queens socially as adults, the marketplace of desire rewarded other attributes. The Butch Manual made the call without hesitation: butch wins, every time. Henley’s mission was personal – save the queens, himself included, from sexless exile. In doing so, he proved the binaries had never been real, only roleplay to heighten intensity, embraced and discarded at will. 

Henley passed away in 1988 from AIDS related complications, and his book slipped into relative obscurity. About decade ago, its second life began when tech exec and gay historian John Dempsey moved to the Pines – buying what had once been Bette Davis’s hairdresser’s summer home. Among the full library he inherited, The Butch Manual stood out. It claimed pride of place on the mantel, its passages read aloud to guests as they eased into the island’s hedonistic culture. From time to time, Dempsey would search for more information about its elusive author, but always ran into the same dead ends – before a new article appeared by writer Brendan McHugh.  When the two Henley-obsessed men finally met, they were in tears. Together, they had enough passion to bring The Butch Manual back into circulation, and found the right home for its reprint with Dark Entries.

A week after the book’s launch, I found myself in the backroom of a Fire Island Underwear Party. As I shuffled through the dark, sweaty space, Henley’s wisdom echoed in my mind. The key to butch talk is its simplicity. Why bother to complete a sentence when a phrase will do? I can be too earnest when introducing myself – over explaining, willing to answer questions no one actually wants answered. But with Henley’s voice in my ear, I stopped myself.

“Where are you from?”
“Brooklyn.” I answered.
“Before that?”
“Brooklyn,” I said again, not giving an inch more.

Depeche Mode’s ‘Enjoy the Silence’ came on, the lyrics magically validating my new macho persona.

“What are your goals for the night?” he asked. Instead of answering, I offered him a hit of poppers. He was mine without another word.

For me, The Butch Manual provoked experimentation: drop the burden of biography – be mysterious, be arrogant, stay on task. Become a one-dimensional cruising character, the rest will follow. This nostalgic guide serves up advice, both real and ridiculous – covering everything from butch food to butch clothes, butch interiors to butch cars. The references are dated; the concepts, not always. Below are excerpts from two categories: ‘Butch Movement’ and ‘Butch Body’. Take what works, drop the rest, and maybe you’ll find yourself, as I did, sharpening your late-summer hook-up game. If nothing else, The Butch Manual is comprehensive proof that the right touch of drag makes any identity sexier.

The Butch Body

One rarely gets a second chance at a first impression. On the other hand, if the first impression didn’t take, why bother to stick around? Butch does not audition, nor does he rehearse. Every night is Opening Night. The key to looking Butch is to make a first impression constantly. People say they don’t judge a book by its cover. They’re lying. People pick up the cover, they judge the cover, they even fuck the cover – without ever opening the book. Butch doesn’t care. He is the cover. There is one simple rule in looking Butch: Look hot. Drive men insane. Drown them in their own wet dreams. No one reads anymore. They just want to look at the pictures.

The Dick

People who write to newspaper advice columns want one question answered: “Is my dick big enough?” No one ever writes wanting to know if their dick is small enough. All men have the persistent fantasy that their sex partners will throw their legs in the air and beg, “Oh, hot man, fill me with that big hot dick.” These men worry that this will not happen because their dicks do not fit into the category of “big hot,” let alone anywhere else. The newspaper advisers patiently explain that it is not the size of the penis, but what one does with it that counts. If it were strictly a case of a size, everyone could simply run out and buy a large dildo. Or as Maria Muldaur so aptly sang, “It ain’t the meat, it’s the motion…” Unfortunately, this woman and the columnists are just trying to be nice. If you don’t have a huge dick, forget it. Butch does, and no one ever forgets it. Gay magazines are published almost entirely on the revenues collected from advertisers who swear they have a product that will make your dick bigger. These people are pulling your leg, not to mention what they’re doing to your dick. There is no way to make your dick bigger. Prayer wouldn’t hurt, of course. Neither would lots of exercise.

The Nipples

There is nothing that gets the natives quite so restless as two luscious nipples figure heading two voluptuous pectorals. Foreplay is back in fashion, and sensitive nipples are having all the fun. Butch’s nipples are so sensitive that they get aroused when he is tucking in his T-shirt. Do you have the kind of nipples that are hard to locate? When you tweak one, does it yawn? The sad truth is that nipples must be broken in, literally as well as figuratively. Someone has to maul your tits to the brink of disaster. It’s not a pretty story, but look at the alternatives. Do you want to stand on the sidelines while everyone else is tweaking their way to Nipple Heaven? Don’t despair. Drugs and painkillers are in the same family. You won’t feel a thing. The next morning, however, you will wake up to the sound of your nipples screaming, “The top sheet is too heavy!” Tell them to cool it. Tell them to rejoice they are finally feeling something. Then treat them with a generous coating of Neosporin ointment and Vitamin E cream. When the scabs fall off, you’ll be a new you.

Butch Movement

Born Yesterday

Butch bases his entire charisma upon Butch Attitude. Butch is pure, Butch is direct, Butch is less…much less. The key to developing Butch is simplicity, a quality that does not particularly abound in the gay community. Many people suffer rather frenetic childhoods and still manifest the traumas in a complex collage of nervous mannerisms. These people are stumbling encyclopedias of psychotic body language. Observing them walk down the street is like watching their depraved childhoods on reruns. Many people are not interested in keeping secrets. Butch, on the other hand, tells us nothing with his body language. Butch has no past, no history; if anyone was born yesterday, it was Butch.

Sitting, if You Must

Of course, the truly Butch thing to do is to stand, but there are places, such as cars, where it is usually more appropriate to sit. It is also extremely difficult to get out of bed without sitting up first, even if for a moment. These should be your three areas of concern:

The Back. Scrunch it. Slide your butt forward until you are barely visible, as if to say, “Hey, what’s there to see? This is boring.” Do not sit up straight under any circumstances. Good posture is a sign that the nuns got to you in primary school. Remember: The nuns didn’t get to you. No one did. No one ever will. Amen.

The Arms. Cross them. Fold your arms across your chest as if to say, “Hey, so show me something, okay? I’m bored.” And should a hot number walk by, you will be able to flex without looking like that’s what you’re doing. Whatever you do, do not fold your hands in your lap. This looks as though you’re waiting for your grandmother to serve tea. Remember: You don’t like tea. You don’t have a grandmother. You don’t have a past.

The Legs. Keep those knees at least a foot and a half apart. Do not cross your legs—ever! This is the area of greatest failure in the development of Butch. Leg-crossing is an immediate giveaway of an amateur Butch.

Walking, or What Becomes a Legend Most

Walking is another little way Butch reminds the world that he is endowed with legendary features. Since very few people can actually verify this mythology, a prop is needed for practice. First, walk around normally. Notice how freely your legs move as you glide from one foot to the other. Notice how your hips swing in and out, perfectly counterbalanced, as your shoulders cut back and forth. Notice how the entire flow is set off as the arms swim forward. Notice how you always wanted to be a dancer. Now, take a large cucumber and push it down one pantleg. Walk. Notice how your Levi’s are about to castrate you. Notice how your thighs are cramping and your knees are locked. Notice that your feet are no longer willing to leave the floor, that your hips and shoulders no longer rotate, that your sphincter has tied itself into a macramé sampler. Your arms ought to hang about six inches from your body and your hands should seem to gasp for air. Notice how Boris Karloff imitated this walk to create his most famous Butch character, Frankenstein’s monster.

NOTE: Practice the Butch walk until you no longer need the cucumber.

Excerpts from The Butch Manual republished here courtesy of Dark Entries Editions.