Hair Lesbo

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Hair Lesbo
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@sarahb.h Instagram-fényképének megnézése • 295 kedvelés
Welcome to world of TomBoy Crush ! — Whouah… Brittenelle ...
By far my favorite short haircut ever xD hoping I can grow my hair out to this eventually
Fuckin' SWEET hair. Celebrating Butch: A Powerful Photo Collection on Female Masculinity — Everyday Feminism
Loving the hair!!! omfg shes yummmmy.
If i could i would so cut my hair like this!
Someone pleaseeeeeeee tell me who she is

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In 1987, I won the blue ribbon in the Mason County Fair’s Pretty Baby Contest. This big win became part of my family’s lore, my parents often reminding me that, at 18 months old, I was the most beautiful girl in the county. Hell, in all of West Virginia, as far as they were concerned.
As a teenager, bored and flipping through family photo albums in an attempt to “find myself,” what I found was the photograph of my mother holding me up like a prize-winning blueberry pie, on stage in a wood-paneled room at the Pretty Baby Contest. I noticed her hair. Her wild, copper curls were cropped short on top, while the back hung down long, just below her shoulders. An obnoxious teenager deeply concerned with what I thought was the most humiliating haircut anyone could dream of sporting — the mullet — I screeched, “Mom! Oh my God! When I was a baby you had a lesbian haircut !” Her response to my outrage over her late-'80s style unlocked another level of family lore, one that I only began to understand when I grew older, into my own romantic entanglements and the conflicts that punctuate them: “I got that haircut to piss off your father,” my mother explained.
I grew up in a yelling household. You could say very nicely that we loved each other at a high volume, but the truth is that we all yelled out our anger. In 1987, just before the social event of the summer — the Mason County Fair — my parents got into an argument and my father called my mother a “bitch” for the first and the last time. Instead of yelling, she stormed out of the house, straight to the local beauty parlor, where she told her beautician to make her look “like a bitch.” She wanted a bitch haircut : a mullet. “I’ll show you a bitch,” she mumbled, tapping the photograph, her rage reignited by the storytelling.
“It was a lesbian haircut, mom,” I said, rolling my eyes and sliding the photograph back into place behind the photo album cellophane.
A few years after I learned the story of my mother’s mullet, I was desperate for a lesbian haircut of my own. Not a business in the front, party in the rear mullet: God, no. What I wanted was a short, edgy haircut. A haircut that would get me mistaken for the lead singer in a riot grrrl band. I came out as gay at 16, in 2001, in a small West Virginia town. Without many queer women around to model identity, the only way I knew how spot other gay girls was by their haircuts. I lusted over the girl with the curly bowl cut who worked in the milkshake shop a few towns over. No matter how many chocolate banana shakes I sucked down, I was convinced she would never notice me unless I chopped off my long, brunette cheerleader locks. To truly be seen as a lesbian, I would need a lesbian haircut.
I floated the idea of cutting my hair to my gay male friend, and he vehemently objected: “You can be gay without looking like a boy!” For the record, he was right: There are as many ways to look like a lesbian as there are lesbians serving looks. If he was secretly trying to protect me, he was also right: There would be trouble for me if I suddenly looked like a boy. But his protests were marred by internalized homophobia, and I rejected them outright.
I was desperate to find a sense of belonging in my new identity — what newly out queer teen hasn’t felt that pang of desperation — and so I was determined to see it go. The hair I pulled up into a ponytail and tied with a bow, the finishing touch of my high school cheerleading uniform. The hair that boys had tugged on in middle school, when they were trying to figure out how to flirt. I wanted to see it lying on the floor behind me as I walked out of the salon a new person: A queer one.
I couldn’t go to the beauty shop in my hometown, where the stylist had been cutting my hair — and my mom’s, my grandmothers’, and all of my cousins’ — since I was in elementary school. If I walked into “Foxy Locks” and asked for a lesbian haircut, they would have probably called my mother, with whom I hadn’t shared my plans for transformation. Instead, I drove to a shopping mall a couple of hours from my house. I had noticed some gay men working in the salon a few doors down from the American Eagle where my mom had taken me back-to-school shopping a few months prior. The gay stylists looked fierce: with their indoor sunglasses and impeccable facial hair, they looked like they put more thought into their style than all of the adults I knew combined.
When I walked in, there were no fabulous gay men on the shift. A polite female stylist approached to ask how she could help me, and I held myself back from blurting out, “Just give me a lesbian haircut!” Instead, I sheepishly held out the album art from lesbian indie pop duo Tegan and Sara’s This Business of Art , my favorite CD released in 2000. I said that I wanted what these girls had: hair short and spiked. One of the twins had frosted tips, but I couldn’t afford that.
I could barely breathe as the polite female stylist cut nearly a foot of hair off my head and asked if I wanted to donate it to Locks of Love: the only reason she could imagine that a 16-year-old girl would chop off her hair. When she paused in her snipping to answer the phone — the receptionist likely out on a smoke break — I bent down and grabbed a handful off the floor. I almost started crying, not out of regret, but out of relief.
After hot irons and blow dryers and what felt like half a can of aerosol hairspray, the polite stylist spun me around to the mirror, and my tears dropped hot onto the smock. She had given me a version of the haircut that both my grandmothers got at Foxy Locks: A teased bouffant of elderly heterosexuality sat atop my 16-year-old queer head.
A two-hour drive home and a vigorous shampoo later, I stepped in front of my bedroom mirror with a pair of kitchen scissors and, through the tears, started chopping at what was left of my hair. That Tegan and Sara CD became more than the inspiration for my haircut; it became the soundtrack of my emergence into queer style. A bit of pomade to tame my cowlicks and some gel to spike the hair at all the right angles, and I emerged, visibly queer. I dug my fingers into my scalp and felt cooler than I ever had before.
In Los Angeles, two decades after my mom told me the story of her lesbian haircut, I walk into a salon that describes itself as a place for “dames, gents, and folks in between.” I tell my stylist that I want my hair cut like Jenny Schecter from The L Word and she knows exactly what I mean. Infamous Showtime drama The L Word (2004-2009), following the lives and loves of a group of Los Angeles lesbians — very few of whom had stereotypical lesbian haircuts — tackled the rite of passage in an episode in which a character who formerly identified as heterosexual, Jenny Schecter, loses her long, dark hair, and was thus initiated into lesbian chic. Like myself at 16, Jenny wishes to be visibly read as a lesbian. She asks her straight male roommate Mark if he thought she looked gay or straight. His response: “If I saw you at a bar I would assume you were straight.” But how could he tell when women were lesbians, Jenny asks. “They have these haircuts. These very cool haircuts.”
When I got my lesbian haircut, the smiles that strangers had once given me on sidewalks became dirty looks. People whispered when I walked into women’s restrooms. There were homophobic remarks hurled from car windows, and from my father’s recliner in the family room.
Coming out in a small town taught me many things, including the high price we pay for queer visibility. It cost me a lot, but I also had much to gain. Including finally catching the eye of that cute girl with the bowl cut who worked at the milkshake shop a few towns over.
Today, it’s not obvious that I have a lesbian haircut. My hair is long, and straight, and I dye it brown to postpone the silvery salt and pepper that has crept in. I will keep dyeing it, I tell myself, at least into my forties. I have blunt bangs — just like Jenny Schecter — cut squarely across my forehead. I make the L Word -esque joke that they are my way of procrastinating on the Botox I’ll eventually inject into my forehead, hiding the lines that seem to deepen every time I think to check, alone with myself in front of the bathroom mirror. But when I was 16, feeling isolated as a queer in a small town, I drew strength from knowing that with my lesbian haircut, I was part of something bigger than myself. I was part of a community, and that, even more than the girl at the milkshake shop, was exactly what I needed.
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Whether you’re just coming to terms with your sexual orientation or have long been a card-carrying lesbian who is struggling with their personal style, this lesbian style guide is for you. Here, we’ll cover some of the basics of lesbian fashion and explain a few enduring trends. 
Since time immemorial, fashion has been an important aspect of lesbian culture. 
In the 19th century, at a time when women were held to rigid standards, some women would don male clothing to present and pass as men. In the 1950s, when secret queer bars started cropping up and more lesbians adopted butch-femme roles, butches would differentiate themselves with masculine working-class aesthetics – think t-shirts, jeans, and short hair. The 80s up to the 2000s saw lesbian fashion evolve into something more definitive and easily recognizable. This era birthed stereotypical signifiers like flannel, button-up shirts, denim or leather jackets, and heavy boots to name a few.
But lesbian style is as varied as the community itself. We’ve moved way past the rigid butch/femme-only roles and the “tomboy” stereotypes. Today, lesbians encompass a wide range of gender identities and expressions. As such, you have terms like high femme lipstick lesbian, futch chapstick lesbian, stone butches, cottagecore lesbians, sporty tomboy lesbians, etc. 
Femme lesbians and queer women typically like to present in a more “feminine” way. This means wearing longer or more feminine hair, form-fitting or flowy dresses, skirts, and feminine-cut tops and pants. Femme lesbians also tend to enjoy wearing makeup, thus the term “lipstick lesbian”. 
Some of the popular trends among femme-presenting women include fringed bags, white 60s-inspired gogo boots, folksy tapestry coats, and a spot of bright yellow or blue in an otherwise monochromatic outfit.
Unfortunately, because femme lesbians present more feminine, they can often feel invisible in the queer community and may not be taken seriously as queer women. As such, some femme lesbians like to add certain elements to their style to signal their queerness. While these accessories and style choices don’t necessarily belong exclusively to queer people, they’re things that a lot of queer people have incorporated into their wardrobes. This can include:
In recent years, fashion has become more “gender neutral” or “gender fluid”. As more and more folks realize that clothes don’t necessarily have gender, the lines of what is considered a “femme” or a “butch” outfit or piece of clothing continue to blur. For example, in 2021, some major fashion trends for women include 80s-inspired oversized “boyfriend” jackets as well as suits and jumpsuits in soft pastel tones. 
If you’re looking for a femme lesbian fashion icon to look to for inspo, consider singer Lauren Jauregui, actress Sarah Paulson, model Cara Delevingne, musician St. Vincent, and actress Amandla Stenberg.
Whereas femme lesbian fashion is characterized by all things feminine, butch lesbian fashion celebrates masculinity. In a New York Times piece on butch lesbians, “butch” is described as “an aesthetic” that also conveys “an attitude and energy”. Butchness is both about gender and sexuality, but it is also hard to define so squarely. As former Olympic swimmer and model Casey Legler puts it, “[Butches] exist in this realm of masculinity that has nothing to do with cis men — that’s the part only we [butches] know how to talk about”.
So what looks and styles can be considered quintessentially butch? Short, masculine haircuts are one. A butch or a stud (a butch person of color) also tends to favor menswear – whether it be a casual t-shirt-jeans-sneakers combo, a plain white button-down shirt and jeans, or a dapper suit and tie accented with a handsome pair of brogues.
There is a misconception that butch lesbian fashion isn’t as “put together” or stylish as femme fashion. But this assumption is tied to ideas of how a woman should and should not dress. And part and parcel of the butch identity, ultimately, is about rejecting what is traditionally feminine. 
While butch lesbian fashion is so much more than just menswear on a woman’s body, it’s safe to say that trends in butch fashion borrow from trends in men’s fashion. In 2022, butch lesbian fashion can lead towards utility wear, nautical-inspired pieces, bomber jackets, wide-cut trousers, and Bermuda shorts. Neon, chunky sneakers are also big among masculine-presenting folks these days. And in terms of general fashion trends in 2022, we have early 2000’s styles, top-to-toe color, sequins and shimmer, and bold stripes.
Butch lesbian fashion icons include actor and comedian Lea DeLaria, model Jenny Shimizu, musician JD Samson, and actor Roberta Colindrez. 
If you think of gender identity and expression as a spectrum, with feminine on one end and masculine on another, the chapstick lesbian would be smack dab in the center. Chapstick lesbians are also called “futch”, which comes from combining the words “femme” and “butch”, or “stem”, which comes from the words “stud” and “femme”.
The stem style is much harder to define than butch and femme styles because futch lesbians straddle that line between masculine and feminine. They’re also quite diverse in the sense that some stem lesbians are more comfortable presenting androgynously, having a genderless or gender-neutral style of dress. Meanwhile, other stem lesbians may feel comfortable alternating between somewhat masculine and feminine styles or even mixing styles from both ends together.
On top of this, “genderless” fashion has been on the rise in the past few years, with more and more people comfortable trying on clothes and styles not typically associated with their particular orientation/gender identity/expression. For example, actor and rapper Jaden Smith made a lot of noise a few years ago for having a proclivity for wearing skirts and long dresses. Singer Harry Styles has also been placed into the spotlight lately for adopting a dandyish style and incorporating things like lace, florals, and glitter into his outfits.
With that being said, there are some fashion traits that are typical of futch or stem lesbians:
Around early 2020, the term “cottagecore” took off in lesbian spaces online, like on Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr. The term describes a person who wants to escape city life and start anew on a Western farm. 
More than just a style, cottagecore is a whole movement. The cottagecore aesthetic is characterized by rustic and cozy home interiors, which include things like ceramics, embroidery, old books, flowers, and basically the inside of Miss Honey’s little cottage in Matilda . 
According to The Advocate, the cottagecore movement is a “response to people being dissatisfied with their hectic, crowded lives in cities or suburbs, and the feelings of burnout that come with it. Tired of the minimalist aesthetic that’s dominated interior design in the last ten years, they’re decorating their apartments with potted plants and porcelain teacups, and taking comfort in old-fashioned hobbies like arts & crafts and baking”.
Cottagecore fashion includes things like linen dresses with floral or plaid prints, long prairie frocks, quilted jackets, knitted sweaters, sun hats, garden boots, mary janes, lacy collars, rattan baskets – you get the picture. Some cottagecore lesbians are also into fantasy elements like goblins and fairies. 
There is a long-standing stereotype that lesbians are more inclined to become vegans. After all, many lesbian people have an inclination towards counterculture and activism. It makes sense, as lesbian people know first-hand what it’s like to be oppressed, be different from the mainstream, and fight for a place in society.
The whole vegan/sustainable-living/hippie lesbian look is defined by their political values. Vegans don’t consume or purchase anything made out of or by animals, and that principle extends beyond their diets. As such, most hardcore vegans will avoid wearing anything with leather, suede, animal skin, fur, feathers, and certain kinds of wool. 
Many vegans believe that veganism is also better for the environment, and thus adhere to the lifestyle out of a conscious effort to live more sustainably. As such, many eco-conscious vegans are also proponents of recycled fabrics, upcycled and thrifted clothing, vintage fashion, and using natural fabrics with no or minimal artificial dyes.
Like many of the other styles on this list, vegan/hippie fashion is marred with certain stereotypes, from dreadlocks and dungarees to burlap and Birkenstocks. But thanks to modern innov
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