Perusing the world of my Facebook feed, I stumbled upon a powerful diddy of a piece about being femme. (Shout out to Bossy Femme for this radical femme manifesto) Now, I have never identified as femme. I had barely even thought about it. But, this past solstice when a friend gifted me a vegan red lipstain with a note stating ‘because you are totally femme’, I began to wonder… Am I a femme? Then this piece came my way and I’ve been convinced: I’m a femme and I fuck shit up. I like push-up bras and not shaving my armpits. I straighten my hair and I don’t shower for days. I put on eyeliner and wear heavy, black army boots.  I show off my tiny waist and my muffin top. I’ve fought in the ring and I’ve sucked dick. I wear red lipstick and I let my moustache grow. And I do none of this for the sake of men. None of this is for the men who may call at me on the street, pull their cars up beside me as I walk home alone at night. This is not for the guy who tells me to ‘smile more’, or the man in the book store who, when introducing himself to me, holds on to my hand a little longer just to tell me how I’m ‘so sexy, baby’. I’m not your baby, I’m not your prize-piece of femininity; I use men’s washrooms and bleed into old socks during my period. And I love my breasts, my curves and my fucked up teeth. Being femme is about loving and taking care of every part of me, inside and out. It’s about not caring what others may think about the way I dress. And perhaps most importantly for me, it’s about not caring about what others may think about what comes out of my mouth, or who goes in my mouth. I am a free-speaking, loud, sometimes hairy, and dressed-up-with-places-to-go queer femme. And yes, this is how I fuck shit up. Follow Prima Feminista on Twitter here. https://twitter.com/PrimaFeminista