Apparently, I am a counterculture toughie lesbian.

Shortly after washing a sink full of dishes that my marvelous family neglected before going on vacation — hey, I am a make-the-mess-clean-the-mess type of woman — like any normal mortal existing in this century, I checked my email.

It’s scary in there.

After deleting a slew of spam letters and guest post offers, in which, do not truly fit the nature of my website — Isn’t that hard to believe? — eventually, I opened the latest DowneLink newsletter.

“What Kind of Lesbian Are You?”, it asked. I don’t know about you, but as detailed and descriptive as I tend to be, I couldn’t think of a straight answer. Subsequently, like any sexually confused person or downright inquisitive earthling, I clicked on the link. I couldn’t help it.

In seconds, thankfully to the fast Internet that I pay decent money for, a page on this website downloaded. Four types of lesbians were highlighted and I didn’t identify with any of them.

I was saddened.

Then, I realized there were pages, more content to be read and entertained by. I grew happier by the second.

On page 3, the last page, there I was. The brown counterculture lesbian who doesn’t own a pair of Doc Martin’s but can easily say she has tons of friends and fans who do. Oh, and I don’t drink dirty chais from Starbucks, but I slam soy chai teas when I’m kicking it in Pacific Palisades with friends old enough to father me and when I am at Starbucks, I order a hot chocolate with ice and soy.

Don’t ask. It’s a bizarre preference.

It’s true. I love lace more than I love boys, and I can cover or attend an event for a complimentary pair of boots. Often, I wear my lacy items with boots, because that’s what just what counterculture toughie thug lesbians do. I live in New York City, and I am into crowd-watching. It’s seldom you get to watch so many different types of people, in their natural habitat, so to speak, being themselves. I take pleasure in snapping pictures of random tourists, transplants and natives all the same, for the aforementioned reason. I don’t wash my own hair often because my Colombian princess slash hair stylist Blanca takes care of it.

Lastly and unfortunately, I don’t sell sex toys. It doesn’t seem like a bad occupation to have. I love Claire Cavanah and Rachel Venning (owners of Babeland) and not until this very moment, I haven’t told anyone that I frequent Babeland events. There it is, the cat’s out of the bag. Not that it was a secret. I’ve published a print issue inspired by human sexuality and religion a few years ago and without shame, I own a cupcake mold that serves 6 penis cakes and I do not own any sex toys.

With all of that personal information written and shared, I must ask: Does the title or idea of the counterculture toughie really fit my lesbian persona or am I just an unidentifiable lesbian whose character or style is left to be covered and pinpointed in the near future? Or am I lesbian at all? The world may never know…


Written by Richardine Bartee

It’s her unprejudiced love for people that’s taken her this far. Join Richardine on her journey as she writes history into existence, one article at a time. Richardine is a member of the Recording Academy/GRAMMYs.

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