Editor’s Letter

Dear LB,

I’ve tried this a few times, a few different ways. None of those has stuck so far, mainly because I lost sight of the reason I started. But last year, I was doing some real work trying to connect with you again. To remember your face, the things that made you laugh, the things that brought you comfort, the ways that you felt joy.

I realized that you never had someone like me in your life. You were just a scared teenager trying to find your way in the most unlikely of circumstances. But even then, even when you were still learning, still wondering, still trying to figure things out, you knew. You knew who you were. You knew what you were.

You didn’t have all the words for it that we use now. You didn’t even have the words that existed back then in the mid-90s. You were just a kid with a beautiful heart, growing up far out in the sticks, with no resources, no role models, no one like you to talk with or be your friend.

I want to be the friend that you needed. I want to be the one who gives you support and advice, who teaches you to tie a tie, and how your boots should match your belt, and how to roll your sleeves, and why it still matters that you hold the door for that girl who makes your heart do somersaults.

Little Butch Magazine is for you. To answer questions about style. To encourage adventures. To reassure you that butches can be domestic and soft and kind and generous. To show you a version of masculinity that fits your tender heart.

I did a lot of blundering about when I was young. I was told at every turn that I was doing things wrong. But I - you - persisted. Because you know who you are. And who you are is beautiful.

Grab your rucksack and some fine clomping boots. We’re going on this adventure together. I can’t wait to see where the path leads.

Love,
Brenn