FUTCH ENOUGH // Towa Bird, Gentlethems, & Representation
Hey babes! I’m Alison, and my column FUTCH ENOUGH follows my journey towards an authentic gender identity and expression. As a biracial Asian person who was socialized as female, I’ve been shedding the personas and performances of femininity that I thought had kept me safe in favor of embracing my genderqueer identity. I’m eschewing imposter syndrome and rejecting the binary. Regardless of where you call home in the genderverse, thanks for joining me on this adventure!
The cover of British-Filipine singer-songwriter and guitarist Towa Bird’s brand new album, Gentleman, is a futch daydream: two Towas in two pinstripe suits joined along the length of the jacket, giving her two arms and four legs.
Their conjoining is a visual allusion to Aristophanes’ speech in Plato’s Symposium, later put to music in Hedwig and the Angry Inch in “Origin of Love.” But Bird’s album cover suggests the pantheon of genders contained within a singular self, standing shoulder to shoulder. There are subtle feminine aspects—Towa on the left has a smokey eye, and Towa on the right has an oversized pink rose as a boutonniere—but these are a queering of masculinity rather than a strict feminization of the boxy grey suit jacket.
I listened to Gentlemen on repeat yesterday as I attempted yet another gender-motivated closet clean-out. The thought of wearing a dress or skirt is enough to make me queasy, at least in the current moment, in my current body. I’m writing this article as a former uber-femme who rarely left the house without winged eyeliner and monogrammed leather purse. Even though I’ve been on a trajectory to trade it all for a carabiner and muscle-T, there are some pieces that still feel like me: floral silk scarves, matte red lipstick, oxblood mary janes.
Closet clean-outs for me are always philosophical, and they’re always identity-based (whether that’s due to a change in weight or presentation). Seated among garbage bags labeled “Friends,” “Donate,” and “Poshmark,” I asked myself:
How do I shed performative femininity without taking the pendulum as a wrecking ball to the stone-butch side?
What role does softness and strength play in genderqueer expression, and can those be likewise unbound by a masc/femme binary?
In a world that fetishizes biracial Asians, when do I just get to be myself?
Consider Olivia Rodrigo’s recent babydoll grunge looks (nods to Kathleen Hanna, who collaborates with Bird on Gentlemen, as well as Courtney Love and other frontwomen), which feel like tacit permission to embrace the ultra-feminine and coquette in a way that’s empowering (and for me, the antithesis of Lana del Rey’s disempowered sad girl aesthetic). Who do I want to be perceived by? And if the purpose of perception is connection, who am I connecting to?
Masculine and feminine and androgynous presentations all have their power, and by power, I mean autonomy, and by autonomy, I mean freedom. For me, being genderqueer replaces a fixed singularity with mutable expansion. When I listen to Bird’s Gentleman, she navigates the complexities of holding an intersectional queer identity with the ease of perfectly & single-handedly knotting a neck-tie.
Bird’s most recent music video, “Dog,” is physically and musically stripped-down. With repeating lines but no chorus, she removes another binary and subverts expectations of repetition. For example, the first three verses end with “I can be your dog, I can be your dog” while the final section repeats twice before ending with a double recitation of “unleash me.” That final phrase is obedient, and ultimately its third repetition is an incantation (magic things are always in threes). Bird’s lyrical mirroring happens in the video, with a guitar interlude to introduce her dom video partner and sapphic fan-favorite, Katy O’Brian.
“Dog” is the gender euphoria and biracial representation that I’ve been looking for all AAPI month: queer Asian solidarity beyond optics. Bird’s white tank top recalls Angelica Houston’s 1985 Vanity Fair portrait, and her accompanying slick-backed bob, dark eyeliner, and jodhpurs. Bird has traded those bottoms for leather chaps, double thick grommeted belts, black underwear, and an abundant mane of dark curly hair.
O’Brian reprises body-building poses reminiscent of her role in Love Lies Bleeding, but with a slicked-back fade and smoky eye to complement Towa on the Left from the album’s cover.
Of course, O’Brian’s spike-studded black leather triangle bikini top is decidedly femme and muscle-mommy. Kink is implicit in the lyrics (“I know you like it rough / And all the other stuff”) and the visuals (a leather color and chain leash), creating a controlled intimacy and tenderness as O’Brian pulls Bird towards her. Bird then trades her tank & chaps for a white satin bridal-esque corset and lace gloves, flashing across the screen in a juxtaposition to O’Brian’s black leather. This is the transformation of queer intimacy, where the fullness and freedom of femininity is safe. If it is an ode to Madonna’s “Like a Virgin,” every time is the first time, and a good dog is always a good dog.'
My first watch (which I promised to do with my wife) was not a singularly-noted horny jaw-dropping experience (even though O’Brian’s perfectly timed entrance is gag-worthy); it was overtaken by the bliss of gender euphoria and the affirmation of biracial representation. The illusion of nonbinary duality unfurled into an infinity of presentations: butch, futch, femme, masc, and the ultimate antidote to Laufey’s “Madwoman” video and its (comical yet on-brand) comphet and retro portrayal of “wasian superstars.” (To be clear, I do not identify with the word “wasian” nor do I endorse it.)
The video for “Dog” was full of permission for power and autonomy, which to me, means safety and authenticity. Consent is the heart of kink.
To be a gentleman is genderqueer, and Towa’s Gentleman is a big expression of that unbound (& aspirational) freedom in a world that seems to be only growing smaller.
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Alison Lubar is a queer, biracial Nikkei poet and educator who teaches literature to teenagers, writing to adults, and yoga to all ages. They’re the author of two full-length poetry books, The Other Tree, winner of Harbor Editions’ 2023 Laureate Prize, and METAMOURPHOSIS (fifth wheel press, 2024), as well as four chapbooks: Philosophers Know Nothing About Love (Thirty West, 2022), queer feast (Bottlecap Press, 2022), sweet euphemism (Mouthfeel Press, 2023), It Skips a Generation (Stanchion, 2023), and a microchap, American Kintsugi (Bull City Press, 2026). Alison is also a board member for Philadelphia’s Blue Stoop. Find out more at http://www.alisonlubar.com/
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