In the club

This morning for the first time in my life that I've ever been aware of I was mistaken in casual contact for a man (or at least, called "sir" twice by the barista making my coffee). I feel like I've just joined the club of people who sit around swapping stories about events like this (some laugh and some sigh and shrug as they relay the stories), but since those people are mostly butch and I'm mostly not it's not a club I ever really anticipated entry to. It left me pondering gender cues on the train all the way to work, wondering what about my outfit, my stance or my demeanour it was that came across as male to the fast-flicker eyeswipe of the barista.