The Girls’ Bathroom: A Microcosm For Feminist Culture

Giggling. Sobbing. Lip-liner reapplication. Exchange of socials. Tactical chunders. Misandry. Amidst the chaos of the girls’ bathroom, a sense of female camaraderie emerges - whether this is pre-existing platonic love or perhaps the women you have just met, and have christened them your best friend. This sisterhood, though fleeting, is sacred. The girls’ bathroom becomes a sanctuary, a space for women to share their candour, escape the male gaze (the performative male you allowed to buy you a free drink you feel obliged to entertain) or simply to change a tampon. Yet this form of female empowerment rarely translates to other spaces. It dissipates upon leaving the dingy club bathroom, complicating any claim that it is a true ‘safe haven’ when debates surrounding femininity and womanhood are still marked by exclusion. The girls’ bathroom acts as a microcosm for feminist culture. In this sense, by dissecting the psychology behind those tiled walls and claustrophobic

cubicles, we can promote philogyny for all women, in all spheres. 

Relationships between women are frequently misrepresented through a patriarchal lens that frames female interaction as inherently competitive and emotionally volatile. This broader cultural misrepresentation helps explain why such solidarity is often confined to private gendered spaces. Popular culture and social narratives often exaggerate tropes of jealousy and ‘female toxicity’, positioning women as rivals for male validation and social capital rather than as agents of solidarity. Women are often wrongly perceived as being incomplete without a male counterpart; the necessity of female companions can be easily disregarded. Female identity has been fractured by an objectifying gaze that estranges women from their authentic selves, making the formation of meaningful inter-female relationships more fraught. This internal fracture is not incidental but structurally reinforced.

Simone de Beauvoir, a pioneer of second wave feminism, identified this internalisation of the male gaze in The Second Sex (1949) with, “woman is taught to make herself object and to identify herself with her body”. The binary between our sense of self and how others perceive us is blurred. Perhaps this is why the girls’ bathroom serves as a sanctuary; it is free from male surveillance, and momentarily free from performances of gender. Yet, it is naïve to suggest that single-sex spaces offer the same refuge to all, with cultural and political tensions surrounding the growing recognition of gender as fluid. Archaic beliefs still circulate about what defines a woman, sustaining the reductive belief that womanhood is defined by the ability to menstruate. The anxiety surrounding non-gender-conforming people’s access to women’s bathrooms often reveals how narrowly femininity is still defined, rather than any genuine concern for safety. We must ask ourselves how do we sustain the security experienced in a women’s bathroom, whilst preserving inclusivity. 

Ultimately, the girls’ bathroom should serve as a celebration of femininity in all its complex forms. So, next time you pop to the loo: speak, smile, uplift. Liberation can start small, it can start in a cocoon-like cubicle.