Anna Grez ’27 and Anna Odell ’27
Design Editor and Staff Writer
Lesbians have always existed at Scripps, but their history is largely found in oral accounts of relationships and clubs.
Kathleen McHale ’22 created a collection of Scripps’ history for their senior thesis entitled, “Domestic Arts, Dates, Drugs, and Dress Codes: Scripps College’s Early Attitudes Towards Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Education.” The collection chronicles how a “homosocial” environment has existed in Scripps’ history as far back as the 1930s, with women taking on the role of the male dance partner at dance events.
Similarly, another Scripps alum Melville Gilcrest ’19 archived queer history at Scripps on the website “Scripps Underground,” where they interviewed queer Scripps alumni about their experiences.
The website contains an interview between Gilcrest and Sue Talbot, a Scripps alum from the class of 1969. Talbot discussed her experiences as a lesbian at Scripps and how she had to hide her sexuality because of the time period.
“For a while I thought I was the only lesbian at Scripps or Claremont, or maybe in the world,” Sue Talbot ’69 said. “And we never really could do anything openly. I suspect stuff went on even when we were there, but … in this country it was still a crime, and lesbians were labeled and stigmatized.”
In 1985, Scripps students founded the Pink Triangles, a group for lesbian and bisexual students heavily involved in AIDS activism and community events. Today, queer students at Scripps can join Family, the LGBTQ+ affinity group at Scripps. However, no affinity group strictly for lesbian students exists openly at Scripps.
Because of Scripps’ large body of queer students, many of its events are influenced by and integrated within queer culture. A prime example of this is The Motley Coffeehouse’s opening theme this spring, the “Masc, Mask, Motsquerade.”
Decorated with photos of queer icons like Billie Eilish and Shane from The L Word, and with a drink called the “Gold Star Lesbian” – renamed the “Mot 75” during the event, but remained on premade posters – The Motley’s party was clearly a reference to Scripps’ active queer student body.
When asked about their thoughts on The Motley’s opening theme, Malena Sparano ‘26 had two conflicting opinions.
“I thought it was hilarious. I think it’s lighthearted and jovial, but I also think it can be reductive of presenting as masculine when you have a bunch of assumed cis-gender, straight-presenting or straight-passing women wearing backward baseball caps, white wife-pleasers, and boxers showing,” they said.
Others echoed Sparano’s thoughts.
“I feel like these types of parties make me feel like I am always flirting with people because [being perceived as masc is] kind of a symbol of being a player,” Helen Ball ’26 said. “I am all for helping people explore their identity and supporting people when they are figuring out how they want to express themselves and how they feel the most free in that way. But to have ‘masc parties,’ the whole idea is to dress up how someone else presents.”
For many masc-presenting people, clothing and overall physical presentation are incredibly important. In these cases, where do we draw the line between exploring presentation and sexualizing a specific way of dressing and using it as a costume? When dressing masc isn’t just about style, but more of an expression and alignment to how people feel, it can become uncomfortable to see others putting on that same look for reasons other than identity.
Within this idea, it is important to understand and be aware of other levels of appropriation in the way that we dress. The queer community has long faced criticism for appropriating styles rooted in Black culture which is why it is especially necessary to be mindful of adopting styles out of context. This topic has many layers of complexity, and while it may feel easier to overlook them, we must acknowledge the cultural and historical contexts at play.
While a lot of good has come from masc representation, such as people receiving less criticism, or perhaps just more covert criticism, for their look and identity, it might be worth asking: have we overshot our goal of acceptance, landing instead on mockery?
“Sure maybe it was nice for some people to, one night, put on a backward hat and basketball shorts and have fun and be reckless or whatever, but for me, that’s my everyday life, and it’s not so easy to walk into a women’s bathroom and be asked ‘What are you doing here?’” Isa Bravo PZ ’26 said.
Sparano shared a similar feeling. “Gender is such a personal thing. It’s something you wrestle with yourself. If you want to dress masc one day, go for it, I think we should be more accepting of people dressing masc … I do think that Scripps can be a little toxic with how narrowly it defines gender and sexuality,” they said.
To further understand the masc identity, one must understand lesbian history. Even though masculine-presenting lesbians have been around for years, the term “masc” is relatively new. Before the modern-day masc, mid-20th century butch lesbians were challenging gender norms also by working in traditionally male-dominated fields. These women faced discrimination and violence on the daily but also worked to protect gay spaces from the same kinds of violence they faced.
Butch and femme lesbians faced a lot of backlash, especially from radical feminists in the 60s and 70s who believed that this lesbian dynamic was upholding patriarchal values and expectations. Lesbians who were in butch-femme relationships were often accused of trying to copy heterosexual relationships, with butches “pretending to be men.”
While strict heteronormative rules and expectations likely influenced lesbian relationship dynamics, gender is inherently fluid. What might have appeared to non-queer people as women “pretending to be men” was more likely an expression of their own gender fluidity. Going forward, butch lesbians continued to advocate for the freedom to express themselves.
What it means to be gay or queer has changed significantly since the ’60s and there is now a lot more room for individuality and fluidity. The lesbian community has evolved past strict binaries of “femme” or “butch,” though these labels do still resonate with many. The pressure to fit into one label or the gender binary is no longer as intense as it once was. Due to increased visibility and acceptance, we no longer need to have such rigid labels, which has allowed queer people to be more free with gender expression.
This is likely why identifying as masc has become so popular. While the term “butch” is associated with being lesbian, the term masc is not limited to one sexuality, leaving room for fluidity.
“I always hear butch lesbian and I don’t really identify with the word lesbian just because of my gender queerness,” Bravo said. “That’s why masculine resonates more with me because it leaves the door open for some fluidity in my gender.”
Other people share the same sentiment, saying that describing themselves as masc feels the most comfortable for them because it doesn’t mean one specific thing.
Exploring identity is important and a lot of good can come from trying out different things to see what works. However, it is also important to recognize and respect others’ identities when engaging in this practice. For many people who identify as ‘masc,’ the identity is less of a choice and more of a way of life. Where we draw the line between exploration and mockery or disrespect remains an open question.
Illustration Courtesy of Zoë Cooper ’26
