Everything I Learned From Lesbian TikTok as a Baby Gay

When the pandemic’s lockdown drove us to TikTok, many of us discovered something far more profound than just dance trends. We found communities that traditional media had long ignored—spaces that had rarely received airtime or representation. From talented BIPOC creators to queer women finally gaining the visibility they deserve, TikTok became a platform where we could finally be heard. This democratization of voices, where the people—not media conglomerates—shape the “For You” page and drive the narrative, is what sets TikTok apart. And with Gen-Z laying the foundation, TikTok became even more open and progressive from the start. Out of this unique environment, Lesbian TikTok was born.

Lesbian TikTok quickly caught fire, fueled by a community hungry for connection and visibility. Creators gained recognition, and their stories and experiences resonated with millions. It became a place where queer identities were explored, validated, and celebrated in real-time—from candid conversations to queer prom proposals to everyday moments of lesbian families and couples. These stories created a sense of belonging for so many of us. I—and countless others—finally found the representation, support, and language we yearned for.

But more importantly, TikTok’s unique ability to highlight moments of queer joy and love has turned it into a space where queer culture isn’t just represented—it’s celebrated. Take, for example, the viral video of one of the first lesbian calenda weddings in Oaxaca, Mexico, which reached millions and spread hope, joy, and the normalization of queer love across conservative Latin America.

Today, Lesbian TikTok stands as one of the most influential visual media communities for lesbians. From this spark, a lesbian cultural renaissance has emerged, fueling the rise of sapphic TV shows, music, books, events, and new ideas.

So, what have I learned from this powerful corner of the internet? Here are the life-changing things Lesbian TikTok taught me.

Lesbian Language & Slang

Before TikTok, I was clueless about 99% of the slang that now peppers my everyday conversations. Terms like “masc” and “femme” had always existed, but TikTok brought them to life in ways that helped me better understand my everyday queer interactions. These words help explain different socially constructed gender expressions and allow people to articulate better how they see themselves.

Beyond the classics, TikTok also introduced me to a whole new lexicon of updated lesbian slang. Take “Hey Mamas,” for example. This term, used to describe suave, super flirtatious masculine-presenting lesbians, became a staple on TikTok with their thirst traps. Identifying these lesbian types helped me learn how to avoid them! Then there are the quirky labels like “golden retriever lesbian” and “black cat lesbian,” which paint a fun picture of contrasting yet complementary personalities.

The queer community kind of has no rules, and identity/expression is constantly evolving, which is part of its beauty, but as a baby gay, this also makes it difficult to find the right words for the complex conversations, celebrations, and concerns that arise within such a diverse culture.

With labels also comes critique, particularly from older generations of lesbians. They often question the younger generation’s obsession with categorizing everything, arguing that it boxes in and oversimplifies complex identities. For instance, something as basic as wearing sneakers, t-shirts, or pants can often be labeled as “masculine” on TikTok, as if these choices are inherently tied to gender rather than just being practical or comfortable. This reduction of identity to labels can feel limiting and can turn expressions of individuality into stereotypes.

Feminine Rage

The trend of feminine rage is the recognition of the reality of what women go through dealing with men today.

Through TikTok, discussions have gone viral, sometimes by men themselves, on the sobering realization that many men simply don’t like women. They are culturally conditioned to view us as disposable objects—valued for our looks and how we can be shown off as a trophy to other men but not taken seriously as multidimensional human beings. Putting this into concrete words in viral discussions has been eye-opening and has healed my own inner child’s feminine rage. I knew something was off, but I didn’t have the language to articulate it. And it’s not about “not all men” but a systemic issue where men are culturally taught to hate femininity (aka women).

The “bear or the man in the forest” trend on TikTok encapsulates this growing awareness among women that many men aren’t just untrustworthy—they can be life-threatening. TikTok highlights this reality through countless stories and examples, from the horrifying femicide rates around the world to high-profile cases in the USA of several TikTok influencers being killed by their husbands (Theresa Cachuela, Gabby Petito, Ana Abulaban, Beauty Katera, etc).

In a world where women have been socialized to express any emotion but anger, and men have been taught to express no emotion but anger, feminine rage is a long-overdue awakening. It’s a positive feminist movement where women are not just expressing anger—they are reclaiming it, owning it, and using it to fuel change.

Compulsory Heterosexuality & The Lesbian Masterdoc

One of the most profound realizations TikTok brought into my life was how deeply compulsory heterosexuality—comp het—had shaped my view of sexuality. Through discussions from academics, late-blooming lesbians, and other queer voices, I began to see just how much of our society is built on the assumption that everyone is naturally straight. When in reality, much of what we consider sexuality and romance is socially constructed.

From a young age, we’re taught to center our lives around men. Women, in particular, are conditioned to seek male validation, often as a means of survival. We mold ourselves to fit the male gaze, even when, deep down, we may not truly desire them. This is likely because a hetero-patriarchal capitalist society thrives when women have more children than they can afford, as it perpetuates cycles of poverty, which means cheap labor and ensures a steady stream of recruits for the military.

This is where the viral lesbian masterdoc made its way on my feed. The masterdoc challenges us to reconsider our attractions and whether they’re genuine or simply a result of societal conditioning. It asks questions like:

Are your crushes on men often based on external factors (status, appearance, societal expectations) rather than genuine feelings?
Do you feel like you’re “performing” in relationships with men, rather than truly being yourself?

It’s common to hear women say, “Ugh, men are the worst,” yet continue to pursue them because we’ve been conditioned to believe that’s what we have to do. We’re taught that our worth is tied to male attention, that our futures depend on securing a man, and that we should be grateful for whatever crumbs of affection we receive.

First WLW Heartbreak

When it comes to your first WLW (women-loving-women) heartbreak, nothing quite prepares you for the intensity of the emotions—except maybe TikTok. Thanks to the advice and stories shared by more seasoned lesbian TikTokers, I knew what was coming before I was even in my first lesbian relationship. I was warned that this kind of breakup would be unlike anything I had experienced before, and they were right. Without those warnings, I would have thought I was losing my mind when it finally happened to me.

TikTok became my go-to resource, offering a wealth of experiences from other women who had gone through the same thing. Their stories helped me understand that the emotional connection in WLW relationships often runs so deep that the heartbreak feels overwhelming. And because women actually like each other as people, you lose the best friend who knows everything about you emotionally and physically, inside and out… and your romantic partner at the same time.

Lesbian Time

In queer culture, there’s a well-known joke that lesbian relationships move at lightning speed—lesbian first dates turn into cohabitation almost overnight (U-Hauling). This phenomenon, humorously dubbed “lesbian time,” suggests that what might take months in a heterosexual relationship can happen in mere weeks between women.

“Lesbian time” is fueled by a deep emotional intimacy that develops rapidly, often because lesbians, unburdened by patriarchal constraints and toxic masculinity, can more freely embrace vulnerability and connection. This connection can be so strong that a few months in lesbian relationship can feel like years in hetero, creating a powerful bond that might seem fast to outsiders but feels natural to those within it.

While this rapid progression can be beautiful, it’s important to be mindful of the intensity. The quick pace of “lesbian time” can sometimes blur boundaries and rush the relationship before both partners have fully gotten to know each other. Recognizing the power of this connection and finding a balance between passion and pacing is key to building a healthy, sustainable relationship.

The White Lesbian Experience & Intersectionality

In places like NYC, where I often find myself in queer spaces (workshops, events, and bars), and the segregation is stark—most of the room is often filled with white lesbians.

This disparity is a reflection of broader social issues that affect marginalized groups. Intersectionality, a concept that recognizes the interconnected nature of social categorizations such as race, class, and gender, highlights how different layers of identity impact one’s experience. And so, Black and Latina lesbians, navigating queer spaces can often feel isolating, as our experiences and cultures are not always reflected or acknowledged in predominantly white lesbian settings.

TikTok has done a great job of highlighting lesbians from various racial, cultural, and socioeconomic backgrounds. However, it has also exposed the racial segregation that exists.

One example of this disconnect was the Futch scandal, an event that went viral for bringing together well-known lesbian TikTokers—all of whom were white. The lack of diversity in such a high-profile event sparked conversations about the racial division between lesbian experiences and culture.

Of course, these divisions are not unique to queer spaces. And while TikTok has provided a platform for many voices, it also reminds us that there’s still work to be done in bridging these gaps.

Lesbian Media Growth

TikTok has played a monumental role in propelling lesbian media into the spotlight, fueling what many are calling a lesbian renaissance. One notable example is the explosion of interest in Chappell Roan, whose songs—many released years ago—gained an overwhelming following this year, mainly in part thanks to TikTok. The platform has also made it easier for artists like Billie Eilish to embrace her queerness publicly.

The British show I Kissed a Girl also found an American audience through TikTok, with many fans using VPNs to watch it. This speaks to the power of Lesbian TikTok in amplifying media that resonates with the community, even when it’s not readily available in certain regions.

Beyond music and TV, TikTok has also helped popularize lesbian podcasts and sapphic books. Podcasts like Made it Out, Queer Collective, and For the Femmes have gained traction, offering queer women spaces to explore their identities, relationships, and experiences. TV, movies, and books that center on lesbian stories have also seen a surge in popularity, thanks to Lesbian TikTok!

The Power of Queer Cultural Representation

Representation is more than just visibility—it’s a psychological lifeline. It validates identities, affirms experiences, and offers a sense of belonging that many of us have long been denied. As one E.R. Fightmaster shared on the Made it Out podcast, “I had a girlfriend… We were sexually active. But we did not have any representation, so we didn’t know what we were doing… It didn’t even cross my mind that we were gay.” This highlights the critical role representation plays in shaping our understanding of ourselves and our relationships.

For many queer individuals, TikTok shows us what we can be and the environments we can thrive in. The platform offers coming-out stories, queer prom moments, and heartfelt queer proposals that inspire us to embrace our true selves.

Celebrity TikTokers like Nicole Bloomgarden, Avery Cyrus, Chrys, and Julie Lorentzen have become icons within the community, offering visibility that is both empowering and affirming. Their content, along with many others, shapes us psychologically, reminding us that we are not alone. Seeing these diverse voices and stories encourages more people to come out and live their happiest, most authentic lives.

Amplification of Lesbian Spaces & Events

TikTok has helped the queer community stay connected and informed about where to gather and celebrate. It’s how many of us discovered hidden gems like The Woods on Wednesdays in NYC, a popular lesbian party that I might not have known about without TikTok’s reach. The platform even offers behind-the-scenes glimpses from lesbian bar bartenders like @rockstar.photographer, who shares what it’s like to work at an NYC lesbian bar.

Queer events in NYC like the sapphic pop-up bar Grotto, which caters specifically to the lesbian community, have gained attention thanks to TikTok, bringing visibility to unique experiences that might otherwise go unnoticed. TikTok’s ability to make these events go viral also helps support these spaces.

One standout example is Preciosa Night, an event series hosted by a Latina couple who went viral for their Oaxacan wedding (TikTok). Their journey from wedding day to creating inclusive Latina lesbian events highlights how TikTok can turn personal milestones into broader community celebrations. Another example: videos like this one of a lesbian hosting a rooftop queer party in NYC, which thanks to TikTok amassed a large attendance.

That I’m a Lesbian

TikTok, with its endless stream of WLW content, challenged my assumptions about my own sexuality and gave me the courage—and language—to confront the truth.

I’ve always been sexually attracted to women, but it wasn’t until TikTok, a lesbian friend, and the Lesbian Masterdoc opened my eyes that I saw the bigger picture. It was like that Barbie lightbulb moment—things clicked.

I opened myself up to the possibility, and suddenly, I met lesbians who I might have overlooked before. Through them, I realized I wasn’t just sexually attracted to women but romantically, too. I could see myself getting married and having kids with them, something I couldn’t even imagine with men—that felt like a prison.

And as I began my first relationships with women, I realized, “Oh my god, this is so much better.” I thought I liked men, but what I feel toward women—sexually and romantically—is 1,000 times stronger. And the orgasms? They blow straight sex out of the water. I had no idea lesbian sex, even with just hands, could be so transcendent. My patriarchal conditioning had made lesbian sex seem like a distant myth no one understood.

I’m not alone in this experience. TikTokers joke about the “pandemic-to-gay” pipeline, and on Reddit, user Sensitive-Cow-1268 shared: “Did TikTok help anyone else realize they’re gay? I thought I was bi until about two weeks ago… I think seeing WLW representation really changed things for me. It made me realize how much I like women and that it was very different than how I liked men.”

The comments echoed my own feelings: “TikTok absolutely made me gayer,” one person wrote, followed by a chorus of “ME TOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Another user added, “Seeing normal exposure to women like me and women who were my type showed me how much gayer I am.”

TikTok normalized these experiences. It provided representation that felt real, relatable, and affirming. Seeing other women who looked like me, who had similar experiences, and who lived their truth helped me accept my own identity.

Queer Culture