Girls Like Girls Will Take You Back in Time
It’s 2015, late at night, I’m sitting in my bed with my laptop across my lap, and the Girls Like Girls music video is playing on repeat. By then, I already know I’m queer, but I’m still halfway in the closet. Some of my friends know; most people don’t. I replay the lyrics in my mind as I watch the two teenage girls struggle with the realization of their feelings and how that is accepted (or not) around them. I realize that it resonates. That even though I think I know my sexuality, there is something in me that’s still afraid, still wondering what will happen.
Fast forward to 2026, I’m a grown-up (if any of us can call ourselves that) who has come out as a lesbian, lives her life proudly, and is very loud about queer rights. But the moment I find out Girls Like Girls is a movie, there’s something in me that feels like that 20-year-old who was watching the music video in the darkness of her room. As if it is still something that should be watched and kept hidden.
It’s not because I’m not proud or in an unsafe environment. It’s because that’s the way in which I can honor the little girl in me who grew up figuring herself out, facing the fears and confusion these two characters face. So, when I press play on this movie by Hayley Kiyoko, I am watching it for the younger version of myself, the one who wished movies like this were more "normal" and accessible when I was questioning who I am.
Girls Like Girls has the nostalgic feeling of a time when Kiyoko was a teenager. It transports those viewers in their early 30s back to a time in which they were wondering who they were and if it was okay to be themselves. Even if you didn’t experience a homoerotic friendship that was all-consuming, borderline toxic, and life-defining, you know what Coley (Maya da Costa) and Sonya (Myra Molloy) were feeling.
The movie itself feels very much like an indie film. It has the coloring, lighting, and sound that most indie films had in the beginning of the genre. But the truth is that those details are necessary to situate us in the time and space where this story takes place. It is exactly because the coloring, lighting, and sound feel old school that we can connect with the characters and the time they’re living in.
Most of us watching this film remember those days in which you had to get home to your huge desktop computer to talk to your friends or your crush. And while a straight person can relate to that, they could never understand what it feels like to have to write code messages to express what you’re feeling. To say things in a language only the two people involved can understand. After all, a heterosexual couple could never truly feel "Olive Juice."
Something as simple as saying "I love you" turns into a decoding game that the two girls need to be on the same page to understand. And Kiyoko’s movie feels like a stabbing reminder of what it is like to love someone for the first time while feeling that it’s wrong and the world won’t understand. It makes it feel like Olive Juice is the most sacred phrase we’ve ever heard because we know the fear and the hope that comes with it.
The film’s dialogue might feel simple, but it is in that simplicity that it finds its power. These are two girls who are learning to navigate their feelings and sexuality. They don’t have the "correct" words to express what they are feeling, so the simplicity shows they are using what they have at hand to describe something unknown, something truly indescribable. But it’s also that "simple" language that transports us to that time Kiyoko is representing in her story.
For someone who has no understanding of what it’s like to be queer, the relationship between Coley and Sonya might seem unfair. For eyes that don’t comprehend the complexity of their feelings, it might look like Sonya is manipulating Coley and playing with her feelings. But for those of us who come from the same closet Sonya and Coley reside in, Sonya’s reaction is normal and expected. It is scary to realize that the world’s expectations of you might not be met and that you have to reintroduce yourself to everyone you know.
While Coley faces that realization with the need to connect further with Sonya and discuss what it is they are feeling, Sonya pulls away, becomes passive-aggressive, and pushes Coley to feel bad about herself and what happened between them. These are two perfectly normal reactions to what they are going through, and neither of them can be judged for how they handle the situation. They are still kids, still learning to be themselves, still trying to understand who they are, still afraid the world might tell them they are "wrong."
In these reactions, we see two incredible performances from da Costa and Molloy. They are raw and authentic, delivering the pain, joy, fear, and hope every queer person feels throughout their journey. There is a gut-wrenching feeling coming from every word they say and tear they shed, reminding the viewer of their own journey. And that’s the thing about Girls Like Girls: it’s not only Kiyoko’s story; it belongs to every queer person who’s ever felt that way (and chances are we’ve all felt that way).
In the end, Coley shows up for Sonya when she needs her the most. They sit by the pool resting their heads together without the need to speak. Even though we don’t see them move forward, figure out their relationship, or decide what to do next, there is a sense of peace in that ending. Because the truth is that all we need is to be seen and understood. And that’s exactly what Girls Like Girls does for the community.
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