“Some people come to sit and think / Others come to shit and stink / But I come here to scratch my balls / And read the bullshit on the walls”

In bathroom stalls across campus, a hidden language unfolds, revealing the complex dynamics of gendered communication. These spaces—where public visibility meets authorial anonymity—serve as battlegrounds for personal expression and social norms.

Despite my distrust of human decency—especially in public bathrooms—curiosity won out. I ventured into the stalls, hoping to uncover insights into human nature (or at least get a good laugh).

After contorting my body into acrobatic, germ-avoidant positions, I collected a sample of 338 pieces of graffiti: 68.9% (233) from men’s bathrooms and 31.1% (105) from women’s. And no, in case you were wondering, I didn’t sneak into the women’s bathrooms—I had help.

Men’s Graffiti: Assertive, Argumentative, and Hypersexual

Men’s bathroom graffiti is blunt, argumentative, and overwhelmingly sexual, often characterized by humour and mockery. It typically takes the form of definitive statements, reflecting masculine social pressures to be assertive and dominant.

Depictions of genitalia and references to masturbation are frequent, with a notable presence of overt sexual solicitation—“MON FRI I SUCK COCK HERE AT 4:25 PM.” Others take symbolic forms, like a detailed and, dare I say, artistic rendering of an ejaculating penis, complete with perineum, anus, and buttocks, captioned “FEED ME CUM.”

Censorship and defacement were more common in men’s bathrooms, where graffiti often sparked hostile reactions, reflecting a culture of competition rather than consensus. On the bright side, nearly all hate speech was met with opposition. A swastika carved into a toilet paper dispenser was crossed out with a bold “X,” alongside the message “NAZI PUNKS FUCK OFF” and a Star of David.

Women’s Graffiti: Conversational and Communal

In stark contrast, women’s bathroom graffiti leans toward empowerment, community, and emotional vulnerability. It often takes a conversational, open-ended form, serving as an informal support network.

While some empowering messages in women’s bathrooms referenced physical features—“You look pretty today <3”—many were general, uplifting notes like “Tomorrow will be kinder, my loves” and “You’re doing great.” Some even expressed gratitude for the sense of community fostered by the graffiti, like “Hahaha oh my god, I love the wall [heart].” Gendered solidarity was evident, with notes like “Let’s rock, bitches!!!”

The Gender Divide

Empowering messages in men’s bathrooms were sparse, often humorous, and focused on the body: “SMALL DICKS MATTER :)” and “YOU LOOK GOOD, KING.” One exchange read, “Nice cock bro,” followed by “thank you” and “you’re welcome.” The only instance of gender solidarity was: “OUR BUTTS TOUCHED THE SAME SEAT. WE’RE BROTHERS NOW,” with a reply, “True!”

Women’s bathrooms featured practical messages, like the price of feminine hygiene products and instructions to “pull up only.” By contrast, men’s stalls had just one helpful note—an arrow showing which way to turn a stall door handle. One commenter in a men’s stall begging for help finding opiates was met with the unsympathetic response: “Sounds like a real pickle, dude.”

Women’s stalls also doubled as public forums, tackling everything from playful debates—like the eternal pineapple-on-pizza dilemma (currently a 3-3 tie)—to deeper personal struggles. One writer asked, “How does one make friends?” Two responses validated the question with “Beats me! I have none” and “If you find the solution please let me know :(.” One commenter offered advice, “Talk to strangers like they already are,” while another drew an arrow to emphasize the point, adding, “We’re all human.”

Men’s drawings were more detailed, varied, and political, including an expressionistic, Sharpie-drawn Hitler, a cockroach holding a Soviet flag, and, of course, penises in every possible form. Women’s graffiti leaned toward beautification, with hearts, stars, and smiley faces as common motifs.

Men’s bathrooms included meme references (Pepe, Soyjack, Among Us, Peter Griffin) and “shithouse poetry”: “Some people come to sit and think / Others come to shit and stink / But I come here to scratch my balls / And read the bullshit on the walls.” Women’s bathrooms heavily featured music recommendations, a theme absent in men’s stalls. Both bathrooms had tic-tac-toe, but women’s games were further progressed or completed—one of many signs of a greater tendency toward collaboration.

Frustration with the University

Both bathrooms expressed frustration with the university, but the men’s bathroom contained more of these messages. One read, “They jack up tuition, but don’t want us to print colour?” followed by “Yeah, it sucks.” Another criticized the USSU, saying, “Imagine making 50k by just being a USSU president.” One drawing depicted a janitor scrubbing the wall, with arrows pointing to the “cool stuff” being cleaned and to the janitor, labeled “jannies no fun.”

The only rebellious message in the women’s bathroom simply read, “Fuck this school,” with a response: “Oh??”—highlighting the tendency for women’s graffiti to invite conversation rather than assert a stance.

Sexuality, Homophobia, and Humour

Men’s bathrooms reveal a complex relationship with sexuality, where sexual propositions clash with homophobic opposition. One stall contained numerous references to masturbation and same-sex encounters, functioning as a message board for sexual solicitation. Directions to “cum here” were scrawled alongside multiple claims of having masturbated in the stall, alongside affirmations that others had done the same. One note, “Leave a tick if you jerk off in here,” had 10 tallies.

A homophobic remark—“NUKE THE F—-TS”—was crossed out and altered to read “NUKE THE FACISTS” [sic], reflecting an ideological pushback (spelling aside, it’s the thought that counts). Another comment in the same stall read “Please god I’m not a fag I promise I just needed to shit,” with the response “Fucking gayass.”

Humour functioned as a tool of negotiating masculinity, serving both to reinforce traditional norms and also to subvert them. Some graffiti weaponized humour to police the boundaries of masculinity, while others used irony and satire to mock homophobia itself. Some responses leaned into absurdist humor, such as the invitation to a “Pull up Thursdays at 7:30 pm for circle jerk” with the note, “All are welcome. Bring snacks!”

A paradox of anonymity and exposure, the bathroom stall is where masculinity is both performed and unmasked. The message, “Straight guys give the best BJs,” may be seen as humorous but could also expose a deeper conflict. If meant as humor, it masks vulnerability; if serious, it reveals the pressure to conceal sexuality, even in the most private of spaces—or perhaps even to deny it to oneself.

In women’s bathrooms, graffiti with queer connotations was more conversational and faced less opposition. Rather than focusing on physical acts, these exchanges centered on social norms. One person asked, “Fellas as a woman, are we allowed to just walk up and ask another woman for her socials bcuz we think they’re pretty?” This question sparked a discussion, with three affirmative replies and two dissenting ones. One response, “Let’s not,” prompted pushback from others: “Why not?” and “Bruh, why not? That would make me so happy.” Another stated, “Yes, homophobia is not it.” The declaration, “I’m lowkey a girlkisser gang,” received celebration: “Amen!! Preach.”

What Does It All Mean? Is This Really What I’m Doing with My Education?

Men’s graffiti, with its hypersexuality, mockery, and censorship, reflects a culture of competition and posturing. Expressions of male sexuality, particularly homosexuality, become both hyper-visible and contested, suggesting tension around competing conceptions of masculinity. The recurrent cycle of proposition, insult, and counter-response illustrates a complex dynamic where anonymity emboldens transgressive speech but also fosters resistance.

Women’s graffiti, in contrast, offers support and connection, emphasizing collective experience over individual assertion. Even rebellion takes different forms—men’s through satire and defiance, women’s through conversation. The collaborative and supportive nature of queer discussions in women’s bathrooms suggests a safer environment for exploration and affirmation.

Taken together, these patterns reveal the bathroom stall as a microcosm of gendered social norms—providing a rare, unfiltered glimpse into the ways men and women articulate identity, power, and belonging. Graffiti turns the stall into a stage, a confessional, a forum—an anonymous yet strangely intimate space where people express themselves without fear of consequence. And so, after hundreds of scribbled declarations, arguments, and dick drawings, what’s the real takeaway? Maybe just this: even in the most private, unglamorous spaces, we can’t help but reach out to each other.