Girls Like Girls
Girls Like Girls
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death by suicide, graphic violence, sexual harassment, physical abuse, bullying, antigay bias, and gender discrimination.
Authenticity as an Act of Courage
In Girls Like Girls, embracing one’s authentic self, particularly an LGBTQ+ identity, is presented as a sustained and difficult act of courage. The novel argues that true authenticity requires a conscious battle against both external social pressures and deep-seated internalized shame. This struggle is at the core of the novel, embodied in the contrasting journeys of Coley and Sonya. While Coley slowly builds the courage to accept and act on her feelings, Sonya’s terror of social rejection leads her down a path of denial and self-betrayal. Through their relationship, author Hayley Kiyoko portrays authenticity as a courageous choice that must be made repeatedly, often at great personal risk.
Coley’s journey begins in a state of quiet denial. Having recently lost her mother and moved to a new town, her primary secret is one she keeps even from herself. Her internal monologue reveals a girl grappling with an unnamed difference: “[I]t’s not that you’re not like other girls. It’s just that you’ve never met a girl like you” (2). Meeting Sonya cracks open this carefully guarded interior world. While her initial attraction is immediate, her courage develops incrementally. It’s first tested in her vulnerable confession to Sonya about her mother’s death by suicide, an act of trust that deepens their bond. Her bravery culminates in the final confrontations where she refuses to be Sonya’s secret or play her games. By asserting her own worth and demanding honesty, Coley demonstrates that the ultimate act of courage is loving oneself enough to walk away from a relationship that actively fosters self-diminishment.
In stark contrast, Sonya’s path is defined by her fear of authenticity. Embedded in a social world that prizes conformity, she views her feelings for Coley as a catastrophic threat to her identity and security. Her repeated, panicked insistence that “[she’s] not like this” after moments of intimacy reveals a deep internal conflict (177). She constantly runs from her own emotions, pushing Coley away, making out with her ex-boyfriend, and attempting to erase their connection with feigned indifference. Sonya’s private LiveJournal entries expose the painful gap between her public persona and her private turmoil, where she admits her feelings for Coley but lives in fear of what her family and friends would think. For Sonya, the safety of her carefully constructed life is predicated on hiding her true self, making authenticity seem like a price too high to pay.
The novel uses the character of Faith, a former dance rival and foil for Sonya, to represent a path of unapologetic LGBTQ+ existence that Sonya finds both enviable and terrifying. Sonya treats the “rumors” about Faith as a cautionary tale, a warning of what happens to girls who refuse to conform. It’s only after being confronted by Faith at dance camp and later witnessing her kiss another girl that Sonya begins to see authenticity as a possibility rather than a sentence of social death. This realization, however, doesn’t immediately translate to action. It takes Trenton’s final, violent assault on Coley to force Sonya into a public choice. In that moment, she stops running, defends Coley, and finally declares her love, making the courageous choice to embrace her authentic self, regardless of the consequences.
Grief as an Isolating Force
Kiyoko’s Girls Like Girls portrays unprocessed grief as a powerful and isolating force, one that erects invisible walls between individuals and convinces them that they’re unworthy of connection. Coley, reeling from her mother’s death by suicide, navigates her new life from behind a fortress of her own making, keeping her pain locked away from her estranged father and the world. The novel argues that this self-imposed isolation, while a defense mechanism, ultimately prevents healing. It’s only through vulnerability and the courageous act of sharing one’s deepest wounds that the grip of grief can be loosened, allowing for the formation of genuine, restorative bonds.
Coley’s initial state in Oregon is defined by a deep sense of isolation rooted in her unaddressed trauma. Her refusal to unpack the boxes in her new room is a potent physical symbol of her emotional stasis; she explains, “If I unpack, then it’s permanent” (7). This resistance to her new reality is a manifestation of her reluctance to process her mother’s death and the self-blame that accompanies it. This grief makes her feel detached and perpetually on guard, especially in her interactions with her father, Curtis. She views him with suspicion and resentment, unable to see beyond his past abandonment to the possibility of a present connection. Her grief has convinced her that anyone she loves will eventually leave, making emotional investment feel like an unbearable risk and leaving her utterly alone with her pain.
The relationship between Coley and Curtis is initially a cold war of shared, unspoken sorrow. Both are haunted by the loss of Coley’s mother, but their silence on the subject creates a vast emotional chasm between them. Curtis’s early attempts to connect are awkward and easily rebuffed, as Coley can’t separate him from the pain of her past. Their healing only begins when they start to speak about the woman they both lost. When Curtis shares old photographs and memories, it cracks the icy surface of their relationship. By acknowledging their shared loss and the different ways they both loved and were left by her, they begin to transform their individual pain into a foundation for a new family dynamic. This slow process emphasizes the idea that connection is impossible without confronting the grief that keeps people apart.
Ultimately, the novel’s most significant connection is forged through an act of extreme vulnerability. On the railroad tracks with Sonya, Coley finally gives voice to her deepest secret and sorrow, confessing that her mother died by suicide. This moment of shared pain is the catalyst for true intimacy. Sonya’s response is one of deep empathy, her own tears mingling with Coley’s as she holds her. This shared emotional space leads directly to their first kiss, explicitly linking the willingness to be seen in one’s pain with the ability to find and accept love. Coley’s confession shatters her isolation, proving that while grief can be an isolating force, sharing that burden is the most powerful way to build a bridge to another person’s heart.
The Role of Stigma in Repressive Social Environments
In Girls Like Girls, the social stigma surrounding LGBTQ+ identity and non-conformity is a powerful tool for social control, particularly within the rigid heteronormative landscape of a mid-2000s small town. The novel demonstrates how casual antigay bias and strict expectations of femininity create a climate of fear that limits young women’s freedom. This environment empowers toxic figures like Trenton to police others’ behavior through bullying and violence, while simultaneously pressuring girls like Sonya to suppress their authentic desires in exchange for social acceptance. The narrative reveals how this system of control is upheld by both overt aggressors and those who internalize and enforce its rules out of fear.
The fear of being labeled a lesbian forces Sonya to maintain the social hierarchy she has known all her life. Sonya, who is deeply embedded in the popular crowd, has internalized this stigma so thoroughly that she treats being gay as a dangerous contagion. When she warns Coley about the “rumors” surrounding her former dance rival, Faith, she speaks in hushed tones, framing Faith’s rumored sexuality as a threat to her reputation. This warning is a clear enforcement of the social code: association with LGBTQ+ identity is a liability. Sonya’s own terror of being ostracized is the primary driver of her destructive push and pull with Coley. She can’t reconcile her genuine feelings with the consequences of acting on them, leading her to deny her own heart to maintain her place in the accepted social order.
Trenton serves as the primary enforcer of these heteronormative standards. He uses antigay slurs, sexual innuendo, and physical aggression to assert his dominance and punish any behavior that deviates from his narrow worldview. His possessiveness over Sonya is rooted in a sense of entitlement; he sees her as his rightful property, and her attraction to Coley is a direct challenge to his masculine authority. This culminates in his violent assault on Coley when he finds them about to kiss. He grabs Coley by the hair and slams her head into the concrete, later screaming at Sonya, “How could you do this to me?” (299). His reaction exposes the core function of the stigma: to control women’s bodies and desires and to violently punish any perceived threat to patriarchal ownership.
This system of control is also perpetuated by other girls who, fearing their own social demotion, help police their peers. Brooke reinforces the idea that Sonya and Trenton are the “correct” couple, advising Coley to fade out because she’s merely a temporary disruption to the established order. This illustrates how the fear of social punishment leads girls to uphold the very system that restricts them. Sonya’s mother contributes to this pressure through her constant insistence on “ladylike” behavior, equating acceptable femininity with stillness and conformity. Sonya’s desperate question, “What if they hate me?” (288), reveals the deep effectiveness of this web of social control, where the fear of rejection from friends and family becomes a cage for her true self.
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