Sexy Girls Kiss: 2

For too long, the only allowed narrative was “suffering.” Now we have Crush (Hulu), a silly, charming high school rom-com where two girls fall in love without anyone coming out as a tragedy. Feel Good (Netflix) offers a messy, addictive, funny, and sometimes painful look at a lesbian relationship struggling with addiction and codependency—proving that queer love can be just as complicated (and ordinary) as straight love. The Persistent Problems: What Still Needs Work 1. The Male Gaze Problem Despite progress, many “girls kiss” scenes are still choreographed for heterosexual male viewers. This is especially visible in “prestige” shows where a single, out-of-nowhere lesbian kiss is used to signify a female character’s “wild side” or to shock her male partner. True sapphic romance requires a female or queer gaze—camera angles that focus on faces, hands, and emotional reactions rather than performative body parts.

For decades, the image of two women kissing or falling in love on screen was either a punchline, a tragedy, or a titillating secret meant for a male gaze. Today, that landscape has shifted dramatically—though not without growing pains. The rise of intentional, well-crafted romantic storylines between girls and women (from teen first-love dramas to adult slow-burn epics) has become one of the most emotionally resonant and politically significant movements in modern storytelling. This review examines the current state of "girls kiss" relationships and their romantic arcs, celebrating their triumphs while critiquing their persistent shortcomings. The Evolution: From Subtext to Center Stage For much of film and TV history, queer female relationships existed in coded language. Think of the longing glances in Rebecca (1940) or the tragic sacrifice of The Children’s Hour (1961). The infamous "buried gay" trope—where one or both women die by the end—dominated for decades ( Fried Green Tomatoes , Bound being a rare exception). Even in the early 2000s, a "girls kiss" was often a sweeps-week stunt on network TV ( Buffy the Vampire Slayer ’s Willow and Tara being a groundbreaking, albeit cautiously handled, exception). 2 Sexy Girls Kiss

We have fewer bury-your-gays than in 1990, but it’s not gone. The 100 ’s Lexa (a character so beloved her death sparked industry-wide backlash) remains a cautionary tale. Even recent shows like First Kill (Netflix) and Warrior Nun were cancelled just as their central romances blossomed. Queer audiences remain traumatized: a new girls-kiss scene is often watched with one eye on the episode runtime, waiting for the axe to fall. For too long, the only allowed narrative was “suffering

So many storylines still revolve entirely around coming out, parental rejection, or internalized homophobia. While these are real experiences, they’ve become a cliché. We rarely see established adult lesbian couples arguing about mortgage payments or career moves—the mundane, universal drama that straight couples get by default. Happiest Season (Hulu) caught flak for this: a Christmas rom-com where one woman is still closeted to her family, forcing the other to pretend to be straight. It felt like a 2005 plot in a 2020 movie. The Male Gaze Problem Despite progress, many “girls

Moreover, these storylines challenge straight audiences to empathize. A well-written sapphic romance is not a niche genre—it’s just a love story. When Carol (2015) or Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) captivated mainstream audiences, it wasn’t despite the gender of the lovers; it was because the longing, the restraint, and the passion were universally human. Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)

Unlike many heterosexual romances that rush to a big kiss or bedroom scene, the most memorable sapphic storylines cherish the small things: fixing a collar, a hand held under a table, eye contact that lasts two seconds too long. A League of Their Own (Amazon, 2022) excels at this—the romance between Carson and Greta is built on whispered conversations, shared cigarettes, and the terror and thrill of being seen.

The current era of girls-kiss relationships and romantic storylines is the best we’ve ever had—but that bar was tragically low. We have moved from “shock value” to “slow-burn depth” and from “tragedy” to “joyful complexity.” However, we are still plagued by cancellations, the male gaze, and a reliance on coming-out trauma as a crutch.