Cloying guitar notes and Moira Dela Torre’s airy voice have ushered in a viral social media phenomenon: slideshows of women shedding their masculinity in favor of boyfriends who have cultivated the blooming of their “true” femininity. While seemingly innocuous, the infamous “factory reset” trend reveals the larger invalidation of lesbians, especially those who exist beyond the confines of gender norms.
Speaking from a lifetime of this discrimination, 60-year-old Giney Villar asserts in Filipino, “The lesbian identity—most of all—is [one] that is constantly challenged and in a flux. And I think it is because we are women.” On top of homophobia, this identity remains entrenched in the suffocating expectations of how a woman should look, act, and love—an issue that stifles the liberty of women just as much as the liberty of queer people.
Scrambling identities
For years, the Filipino lesbian has crystallized into a familiar—if not somewhat stereotypical—image: a burly woman sporting menswear and a cropped haircut, the keys to her prized Yamaha Mio dangling from her belt loop. Colloquially referred to as “tomboys,” the term has drifted from its original, Western definition of a “boyish girl” to encompass women who are often masculine and attracted to other women.
Villar attributes the term’s ubiquity to our cultural tendency to treat gender and sexuality as inseparable, illuminating the limited native vocabulary to describe such identities. “Halimbawa, ‘yung bakla. Kapag tinanong, ‘anong sexual orientation mo?’ Bakla. Anong gender identity mo? Bakla, ‘di ba? Kasi wala naman tayong ganoong paghihiwalay. Now, for instance, wala ngang [Filipino] word for lesbian, ‘di ba?”
(For example, bakla. If asked, what is your sexual orientation? Bakla. What is your gender identity? Bakla, right? Because we don’t have that separation. Now for instance, there is indeed no [Filipino] word for lesbian.)
Along with the growing visibility of the queer community came the emergence of new terms like “lesbian,” “sapphic,” and “women-loving-women (WLW).” Now, some women take offense to the original label of “tomboy” in favor of its contemporary counterparts.
In contrast, Alon Caballes (III, AB-CAM) embraces the “tomboy” identity, upholding it as a valued fixture of Filipino queer culture: “You don’t need to base your identity on idealized Western standards.” Lucy (IV, HUMBIO) echoes this sentiment, expressing admiration for the proud tomboys who paved the way for subversive queer expression: “These are [the] people that we [should] thank, because they are the first people that presented themselves that way.”
Embracing masculinity in a man’s world
Although labels can aid self-discovery, strict adherence to the gender binary can be stifling for gender non-conforming individuals. “When I was a kid, I really thought you had to choose one. […] You can only pick being masculine or feminine. And it was never an option that you could do both,” shares Caballes in Filipino on how this constraining dichotomy restricted him from accepting himself as a transmasculine butch lesbian for years.
For Caballes, who does not identify as a man but resonates with masculinity, how he describes himself is often met with suspicion. Confusion generally stems from conflating masculinity with manhood and femininity with womanhood, rather than recognizing these as qualities expressed by all people at varying degrees. Lucy and Caballes both emphasize that gender is fluid, and people need not conform to stereotypical expectations.
However, Lucy notes that rigid perceptions remain widely unchallenged and, in turn, may pressure some masculine lesbians into approximating themselves to manhood. This includes embodying toxic machismo attitudes in ways that perpetuate misogyny within the queer community.
Such unbending expectations may cause others to conform to feminine ideals, particularly around family. “I think women, kahit na lesbiana sila, butch man ‘yan o femme, in the context of the Filipino family, minsan, strong pa rin ‘yung expectation to take on traditionally female roles,” observes Villar on the patriarchal rule spanning generations.
(I think women, even if lesbians, whether butch or femme, in the context of the Filipino family, there persist strong expectations to take on traditionally female roles.)
On this constant push-and-pull, Lucy confides, “I know my parents will want to see me [at] those important life events […] in an image [they] expected of me.” Altering her appearance during public gatherings is her compromise for dressing masculinely the rest of the year. Parsing her parents’ thoughts, they seem to prefer when she styles herself more “womanly” for significant milestones, at the cost of her authentic means of expression.
On their own terms
Rejecting the notion that masculinity equates to manhood does not mean abandoning womanhood. Villar envisions a society where women can act beyond convention and still be recognized as women.
There is no checklist for masculinity, nor a set dynamic that lesbian relationships must follow, yet the homogenized mold for masculine and gender non-conforming lesbians relegates diverse experiences to a stereotype. Ultimately, masculinity does not have to be patterned after men—it can be shaped on one’s own terms. Online queer spaces have helped many realize this, which Caballes notes “became a foundation of understanding myself and being open to the LGBTQ community,” offering many the hope of one day expressing themselves unapologetically.
As the fight for equality continues, Lucy wishes to see more WLW stories reach wider audiences. Although newer films offer more nuanced narratives, they do not receive the same traction as men-loving-men media. This imbalance reflects a lingering double standard that Caballes points out: “If you put women there, it wouldn’t be [as suitable to people’s tastes], because [of] misogyny.”
Even though lesbians have long led the struggle for sexual minority rights, their contributions are frequently overlooked. Villar then aspires for representation to extend beyond screens and into active conversations and policies that define equality.
Without these voices, the definition of womanhood remains confined by narrow expectations—ones that manifest in online trends like the “factory reset.” Perhaps the real reset society needs is not of queer women themselves, but of the standards that dictate who gets to be recognized as one.
This article was published in The LaSallian’s March 2026 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSMar2026.
