Hayley Kiyoko’s journey to her feature directorial debut, Girls Like Girls, began in 2015. That’s when the Disney child star turned singer/songwriter released the track “Girls Like Girls,” and its subsequent viral video, which Kiyoko co-helmed with Austin S. Winchell.
More than a music video, “Girls Like Girls” played like a short film, complete with credits that revealed character names: Coley, Sonya, and Trenton. In 2023, this love triangle would be fleshed out in the pop star’s debut novel, also titled Girls Like Girls.
Now, after a decade of living with this story of sapphic longing and first love, Kiyoko delivers an earnest and poignant coming-of-age movie with Girls Like Girls.
Girls Like Girls is a low-key drama of first love and heartache.
Credit: Dan Power / Focus Feature LLC
Set in 2006, Kiyoko’s debut feature has a healthy dose of nostalgia for the early age of internet. The soundtrack features Tegan and Sara’s yearning-rich “Speak Slow,” Imogen Heap’s electro ballad “Hide and Seek,” and AIR’s trippy “Sexy Boy.”
The teens in Girls Like Girls have cell phones, but instant messaging on a bulky PC is how sheepish 17-year-old Coley (Maya da Costa) prefers to reach out to her crush, the femme and fun party girl Sonya (Myra Molloy).
New to town in the thick of summer, Coley is killing time at a diner alone when she first spots Sonya, who’s radiant in her laughter and adored by her circle of friends. With one shared glance, Sonya ushers Coley into their world, where house parties rage, lakeside hangs are recurring, and sapphic flirtations are only for when Sonya’s boyfriend, Trent (Levon Hawke), isn’t around.
Kiyoko captures the easy swoon of young love with montages of the two girls finding their way into each others’ arms, then breath. But as confident as Sonya seems, she wilts anytime someone begins to suspect that she and Coley are more than just friends. Having brought her own baggage to this cozy Oregon town, Coley finds the push and pull of Sonya’s affections overtaking her vision of herself. Grieving over the loss of her mother and living with the estranged father (Zach Braff) that she barely knows, Coley fears that if Sonya can’t love her, she’s doomed to be unlovable.
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Girls Like Girls offers space for gay girls figuring it out.
Credit: Dan Power / Focus Feature LLC
For Coley and Sonya, their attraction to each other is so simple and natural that they don’t initially question it. They follow it — slowly and joltingly, but keenly.
In the privacy of Sonya’s girly bedroom or her family’s backyard pool, they find sanctuary to explore who they are together. Like the short film inspiration from 2015, Girls Like Girls deftly captures the longing in a stare, the excitement in a stolen touch.
As she did in the music video, Coley sports an oversized jean jacket and the very mid-2000s tattoo-choker, made of swirls of black plastic that stretch around the wearer’s neck. She rides a bike, busted up, but hers. And, as teased on the book’s cover, a key moment still happens poolside — though without the beat(ing) after. (Do stay through the credits for a post-cred scene worth waiting for.)
A change from the first incarnation, Girls Like Girls is less about the violence queer people can suffer from homophobes, and more about choosing joy over the fear of violence and alienation. Because while Sonya initially seems impossibly cool and untroubled, as Coley gets closer, she realizes her crush is surrounded by friends she can’t trust to be herself around. So Coley is faced with the choice of who she wants to be in this new town, and if that means being a fool for love.
Myra Molloy and Maya da Costa make a compelling pair.
Credit: Dan Power / Focus Feature LLC
Molloy could teach a class on how to flip her hair. Her breezy grace and flirtatious energy make her instantly recognizable as That Girl. Sonya makes being a teen girl look easy. She exudes joy and cool, and even when you find out it’s a facade, you envy her ability to produce it.
Sonya is a go-getter who practically drags Coley into her friend group, her pool, and her kiss. Meanwhile, Kiyoko scripts her protagonist to be almost infuriatingly passive. She’s so afraid of making a wrong move, Coley is like a shadow in her own life, following behind Sonya, afraid to be in the light. Cleverly, this is actually how Coley’s dad is framed for the first half of the film — as a shadow.
For several sequences, I stared into the frame at the middle-aged man speaking softly in a dim room, trying to see who he was. This staging reflects how Coley sees her dad, as someone distant and unknown. As they grow closer, he will come into the light. And she will follow, metaphorically, and blossom. Da Costa performs this evolution with aplomb.
The romance and tenderness found in Kiyoko’s music videos throbs in Girls Like Girls. She breaks from creaky conventions of queer coming-of-age tales by rejecting scenes of violence or social ostracizing that once seemed required. Her heroine is soft, too, not pursuing but being pursued. And her ending is not a promise of eternal devotion, but a small win that feels huge for a girl in love.
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