An Ode to the Ultimate Liminal Space: The Toilet Cubicle

Words: Tabitha Carver

Make it stand out

Aged fifteen I’m standing in front of the vast mirror of a school bathroom in Tokyo with a handful of other girls, taking photos on a pink flip phone. We fold the waist bands of our uniform skirts over and stick our hips out, making faces at each other — at ourselves — through the reflection.

Once the other girls leave, I sit down by myself inside one of the bright cubicles and press a button showing a musical note. The sound of a fake flush fills the stall. I sit back. It feels good to be alone.

I confidently press another button. My Japanese is in its infancy at this stage, so the characters on the button could mean anything — nothing happens and I press again and again, absentmindedly. I had hoped that the seat would warm up, or that a jet of warm water would spray my virginal nether regions.

I stare at the blank space in front of me and calm reaches my every physical and mental extremity. 

A knock at the cubicle door. Hastily I return to the present, soon face to face with an elderly woman looking concerned. She points at the button I had pressed liberally a moment ago. 

‘You OK?’ she asks. My stomach churns and my face runs hot as I realise I had called for emergency assistance. 
___STEADY_PAYWALL___

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Before the toilet cubicle, before sophisticated sewer systems made pockets of privacy possible in industrialised nations, one would heed nature’s call outside, often in communal outhouses. In Victorian England, public toilets were male dominated spaces — making it hard for women to navigate a basic human need in safety. The term loo leash describes how the lack of safe, accessible toilets actively restricted women's movements, tethering them to their homes and away from public spaces like schools and recreational areas.

To keep up with emerging sanitary needs, advances to plumbing systems, as well as to follow shifting societal norms that favoured privacy for bathing and toileting, the cubicle slowly becomes more popular and more accessible, appearing inside of buildings, or at the very least, as an enclosed, single occupancy space. 

While unions and campaign groups have played a significant role in advocating for safe sanitation for a growing workforce during and beyond the industrial revolution, it is also capitalism's drive for profit and mass production that birthed a global sanitation industry and granted many of us access to the toilet cubicle — making it even more pleasurable to use them as an escape from the relentless array of other, less pleasurable conditions it has created.

Twenty or so years after the incident in Japan, I leave all my belongings at a nearby desk during a big work day and go to a toilet cubicle for the sole reason of closing myself in, sinking to the ground and sobbing.

This must be a cultural ritual performed by so many, so safe is this liminal space: a moment of privacy, away from the disciplinary powers operating in the modern, corporate workplace. Between sobs my face stretches out and my muscles dance in relief. No more measured expressions and planned responses needed for corporate colleagues. Hidden in plain sight for a brief moment.

To me, the ideal cubicle to recoup within is clean, obviously, with cool tiles to sit on or rest my forehead against. The toilet lid is sturdy enough to take my shifting weight. It doesn’t wobble. There are limited gaps between ceiling and floor and some sound proofing reveals only the background murmur of other people utilising the space. There is no queue outside and no danger of one forming. The lock is sturdy, but not enough so that the possibility of being trapped inside could cause any anxiety. 

These conditions are usually absent in clubs, pubs or at house parties, during which many of us seek momentary relief from the overwhelm of being present. Maybe it is trauma experienced in precisely these spaces, maybe it is neurodiversity or mental illness that make these visits necessary. Brief sojourns in perhaps less comfortable cubicles reveal that as long as we have privacy and a place to go that does not arouse suspicion, the toilet space can remain a momentary port of refuge.

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It could be easy to mistake the modern toilet cubicle as a great equaliser. This, unfortunately, is not true. Not only is a large portion of the world’s population still unable to access safe sanitation infrastructure and clean water, even in industrialised countries, it remains a site of inequality. The number of public toilets in the UK has shrunk overall as a direct result of government cuts, disproportionately affecting disabled people with far reaching consequences. 

“To me, the ideal cubicle to recoup within is clean, obviously, with cool tiles to sit on or rest my forehead against. The toilet lid is sturdy enough to take my shifting weight. It doesn’t wobble.”

Remaining disabled toilets are consistently reported not adequately equipped or maintained, lacking essential features and space so as to render them unusable. Crucially, the bathroom also acts as a central point of contention in discourse around trans rights. While anti-trans campaigners maintain that trans women in women's toilets pose a safety risk, this is not supported by evidence or a deeper understanding of gender and common sense. In fact it is precisely the safety and livelihood of the trans community that is at risk should inclusive spaces and access to a private toilet cubicle be limited.

One need look no further than tied up emergency cords in disabled toilets or the Ask For Angela and domestic violence charity posters plastered on the back of toilet doors in public spaces to remind oneself of the very real dangers and inequalities which persist beyond the bathroom.

Let us acknowledge and praise the toilet cubicle if we have easy access to it — the ability to freely release something much heavier than bodily matter in a time of need. We should all strive towards equal opportunity to frequent toilet cubicles enthusiastically — anywhere, everywhere in the world.