I identify as a woman. So, when I read the above sign, I thought: this is wrong. And I was right. Obviously.  

The irony of this moment made me angry, and suddenly, restroom signs were things I couldn’t un-see. Everywhere I went, they followed me. Despite trying to ignore them, the rage grew and grew, until I channeled it into attention. I noticed how these seemingly harmless visuals construct and validate two rigid gender categories, reinforcing harmful stereotypes about our bodies and where they belong. 

Photo by Riya Behl in Secret Society, Raja Annamalai Puram, Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India (via unRestroom on Lekha).

Think about it. Somewhere on your way to an airport, you’ll likely be directed by a sign with an airplane illustration. The letter ‘P’ tells you where to park. Restroom signs, however, are different. They usually don’t visualize a urinal, commode, sink or other services in the room, instead they depict pictographs of a ‘man’ and ‘woman’.  

We infer from this visual to create meaning and a shared understanding that this restroom is for people who are ambulatory on their own two feet and conform to that culture's gender norms for men and women.  

A sign showing someone in a wheelchair suggests accessibility for people with all physical disabilities. These assumptions are widely accepted as universal. 

Photo by Riya Behl at London Bridge Station, London, UK (via unRestroom on Instagram)

Why should we pay attention to these signs? 

To explore this question, I began to photograph signs and analyze them with my friend Jaya, a designer and illustrator. We discussed how restrooms can be sites of segregation, discrimination, refuge, and more.  

Even in parts of rural India where I’ve worked as a journalist, I noticed how communities assign designated separate areas for women and children to relieve themselves, distinct from those used by men.  

Article by Jyoti Shinoli for People’s Archive of Rural India (PARI) via @pari.network on Instagram

The images we captured became entry points to discuss power relations and the politics of sanitation—who gets access to clean, safe and hygienic restrooms as a user as opposed to being affected by this exploitative and dangerous system.  In India, for instance, this 2014-report published by Human Rights Watch Cleaning Human Waste: “Manual Scavenging,” Caste, and Discrimination in India shows how discrimination in sanitation is shaped by legal structures, caste-based discrimination and more. 

We decided to upload these images on Instagram and categorize them on Lekha, an archival platform. What began as a personal project grew into unRestroom, a collection of over 200 crowd-sourced images of restroom signs from around the world.  

Unexpected consequences emerged. When we presented unRestroom at an arts festival in Mumbai, we realized the power of photographs in facilitating discussions about inclusivity and accessibility, especially for those unfamiliar with academic discourse on these topics.  

Participants started paying closer attention to the spaces they occupied. The restroom became a site to explore how access to sanitation is shaped by intersections between class, caste, gender, disability, health capacities, religious beliefs and more.  

Photo by Jaya Dharmarajan, Homemade Cafe, Juhu (via unRestroom on Lekha). 

Three Lessons from unRestroom 

If you have a human body and want to critically examine how inclusive, safe, and respectful the spaces you occupy are, here are three key insights from our project:  

1. Photographs of signs make it easier to speak about taboo topics 

Talking about most restroom-related things brings discomfort and stigma. People generally hesitate when asked to speak about this publicly. Yet, I’ve observed that analyzing images from unRestroom makes these conversations more accessible.  

To test this, I facilitated a small group discussion with five MA students at IDS about unRestroom. Apart from introducing the project and picking a few of the initial images for us to review, there was little facilitation required at my end. Since there’s no right and wrong when interpreting images and their impact on users of restrooms, it became easier for the others to participate in this conversation. Soon, personal stories about experiences with and in public toilets came tumbling out, and conversation flowed freely.   

Photo by @vipaashaa from Fuss Pot Opp Fab India. 18 Th Road, Mumbai, India (via unRestroom on Instagram)

2. Personal stories reveal intersectional aspects of our identity 

Think about a public restroom you’ve used:  

• Who was it designed for?  
• Who was excluded?  
• Who cleaned it?  
• What amenities were available?  
• How hygienic and safe was it?  
• Was it accessible to people of all genders, including trans and non-binary folks?  
• Would an illiterate person, or someone who didn’t speak the language in that area, be able to find the restroom by themselves?  
• Could people with visible or invisible disabilities and health conditions use it?  
• Would it accommodate people of different faiths?  
• Where did the water come from?  
• Where would the wastewater, excreta, fecal sludge and sewage go?   

Our discussion began with analyzing restroom signs, often laughing at their crude stereotypes. But the conversation quickly evolved—exploring questions like those above, and issues of gender discrimination, access, safety, health, and hygiene. 

The caption says: Can’t reach the lock on the door, the hand-dryer or the sink, but they’ve an excellent full-length mirror.” Image credits: The Design of Segregated Public Bathrooms: Victorian, Jim Crow, Trans, and Disability 

Public restrooms are often designed with limited resources. The sign on the door is likely considered a cosmetic challenge for people struggling to access safe sanitation and development practitioners working on these issues. These visuals, however, can be useful to build awareness about them.  

These signs revealed for me that most restrooms fail to consider the needs of pregnant people, single parents, caregivers, or individuals with sensory sensitivities. Transgender and non-binary individuals often face harassment and exclusion in binary restroom setups. People with disabilities struggle with inaccessible facilities. And toilets meant for people who identify as women are often the same size as those for men, despite the disparity in needs. Hygiene products are often missing and some amenities, like hot air hand dryers, are notorious for spreading disease.  

Photo by Nikita Behl in Hua Hin, Thailand (via unRestroom on Instagram)

3. Diversity matters. How can we transition to more inclusive restrooms—and beyond? 

During our focus group discussion, I asked two final questions: 

A) What would an ideal public restroom look like? 

B) Can you draw a sign for it?  

These questions made room to discuss our shared responsibility in creating safe spaces. While equal access to good and safe sanitation is a systemic intervention, meaningful participation is essential for re-designing and transitioning to more inclusive, context-dependent restrooms.   

Social justice advocate Sam Killermann designed a gender-neutral restroom sign and launched a participatory project encouraging people to print and post these signs on single-stall restrooms. "The response? People sent him photos and stories, with the general sentiment: "It actually didn’t upset people as much as one would think. It made sense".

Killerman's sign as discussed in How the Gender Neutral Bathroom Sign I Made is Being Manufactured and Donated to Colleges 

Killermann’s project was based in the USA, and assuming a one-size-fits-all solution to such a complex problem would be naive. It can, however, spark important conversations about participation in co-creating safer, more inclusive restrooms. And practically making the transition to them. Here’s an example of what that could look like in India.  

Photo by Jaya Dharmarajan in Mumbai, India (via unRestroom on Instagram)

Beyond the Restroom: Designing for Inclusion 

In one of my conversations with Jaya, she said, “It’s crucial to understand who has the power to make decisions when designing safe and accessible restrooms and how diverse this group of people is.” 

Accessibility to safe sanitation is a matter of dignity, safety, and fundamental human rights. unRestroom provides a small glimpse of the evidence on how far we’ve come in making this possible, and how deeply entangled space is with different types of power. By critically examining them, we take the first step toward asking more questions about power, and shaping more inclusive, equitable spaces—not just in restrooms, but in society at large. 

unRestroom is a collection of images within a larger, work in progress, people-powered archive called Signs of Segregation. Collecting images of restroom signs has revealed the amount of visual repetition it takes to maintain the ideology of binary genders in a heteronormative world. Signs of Segregation, then stems from such questions: How can photographs can reveal oppressive ideologies, and the work required to maintain these forms of invisible power? How do signs enable or limit participation in public life?  

It will include, say, signs of immigration queues at airports for people with different passports, or buildings with elevators meant for service staff and residents. If you come across any such signs, including those of restrooms, that you’d like to contribute to this people-powered project, message us with images of it on Instagram or fill this form. If you have ideas and/or resources that might help us shape Signs of Segregation, write to us at: unrestroom.archive@gmail.com.

Whether through photography, design, or activism, we all have a role to play in making spaces more accessible—one sign at a time. 

The author would like to thank current IDS MA students, Sarah Philpott, Khyati Gupta, Aranya Sawhney Malik, Sofie Kirstine Juul Nielsen and Aarti for their contributions to the focus group discussion. She’s also grateful to Jaya Dharmarajan, Nidhi Kinhal and Vidas Varma for their insights to this post.   

The views expressed in this opinion piece are those of the author/s and do not necessarily reflect the views or policies of IDS.