You see them everywhere. On restroom doors, in genetics textbooks, scrawled on protest posters, and scattered across dating app interfaces. The circle with the arrow and the circle with the cross. Most of us just call them the male and female symbols and move on with our day without wondering why a spear and a hand mirror became the universal shorthand for biological sex.
It’s kinda weird when you think about it.
We live in a digital age of high-resolution imagery and complex branding, yet we still rely on these ancient Greek astronomical shorthands to navigate the most basic aspects of social infrastructure. These aren’t just random doodles. They have a lineage that stretches back to the Renaissance, through the dusty corridors of medieval alchemy, and all the way to the celestial observations of the ancient world. They were never actually meant to represent humans at all.
The Botanical Accident of Carl Linnaeus
If you’re looking for someone to blame—or thank—for the fact that these symbols are on your doctor's forms, look no further than Carl Linnaeus. In the mid-1700s, this Swedish botanist was busy trying to organize the entire natural world. He’s the guy who gave us binomial nomenclature (the two-name system like Homo sapiens).
Linnaeus was a bit of a productivity hacker for his time. While writing his 1751 work Philosophia Botanica, he needed a way to save space. Writing out "masculine" and "feminine" over and over again while cataloging plants was tedious. It was slow. It took up too much ink. So, he borrowed from the heavens.
He grabbed the symbol for Mars (the shield and spear) to represent male plants and the symbol for Venus (the hand mirror) for female plants. Honestly, it was a stroke of organizational genius that stuck. By the time he published Species Plantarum in 1753, the shorthand was locked in. People saw it, understood the binary he was establishing, and started using it for animals, and eventually, for humans. It wasn't some deep sociological statement about gender roles; it was just a guy trying to finish his homework faster.
The Astronomy Connection
Long before they were gender markers, these were the "Planetary Symbols." Ancient Greeks and Romans associated certain metals with certain gods and their corresponding planets.
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The symbol for Mars—$\text{\mars}$—represented the iron used in weaponry. It’s a circle with an arrow pointing out to the upper right. Historians generally agree it depicts the shield and spear of the God of War. Then you have Venus—$\text{\venus}$—representing copper. This one is a circle with a small cross underneath. While many popular history blogs will tell you it’s a vanity mirror, some scholars suggest it might actually be a stylized version of a necklace or an ancient spindle.
Why iron and copper?
It’s all about the alchemy. In the medieval period, alchemists used these symbols as a secret code.
- Mars/Iron was seen as "hard" and "active."
- Venus/Copper was "soft" and "reactive."
It’s easy to see how these early scientific associations eventually bled into social perceptions of the sexes. We often talk about these things as if they are fundamental truths of the universe, but really, they started as a way to keep track of rocks and stars.
The Evolution of the Design
The way we draw the male and female symbols today is actually a bit "cleaned up" compared to the original Greek papyri. Originally, the symbols were more like abbreviations of the Greek names for the planets.
The symbol for Mars was originally a Greek theta ($\theta$), and Venus was a version of the Greek phi ($\phi$). Over centuries of monks and scholars hand-copying manuscripts, these letters drifted. They got stylized. A stroke here, a curve there, and suddenly you have a spear and a mirror. It’s a classic case of "telephone" played over two thousand years of history.
It’s worth noting that these aren’t the only symbols out there. In many cultures, the sun and moon played these roles. In Chinese philosophy, the Yin and Yang represent a similar—though much more fluid—balance of "masculine" and "feminine" energies. But because Western science became the global standard for a few centuries, the Greek planetary symbols won the branding war.
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Modern Usage and the Great Restroom Debate
Walk into any Starbucks and you'll see them. But the way we use them in public design has changed. In the 1960s and 70s, the symbols were often used as-is. Today, we’ve moved toward "pictograms"—the little man in trousers and the little woman in a skirt.
Designers like Otl Aicher, who created the pictograms for the 1972 Munich Olympics, changed the way we think about these icons. He wanted something that could be understood by anyone, regardless of language. While he didn't use the Mars and Venus symbols directly, his work was built on the same foundation: the need for a visual shorthand for sex.
There is a lot of pushback now, though. Critics argue that using a spear and a mirror is outdated. It’s a bit weird that we still use a war god and a goddess of beauty to define half the population. In many inclusive spaces, you’ll see the symbols merged, or entirely new icons that focus on the "all-gender" aspect.
What Most People Get Wrong
People often think these symbols are "natural" or "biological." They aren't. They are cultural artifacts.
If you look at the history of biology, there were times when scientists used a totally different set of icons. Some early geneticists used squares for males and circles for females in pedigrees (a system still used in medical genetics today). Why? Because it was easier to draw a square with a ruler than a circle with an arrow.
The choice of $\text{\mars}$ and $\text{\venus}$ was an aesthetic choice made by a Swedish guy who liked old books. If Linnaeus had been into different mythology, we might be using the symbols for Jupiter and Juno, or maybe just "A" and "B."
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Actionable Insights for Using the Symbols
If you are a designer, a writer, or just someone trying to navigate the modern world, here is how to handle these symbols without looking like you’re stuck in 1950.
Check the Context First
In a medical or strictly biological context, the traditional symbols are still the standard. They are efficient. If you are making a pedigree chart for a biology class, use the circle and the arrow. Everyone knows what they mean, and they prevent confusion.
Consider the Pictogram Alternative
In public signage, symbols that look like people are generally more "glanceable" than the abstract Mars/Venus icons. However, be aware of the "skirt" trope. Many modern designers are moving toward icons that show a toilet or a sink rather than a person, focusing on the function of the room rather than the identity of the person using it.
Respect the Variations
The LGBTQ+ community has expanded these symbols significantly. You’ll see the "Transgender Symbol," which combines the Mars arrow, the Venus cross, and a third "striking" arrow. If you are working on a project involving identity, don't just default to the binary. Acknowledge that the visual language has grown.
Keep it Clean
When using these in digital design, ensure the "arrow" on the male symbol is at a 45-degree angle. If it's too vertical or horizontal, it can look like an "up" arrow or a different mathematical glyph. For the female symbol, the cross should be centered. Visual balance matters for legibility at small sizes.
The history of the male and female symbols is a mess of astrology, shorthand, and accidental evolution. They are a tool, a piece of ancient tech that still works surprisingly well in a world that looks nothing like the one Carl Linnaeus lived in. Using them correctly means understanding that they are symbols of our history, not just labels for our bodies.