It starts as a setup. You’ve likely heard it in a dive bar, seen it on a vintage forum, or scrolled past it on a social media thread dedicated to "dad jokes" with a queer twist. What do you call two lesbians in a closet? The punchline is "Lillian." Or, depending on who you ask and what decade they grew up in, it’s "A walk-in closet."
But jokes aren't just jokes. Not really. Especially not in the LGBTQ+ community, where humor has historically functioned as both a shield and a secret handshake. When we talk about these specific wordplays, we aren't just looking for a cheap laugh. We are looking at a linguistic map of how people survived before they were allowed to be out.
It’s weird. Honestly. The way a simple play on words—taking the name "Lily" and turning it into a descriptor of a physical space—can carry the weight of decades of social hiding.
Why the "Lillian" Joke Hits Differently
If you tell someone today, "What do you call two lesbians in a closet? Lillian," you might get a blank stare. It’s a pun on "Lily-in." It’s old school. It belongs to an era of Butch-Femme bars and pulp novels with suggestive covers.
Humor is a survival mechanism. Dr. Elizabeth Lapovsky Kennedy, a pioneer in LGBTQ+ history and co-author of Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold, documented how oral histories in the pre-Stonewall era often centered on "in-jokes." These jokes weren't meant for a general audience. They were meant to identify "family." If you understood why the joke was funny, you were probably part of the community.
Think about the sheer density of that. You have a marginalized group using language to carve out a safe space within a hostile one.
Modern audiences might find the "closet" imagery dated or even a bit grim. We spend so much time telling people to "come out" that we forget the closet used to be a site of intense, albeit cramped, community. In the mid-20th century, the "closet" wasn't just a metaphor for secrecy; it was often a literal description of the private domestic spaces where queer women had to retreat to be themselves.
The Evolution of the "Walk-In" Punchline
Then there is the other version.
What do you call two lesbians in a closet? A walk-in closet.
This one is more contemporary. It’s cheeky. It plays on the domesticity that has become a hallmark of lesbian stereotypes—the U-Haul, the home renovations, the nesting. It shifts the focus from the secrecy of the "Lillian" joke to a commentary on lifestyle and space.
Language evolves. It has to.
I remember talking to a collector of queer ephemera who noted that as the 1970s lesbian feminist movement took hold, the "dark" humor of the 50s began to shift. It became about empowerment. It became about taking up space. Even if that space was, ironically, a closet.
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But why do we still search for these jokes?
Maybe it’s because we’re looking for a connection to a lineage. There is something profoundly human about wanting to laugh at the things that used to scare us. By turning "the closet"—a place of isolation—into a punchline, the community strips it of its power. It makes the monster under the bed look a bit ridiculous.
The Power of Linguistic Coding
We need to talk about "coding."
For a long time, queer women couldn't just say who they were. They used "Friend of Dorothy" (though that was more common among gay men) or referred to themselves as "sporty" or "independent."
Jokes like "What do you call two lesbians in a closet" are a form of this coding.
- Recognition: "Do you get the joke?"
- Safety: "If you don't get it, I haven't outed myself to a stranger."
- Belonging: "We share a specific, niche vocabulary."
It's basically a vibe check.
In the 1990s, when The Ellen DeGeneres Show and The L Word started moving queer narratives into the mainstream, the need for this deep coding started to evaporate. But the jokes stayed. They became "vintage." They became part of the "Grandma’s stories" of the queer world.
Beyond the Punchline: The Reality of Quiet Spaces
Sometimes, the joke isn't enough.
We have to acknowledge that for many, the "closet" wasn't a joke. It was a prison. According to historical records from the Lesbian Herstory Archives in New York, the letters and diaries from women in the 1940s and 50s are filled with a sense of "double living."
They had their work selves. They had their family selves. And then they had the "closet" selves.
Humor was the only vent in a high-pressure system. If you couldn't change the laws—and back then, you really couldn't—you could at least make fun of the absurdity of your situation. You could laugh at the fact that you and your partner were "Lillian" while the neighbors just thought you were two very committed roommates who shared a love for interior design.
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Subverting the Stereotype
There’s a specific kind of lesbian humor that leans into the "boring" stereotype. You know the ones. The cargo shorts, the Birkenstocks, the sudden urge to buy a Subaru.
The "Walk-in closet" joke fits right into this. It suggests that even when "hidden," the primary goal is organizational efficiency and home improvement. It’s a subversion. It takes a heteronormative fear (the "secret" lesbian) and turns it into something mundane.
"Oh, you're worried about what's happening in the closet? Don't worry, they're just installing shelving units."
It’s brilliant. It’s a way of saying, "We are here, we are queer, and we really need better lighting for our shoe collection."
The Impact of Digital Spaces on Queer Wit
Fast forward to 2026. The way we tell these jokes has changed.
TikTok and X (formerly Twitter) have created a hyper-fast cycle of humor. A joke like "What do you call two lesbians in a closet" might get "memed" into oblivion in forty-eight hours. It gets remixed. It gets layered with ten different levels of irony.
But the core remains.
People are still searching for these phrases because they are looking for a shorthand. They want to see how those who came before them navigated the world. They want to see if the jokes they tell their friends today have roots in the jokes told in 1965.
Usually, they do.
The puns might get worse (or better, depending on your love for wordplay), but the impulse to find levity in the margins of society stays the same.
Practical Insights for the Modern Context
If you’re someone looking to understand this specific niche of humor, or perhaps you're a writer trying to capture an authentic queer voice, here is how you handle the "closet" trope without falling into clichés.
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First, understand the era. A joke about being "in the closet" hits differently if the character is seventy versus if they are seventeen. For a Gen Z character, the closet might be a choice of aesthetic or a temporary annoyance. For a Boomer character, it represents a lifetime of tactical maneuvers.
Second, avoid the "tragic queer" trope. While the history is heavy, the humor is meant to be a relief. Use it as such.
Third, pay attention to the specific puns. "Lillian" is a classic because it’s a name. It’s personal. It’t not just "people in a closet," it’s a specific identity.
Moving Toward a New Vocabulary
We are currently in a moment where the "closet" is being dismantled. More and more people are living out and proud from a young age.
Does that mean the joke dies?
Probably not. It just changes. It becomes a legacy joke. It becomes something we tell to remember that there was a time when we had to be clever just to exist in the same room as someone we loved.
The next time you hear someone ask, "What do you call two lesbians in a closet?" don't just wait for the punchline. Think about the woman in 1952 who said it to her girlfriend in a crowded restaurant, whispering so the waiter wouldn't hear, and how they both shared a secret, silent laugh that felt like a revolution.
Humor is a map. It shows us where we’ve been and how far we’ve traveled. From "Lillian" to "Walk-in closets," we are seeing a community move from a place of hiding to a place of ownership.
That’s a pretty good punchline.
To truly engage with this history, start by exploring the digital archives of the Lesbian Herstory Archives or reading Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers by Lillian Faderman. Understanding the social conditions that birthed these jokes makes the humor resonate on a much deeper level. Look for local LGBTQ+ history projects in your city; often, the best "closet" jokes are hidden in the oral histories of your own community's elders. Support queer creators who are currently redefining what it means to be "out" through stand-up, zines, and digital media, ensuring that the next generation of humor is just as sharp and resilient as the last.