The many histories of flagging

A handkerchief half-tucked into a back pocket. A carabiner clipped to a belt loop. Two short nails in an otherwise perfect manicure. If you do not know what you are looking for, then flagging signals can be easy to miss.

Put simply, flagging is a way of communicating identities, desires, or sexual preferences through visual cues, coded language, and shared symbols. Long before inclusive dating apps or nightlife as we know it, queer communities were finding ways to communicate discreetly at a time when saying things publicly and plainly was not always safe, possible, or welcome.

While many people still primarily associate flagging with the hanky code that emerged in gay leather culture during the 1970s, its history stretches back much further. It unfolded across cities, generations, and subcultures, changing shape depending on what people needed from it.

What began as a way to communicate safely, privately, and in solidarity gradually became something less rooted in secrecy and more in play: a knowing nod to others who might be into the same things, a form of flirtation, or simply the thrill of being understood.

It’s worth saying, too, that while flagging is common across LGBTQ+ communities, not everyone who flags is queer, and not every queer person flags. Some signals point to identity, others to preference, and often they do both at once—whether that means showing you’re a top, a bottom, poly, or that you’re into something specific.

Of course, no signal replaces verbal communication. Flagging can open a conversation, but it does not finish one. But if you’re curious about how those signals show up now, our guide to flagging explores some of the most familiar examples and what they mean. So, where did those codes come from in the first place? Let's get into it.

Early queer signaling before the hanky code

Long before colored bandanas became shorthand for kink, queer people were using other ways to signal to one another, on the down-low.

That was in part because, for much of modern history, openly expressing queer desire came with risk. Depending on where you were, being too obvious could mean social exclusion, arrest, violence, or simply the wrong kind of attention. 

Small, discreet signals offered a way to test whether someone might understand you before saying anything direct, and in plain sight without attracting the attention of others.

Secret languages and queer codes

One of the best-known examples is Polari, a coded slang used across parts of the UK by gay men, drag performers, theater workers, and others living on the margins of early- and mid-20th century society.

A mix of English, Italian, Romani, backslang, and theatrical slang, Polari was never a fixed vocabulary and often shifted depending on region, with some phrases becoming especially common in parts of East and North London, Estuary English, and other local dialects.

If you heard someone say bona or vada, it might have sounded playful or theatrical, but to those who knew it, the meaning was clear. "Bona" meant good. "Vada" meant look. "Omi" meant man. Other common words included "khazi" (toilet), "butch" (masculine), "camp" (exaggerated or theatrical), "naff" (tasteless or unfashionable), "zhuzh" (to smarten up or style), and "cottaging" (cruising for sex in public toilets), many of which later entered more mainstream usage.

Entire conversations could happen in public without being legible to outsiders. Another common feature was the use of "she-ing," referring playfully to people, places, or objects as "she." That was part of what made Polari useful, but it was never only practical. It also carried humor, exaggeration, campness, and a sense of belonging that was just as important as privacy.

Paul Baker, a professor at Lancaster University and author of Fantabulosa: A Dictionary of Polari and Gay Slang and Polari: The Lost Language of Gay Men, describes the slang as a way for queer people to recognize one another while building a culture of their own. In other words, it did more than simply protect people. It offered shared language and belonging in a world where this was often denied.

And it was far from unique to the UK. In many places, queer communities developed their own slang and coded ways of speaking, shaped by local language, humor, and references specific to that culture.

In the Philippines, Swardspeak (often called "gay lingo") blends English, Tagalog, and pop culture into a form of speech that is playful, layered, and instantly recognizable if you know what to listen for. Other queer vocabularies developed elsewhere too, from Gayle and IsiNgqumo in southern Africa to Bahasa Binan in Indonesia.

While coded language may not be necessary in the same ways now, queer slang continues to arise and shift with culture, carrying old references forward while making room for new ones, reminding us that identities are always and forever evolving.

The Oscar Wilde green carnation

From language to literature, queer signaling found new forms over time and across cultures. One of the most recognizable signals arrived in the form of a flower.

In late Victorian Britain, a green carnation worn in a jacket lapel became closely associated with Oscar Wilde, who reportedly encouraged friends attending the opening night of Lady Windermere's Fan in 1892 to also wear the flower pinned to their coats. On the surface, it looked like exactly the kind of theatrical flourish Wilde was known for: elegant, slightly eccentric, and carefully styled. But the green carnation quickly gathered meaning beyond decoration.

Wearing the flower did not explicitly announce anything, but for those familiar with Wilde's reputation and social circle, it suggested a certain coded knowingness. Subtle enough to pass unnoticed by most people, but meaningful to those who were paying attention.

Color carried meaning elsewhere, too. Sappho, an ancient Greek poet, wrote of girls adorned with flowers, violets woven into crowns and around slender necks, helping establish purple blooms as symbols of intimacy between women long before modern queer language existed. And by 1970, lavender had already been “cemented as a shorthand for gay, queer, or different.” That association kept resurfacing in literature and culture: from Tennessee Williams's Violet Venable in Suddenly, Last Summer, to the symbolic landscapes of Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, and even the character Violet in the lesbian cult classic film Bound. Lavender played a role in activism, too, with "Lesbian Avengers" handing out lavender balloons during protests throughout the ’90s, giving an already familiar queer symbol new visibility.

The hanky code in practice: evolution and community adaptation

The hanky code, perhaps the most well-known example of flagging, can be traced back to The Leatherman's Handbook by Larry Townsend. This 1972 guide to gay leather culture and BDSM helped circulate the shared language developing around handkerchief signalling.

Colors carried meaning. Black signalled S&M, red meant fisting, light blue suggested oral sex, while dark blue referred to anal sex. But just as important as color was placement: left usually meant topping or giving, right meant bottoming or receiving.In bars, clubs, and cruising spaces, a handkerchief could start a conversation. In dimly lit places where people often arrived hoping for recognition, that kind of shorthand was indispensable.

Different cities developed slight variations in meaning, and printed guides soon started appearing in bars, bookstores, and sex shops, trying to keep up. One venue's color chart did not always match another's, and over time, some colors became less like strict definitions and more like conversation starters.

By the late 1970s, lesbian communities were adapting the code, too. In San Francisco, Samois (a lesbian feminist S/M collective) published What Color Is Your Handkerchief?, a guide designed to build community and communicate sexual preferences within lesbian leather culture. In 1984, legendary lesbian magazine On Our Backs included an adapted hanky code for women written by Pat Califia and Gayle Rubin, with colors indicating "is menstruating" or "breast fondler." The magazine also sold silk hankies by mail order in 18 colors.

Modern queer signaling on apps and social media

For many LGBTQ+ people today, it is safer and somewhat easier to be publicly out now than it was when the hanky code first took shape. Dating apps, social media, and online communities have created new ways to openly communicate identity, desire, and curiosity. These spaces allow people to find others who recognize the same cues, and to see themselves reflected in conversations happening far beyond their own city or social circle.

That changes something important: queer flagging is no longer limited to who happens to be in the same room. A phrase, image, or hashtag can now travel far beyond a single bar, city, or social circle, with the internet as perhaps the most important space of circulation today.

Across platforms like Instagram and TikTok, hashtags often do some of that work. Terms like "wlw," "mlm," "femme4femme," "brat," "dom," "soft masc," "switch," or "top" can suggest identity, attraction, or the kind of dynamic someone is interested in before anything more direct is said.

Some people lean on emojis instead. A rainbow still tends to be the clearest shorthand for queerness or allyship, while colored hearts can quietly echo specific pride flags—blue, purple, and pink for bisexuality, for example. Same-sex couple emojis, pride flags, or even a purple devil can hint at sexuality, kink, or shared references without needing to be explicit.

On Feeld, that language often becomes more direct. Desire tags let people put kinks, relationship dynamics, and curiosities front and center, whether that means signalling an interest in dominance, submission, non-monogamy, brat play, or something else entirely. Some might add clues in their bio, while others may wait until they're chatting to someone to divulge what they like or what they don't. 

Why flagging still matters

Unfortunately, conversations about identity, desire, or sexual preference aren’t easy for everyone. In some cultures, families, or social circles, it can be difficult to determine or express authentic identity or desire.

A signal can help people who want to try communicating something implicitly, or are looking to play with possibility.

Signals can also be useful for femme lesbians and bisexual women whose queerness is often read incorrectly or missed altogether. Small forms of femme-flagging through nails, accessories, or style can become a way of being seen by the people you want to be seen by.

The same is true in asexual and aromantic communities. A black ring worn on the middle finger of the right hand is widely recognized as an ace ring: a discreet way of connecting with others who share similar experiences. First discussed on Asexual Visibility and Education Network message boards in 2005, it has since become a meaningful part of asexual culture. A white ring on the left middle finger often carries a similar meaning in aromantic spaces.

The symbols may change, but the practice remains prevalent: using a visible signal to say something about who you are, or what you want  is still a phenomenon across queer nightlife, fashion, and community spaces.

Like most things in queer culture, flagging is various and fluid. A signal that means one thing in one space may mean something slightly different somewhere else, or nothing at all to someone outside that context. It has always been a flexible, evolving practice, shaped by the people who use it.

Whether someone is flagging to express identity, desire, curiosity, or simply a sense of belonging, it is often a way of opening a door: enough to suggest interest, invite recognition, or start a conversation that can unfold and develop from there.

Curiosity is often where it all begins. And it helps to be somewhere people feel comfortable being honest about what they want, what they’re exploring, and what they would rather leave open-ended for now. On Feeld, those conversations can happen with openness and honesty, whether you’re simply learning about the history of flagging, picking up on familiar signals, or figuring out which ones feel like your own.