“Imagine meeting someone and they say this is their side hobby,” the Instagram bio of @bathroomsinphilly reads. The name truly sums it all up. Since the summer of 2023, it’s been serving chaos, critique, and humor from behind the stall door of some of the most known restaurants and bars in Philly.
Like all great origin stories, this one begins with a bang—accompanying a close friend to get an IUD at the gynecologist’s office. The idea for the account sprouts in the sterile bathroom of the doctor’s office. “It’d be so funny to just take a picture of a bathroom and be like, ‘This is the story why I’m here,’” the account owner, who’s chosen to keep her identity anonymous, says. Later that year, she crafts her pilot post: a review of Old City restaurant Fork’s bathroom. The formula is simple: a single photo, an address, and a rating out of ten.
Over two and a half years, the account evolves into frontline bathroom journalism for an audience of over 3,400 people. With every post, followers are taken through the account owner’s eclectic experience in each bathroom. Descriptions include an in–depth dissection of every aspect of the lavatory, not limited to the ambiance, the decorations, the cleanliness, and even her fellow patrons.
Over the years, her criteria for what makes a good bathroom have remained consistent. Her favorite bathrooms don’t have to be clean—they just have to have character and a good story. Take McGlinchey’s Bar, one of her personal favorites despite only scoring a 3/10. Her review is like a drunken dream written on a bar napkin of a well–lived night.
“Yeah yeah yeahhhhhh this place is fucking gross I get it. My hair smells like cigs and im in my blanket burrito, let’s get into it. I hate even admitting I used this filthy lil bowl. I did hover but I probably should still go to the gyno,” she writes in the caption. “This bathroom lowkey kind of cool tho but also horrifying and fever dream fuel. I def wouldn’t recover mentally if I had the spins here. Like i need to call my fuckin therapist. This also looks like somewhere Frank Gallagher would take a nap.”
Similar chaos for Tattooed Mom, another one of her favorites. “My inner grunge emo side feels at #home. Just peeing here made me 7.5x cooler than i already am,” she writes, accompanied by a photo of dripping graffiti tags and punk–rock stickers layered on every available wall surface of the bathroom.
On the other side of the spectrum are the high–glam toilet classics of Philly, such as LMNO’s infamous red–tiled, red–lit, red–toileted bathroom. “The red bathroom, gave the sexiest vibes I’ve ever felt in a fecal room. In a room used as a last resort, it’s my top priority.”
Similar to a food critic, a bathroom critic must also have their non–negotiables: Dial soap and bathrooms without full–length mirrors. “It’s just so tasteless,” she passionately says. “Especially when it’s a nicer bathroom, like a Starr restaurant. … Like, a fucking Stephen Starr has this nasty ass Dial soap in the corner. I was like, ‘What the fuck is this?’ This is supposed to be one of the nicest speakeasies in the city, and it has fucking Dial soap—and in the container.”
She doubles down: “You guys couldn’t afford a fucking Target soap dispenser to empty this in?”
With years of bathroom critiquing under her belt, she has a clear picture of her dream bathroom. “It would be like … my salon. Just like this girly, girly pink bathroom. But I’d also have a couch there. I want a freaking couch,” she says, referencing the Sassafras Bar bathroom. “I’ve never been to it, but many, many, many people have shown me pictures of it, and there’s a huge–ass fucking couch in there, which is kind of foul.”
She insists on a girls–only restroom—“absolutely no men are allowed in there. ”She further believes that a working lock is a necessity, particularly after accidentally walking in on three separate men in the span of one night. “Every time I tried to go in the bathroom, I saw a fucking penis and two of them were like old men.”
Here is one of the main appeals of the bathroom for this owner: the friendship that forms with fellow random women in the bathroom. “I can’t believe men don’t pee together. They really are missing out on a deep level of friendship right there.” For her, the bathroom serves as a utopia for women away from bad dates, shitty food, and boring conversation—a safe haven.
