As a child, long before I ever questioned sexuality in a meaningful way, there were two media icons that make me realize that I saw the world differently. Everyone has a noteworthy figure who gives off some read of queerness, that guides them down a path of curiosity, and often that’s more in the shadows of things. Given that I was a child of the 90s, chances of seeing characters embraced for being gay were limited to Will & Grace or Ellen Degeneres. Even then, those weren’t things I cared about. I was a kid who watched cartoons and enjoyed that fantasy. The closest that I honestly came to a live-action queer read is Tom Hanks in Big (1988) if just because of that stereotypical feeling of being born in the wrong body. Even then, that’s a bigger stretch than reading coded feelings into animated figures.
Next to Disney’s Mulan (1998), there was a figure who seemed much more innocent in my journey. Whereas one can argue that Mulan encouraged the defiance of gender stereotypes, it was something much more deliberate than what I read into a character rooted in contemporary Americana. To be completely honest, it’s not even from a franchise that appeals that much to my generation. If anything, I’d argue that it belongs more to my parents’ generation.
Growing up, my father had a love of Peanuts. Nowadays I think there is something in it that comforts him, reminding him of more innocent times. Charles Schulz’s comics broke down complicated issues into language that appealed to kids. The protagonist, Charlie Brown, had this relatability with how he dealt with those conflicts. Even the few holiday specials that remain my closest connection to the franchise find him dealing with emotions that are oddly prescient as one ages. Brown learns to accept the simple things of life through Halloween and Christmas specials. Sure, the animation is dated and questions of whether the jokes were ever funny are valid, but it’s so rudimentary that you can’t help but admire the warmth it gives. Even lovable trickster Snoopy is an antagonist whose antics are harmless in the grand scheme of things.
These are figures that I have seen in many forms throughout the decades. Back when I received The Los Angeles Times in a rotating cycle of weekly and daily, there were reprints of various strips. The Sundays were always the best because they were in color and got to tell something greater than the three panel arcs. My father also owns several old compilations that I used to read, noticing Charlie Brown in bed contemplating the events of his day. My father owned plushies of Snoopy. He loves the song “Linus & Lucy.” There was a TV series that began with Snoopy handing characters balloons as he filled them with helium, watching them float away. As a Southern California resident, I have spent a few days in or around Knott’s Berry Farm which is and isn’t essentially an extension of the Peanuts brand.
This isn’t to say that I read Charlie Brown or Snoopy as queer. It’s merely context for how well-versed I was in the franchise as a child. Even if I wasn’t obsessively studying it, there was a presence there that I think my father still wishes there was. He loves the simple animation, the stories that are rooted in childlike innocence, and adults who sounded like jazz instruments. And yet, somewhere in the mix was one character. They sat in the classroom and took up a fair amount of prominence in the series. There’s more than enough panels of them asking a question to the teacher that suggested they were having trouble understanding the material only to end up being punished. It wasn’t rebellious but more a sign of something akin to the ADHD/Autistic student who needed that little bit more to keep up with their peers.
I’m talking about Patricia Reichardt, more commonly known as Peppermint Patty. As a child, there was something appealing about them that kept drawing me in. There was this infatuation that Patty had with Charlie Brown, the effort to be seen and respected. They hung around with the boys playing baseball, not afraid to get into a little roughhousing and be what is commonly referred to as a tomboy. Of course, because Schulz’s animation was intentionally juvenile, the curvature of Patty’s face made her look boyish. The striped-green shirt that usually accompanied her profile lacked any sense of gender-specific wardrobe. I think the thing that confused me most of all was that she hung around with Marcie who took to calling Patty “sir.” Even with the familiar retort of “Stop calling me sir!” I assumed it was more an insult akin to how my father hated being called sir because it suggested he was entering the AARP twilight years.
But there was something in that that confused me. Whereas most other characters felt distinctively male or female, Patty was something else. You could tell Sally and Lucy were girls, that Linus and Schroeder were boys. It’s there even in their names that felt gender specific. One could argue that Patty is a fairly feminine name, but to break down etymology is to suggest that I saw the -ty as an endearing nickname for Pat, i.e. Patrick. As someone who occasionally went by Tommy, I was aware of that casual extension. Also given the commonly masculine name Paddy, the similar sounding Patty quickly became something androgynous. By the time you account for being one of the few girls who wore shorts, it was up to me to admit one strange truth.
As I’ve gotten older, the recognition that Peppermint Patty wasn’t a boy definitely surprised me. I’m sure for more observant eyes there were clues that made this read ridiculous. There are moments where she’s wearing dresses and acting more conventionally feminine. There’s a lot that ties them to the tomboy ethos. From a more educated mindset, I can see the signs now but, deep down, I still see Peppermint Patty as one of my first queer icons.
For me, it just makes more sense to think of Patty as a boy. I’ve spent so many years assuming this and it’s honestly difficult to think the other way. While I recognize in any other circumstance this qualifies as misgendering (which you shouldn’t do), there is something about Patty that feels malleable. There’s very little that feels inherently feminine. Patty was always out there fighting alongside the boys, pushing to be respected in every field. There wasn’t a preciousness like Lucy. Odds are that Patty could handle being around Pigpen and getting dirty. Sure, this is the quality of a tomboy which isn’t necessarily queer, but reading them as such does make for a much more interesting read on how I saw the entire strip.
For starters, I think the gender confusion opens up the potential for identity that isn’t present elsewhere. The common opinion is that transgender individuals have some signs of their identity in youth, and there’s plenty to be found in simple things like playing baseball and being friendly enough with Charlie Brown to call him “Chuck, old boy!” To me, these were hallmarks in other media of two boys being friends, who felt so comfortable with each other that they could have nicknames and plan wild antics. There was this desire to hang out and be friends. At the time, I saw Charlie Brown and Peppermint Patty as something platonic, of two people with shared interests who wanted to do nothing but indulge.
I admire Patty’s confidence, the willingness to not be a feminine stereotype or have that be a big deal. Given that I’ve known plenty of men with long hair, even the long curves of brown didn’t tip me off. It just felt like another small way that they stood out. As a child, there’s not a lot else to go off of in regards to identity, but the way Patty navigated the strip felt distinctly masculine, or at least at odds with every other character. They struggled to fit in and mostly existed in the background. The closest that they got to a normal friendship was Marcie, who again struck me as just another person that existed in the circles. Marcie was there for advice. If I did indeed believe that Patty had any sexuality, it was again with Charlie Brown. Thus, by some strange alchemy, I’d argue that this was also the first example unintentionally of a gay relationship for me.
There is a decent subset of people who believe that Patty and Marcie were lesbians (or even bisexual). I haven’t read the strip in a long enough time to confirm if this makes sense, but I wouldn’t doubt it. I don’t believe that Schulz wrote a single intentionally queer character, but it’s difficult to not read some of that into characters. After all, they were all young and confused in different ways. Everyone in Peanuts was looking for stability and acceptance. They wanted to escape the “horrors” of childhood and become functioning adults. In my personal belief, Patty was always searching for an identity that was something fluid, more uncertain than their peers. The fact that they were accepted at all is aspirational.
In a time where many are inaccurately suggesting that queer characters in media are nothing but sexual deviants who corrupt children, I think of Peppermint Patty and my own naïve brain. There is nothing deviant about Peanuts. It’s one of the most inoffensive, milquetoast franchises imaginable. They are simple stories of trying to navigate the world while being awkward. I imagine being a child and seeing Patty on the phone with Charlie Brown and realizing how the most affectionate moments read as queer love, if unintentionally, to me. All that I find there is a character who is allowed to be themselves without judgment, who exists outside of conventions and gets mad at being called sir.
Maybe this reads as blasphemous to some. The idea of reading this much into Peanuts could be seen as ridiculous simply because Schulz never intended to write anything radical. He was mostly dealing with everyday life in accessible ways, where life could become a grand drama while standing atop a baseball mound. With that said, my own misreading means that I saw the whole franchise a little differently… and I still do. Peppermint Patty is someone who can generously be called coded in my mind, who has this other life where they transition into their authentic self in adulthood and experience joy. For now, they are young and naïve. It’s not unlike Elliot Page talking about their childhood and enjoying life before their body changed, when there was something boyish. Who knows if Peppermint Patty would experience dysphoria, if this is worth even exploring? Again, part of the appeal of Peanuts was always that they were forever young, stuck in a world of philosophical thought.
As I’ve grown older, I notice that less and less people are that interested in Peanuts. My generation has its own hallmarks and it’s for the best. I’m sure someone out there will consider this piece offensive for even suggesting this read, but media has the power to be interpreted in different ways. It doesn’t make me love or hate the strip. All it does is make me realize the complexity with which my childhood brain was working. Simple errors meant that I read a platonic romance as something much deeper. Given that my father has his own biases, it’s unlikely that many of his generation even think of Peanuts as queer and hate that I’ve introduced this idea. However, what I’d ask is why this is a bad thing. Why can’t art work in many ways, forming lives in their own personal directions?
I don’t know that I read a lot of Peanuts anymore, but I do admire Peppermint Patty in a lot of ways for what she symbolizes. When The Peanuts Movie (2015) came out, I told my sister about this misread, and she laughed. When McDonald’s came out with a line of toys from the film, one of them featured them on a sled, a simple push and release motorized contraption. The gift was a joke, but right now it sits on my shelf, serving as this quiet reminder of youth, of a time before I understood myself on a much more complicated level. It’s a comforting reminder of how different each of our journeys is. I’m sure many were able to distinguish who Patty was more quickly, but I don’t think my life would’ve been any more interesting if I followed suit.
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