Cocteau’s Azur: Exploring Queerness in Menton

At first glance, Menton appears to be a quaint and peaceful town on the French Riviera—a place of leisure, history, and, of course, lemons. But is Menton truly as fruity as it seems? To uncover the realities of queer life in this picturesque coastal town, I conducted a brief survey among fellow Sciences Pistes. Their answers reflected diverse and sometimes conflicting experiences.

My first question centered on safety—something that is a recurring concern in Menton. Anyone who reads the Sciences Po group chat knows that it sometimes turns into a site of distressing stories recounting harassment and scary encounters with strangers. Still, the queer students who responded saw safety through different lenses. One noted, “Yes, it’s pretty quiet,” while another pointed out, “There’s a bunch of rightist guys who tend to be very homophobic. But you see allies hanging out with them, which makes me question people’s moral and ethical integrity.”

This may sound familiar to anyone who has spent time in certain social circles at Sciences Po. While most students are openly supportive of the LGBTQ+ community—or part of it themselves—there are still spaces where discriminatory comments are not called out. And it’s not just about the students. Nearly a third of Menton’s population is over the age of 65, and some of those residents are not fond of Sciences Po students, in general and queer people in particular, causing a sense of alienation for some queer students beyond the campus.

Despite this, most survey respondents agreed that Menton and Sciences Po provide spaces where they feel free to express themselves. Still, Menton offers little in terms of queer visibility or cultural representation. Perhaps the only formal nod to LGBTQ+ identity in the town is the Jean Cocteau Museum. Cocteau—a French poet, filmmaker, and artist—left behind a legacy shaped by Orientalism, surrealism and queerness, evident in his love letters to actor Jean Marais. In a letter from 1939, Cocteau wrote:

“My Jeannot, adore me as I adore you and console me. Press me to your heart. Help me to be a saint, to be worthy of you and of myself. I live only through you.”

But even this representation is complicated. Cocteau’s relationship with Marais, marked by a 24-year age gap, seems disproportionate in terms of power and manipulative, to say the least. Not to mention that the museum does not particularly embrace Cocteau’s sexuality. For example, on the website of the Museum Jean Marais, Cocteau’s lover, is mentioned several times in Cocteau’s biography, but the romantic relationship between the two is essentially omitted. On the contrary, it displays drawings of fetishized females turned into “mythical” creatures, making the entrance fee feel like a contribution to modern orientalism rather than to queer representation.

With enough determination, one might stumble upon two paintings by British artist Francis Bacon in the Gallery of Palais de l’Europe. Like Cocteau, Bacon lived a frivolous and hazardous life, but what they both have in common is their romantic interest in younger men. 

My second survey question focused on dating and relationships. Responses varied: one student mentioned being in a relationship with another Sciences Po student, while another wasn’t seeking a connection. Interestingly, one respondent described the gay community on campus as “mean,” also noting that some students engaged in “outing” others—speaking publicly about someone’s sexuality without their consent.

Conversations about who is or is not queer are not uncommon on campus, even though sexuality is a deeply personal matter. The environment at Sciences Po can foster an unhealthy curiosity, reinforcing a link between gendered stereotypes and sexual identity. It’s one thing to be curious or to hope for connection; it’s another to pressure people to “confess” or treat queerness as a fuel for gossip.

The reality for queer Sciences Pistes becomes even more intricate as some students’ cultural background and family pressure create significant internal conflict. Some come from countries where homosexuality is criminalized or where queer people lack certain rights. Others are dealing with trauma from homophobic upbringings. Even in a relatively open environment like Sciences Po, those emotional scars can prevent students from exploring or embracing their identities.

Queerness in Menton is undeniably present, even if it sometimes feels silent or silenced. While some are desperate to find even the smallest traces of representation in this fruity town, the right approach isn’t to squeeze people’s sexuality out of them. Instead, we should work toward building spaces that feel safe not only for queer individuals, but for all marginalized communities—and remain committed to calling out homophobia when we see it. Real inclusion isn’t just about visibility; it’s about cultivating empathy, respect and genuine solidarity. Ultimately, Menton’s beauty isn’t just in its scenery—it’s in the values we choose to embody and the community we create.

Photo source: Ted Eytan on Flickr