My Daughters Were Not "Born to Shop".

I am a woman, a sister and a mother. I come from a family of all daughters - a tribe of fearless females. I also have 3 daughters of my own. 3 daughters! Boom. Pow! CRASH! Those are the sounds of responsibility hitting me square in the face. It is 2012, but, if you take a look around, the stereotypes and gender role messages from the past are as clear and loud as ever. They are not even lurking. They are slapping you right in the face. They press the boundaries of our collected comfort and continue to exploit the roles and "duties" society still obliges our young generation of women to fulfill. And, what role do we play in the passive assignment of who our girls "should" be? Are we taking a stand? Are we aware, enough, of what everything around them is telling them? And, what exactly are "they" saying? This parenting thing is tough. My brain hurts. I need a drink.

I live in the world of the Disney Princess. My little women watch with delight, mimic with gusto and dream of their Happily Ever After. They role play in scarves, ruffles and glitter. They sing the songs, they know the words. Oddly enough, I am ok with this. These are fairy tales. These are bedtime stories of fancy. And, in their own right, many of these heroines have just enough kick-ass to make them a household fixture that I can enjoy through my daughters' eyes. And, as time marches on, the princesses are changing. They are moving into an awareness of their special talents/gifts. What am I saying? I have no idea. I THINK I'm saying that my love/hate for the Disney Princesses is complex. It is effing deep and difficult to navigate. I have feelings. Feelings that overlap. Feelings of confusion, but, mostly, I just want to sing along. Sue me.


This is not a princess hating post. This is a post about my feelings about other gender stereotypes that are not complex. This is a post about my downright hatred of certain clothing phrases. You know, the statements we plaster across our babies and young girls' chests. Messages as clear and revolting as Grandma's 50s-era Spam dinner. We knowingly and often suit our girls up in ruffled phrases that mock the progress women who came before us have made. It is crazy. It is offensive. It has to stop. Please, make it stop! So, for your viewing displeasure, here are three of my most hated onesie/clothing statements:

"Born to Shop" - Dearest girl child, your life is full of potential. You are a bright star. You have every opportunity. Opportunities that women in other countries can only dream of. Here, wear this onesie that lets everyone know that you are a female and females just LOVE to shop. In fact, you were BORN to do it. You were not born to explore space or become President of the United States. You, my dear, were born to shop. Grab your plastic, Miss Fantastic and let's head to the mall.

"Daddy/Mommy/Grandma/Grandpa Thinks I'm Pretty" - You are a girl. That means it is your JOB to be pretty. Everything else is secondary. All the people closest to you think so and that is why we are letting the whole world know that this is your great gift/talent as a female. To reiterate, it's not being kind, smart, witty or talented that makes us proud to be your closest relatives. It's how cute you look in dresses. How pretty your tiny face is. Above all else, You. Must. Be. Pretty. Pretty girls rule the world. Don't ever forget that, Dimples.

"DIVA" gear - Are you strong willed? Do you ask for what you want? Are you opinionated? Are you full of personality? Well, then you must be a DIVA. That's right, girl. You aren't anything more than an attention seeking fameaholic. You couldn't possibly just be strong, opinionated, dynamic or the thousands of other words that apply. No, you are a DIVA. Add some glitter and a crown to that one word and walk around with it plastered to your chest. Let the world know that you are "hard to handle" and have "unrealistic expectations". It's time to start selling yourself short.

And, really, that's my big, core issue. We are telling our girls, in print, that we have the very basest of expectations for them. We anticipate that they will love the mall, be a beauty and that they just wont take no for an answer when it comes to sweet talking that extra $20 from Daddykins. Our pretty little diva shopaholics, the new generation of independent women. The tomorrow we've all been dreaming of. No? Not your dream? It's not mine either.

So, I'm campaigning for these new onesie/t-shirt phrases:

Daddy Thinks I Kick Ass!
Mommy's Mensa Candidate!
Future CEO!
Born To Be the Best Me I Can Be!
Tough As Nails & Smart As A Whip!

Let's have a good old fashioned bonfire for the others. However, I won't be burning my bra. I need it to nurse my youngest, bright star who was born to do great, unknown things that are too varied and wonderful to be splayed across her chest.


*Have your own hated onesie/clothing phrases? Please comment and share. Sharing is caring.*

Dearest Barbie, This Is Your Intervention.

Barbie, since your launch in 1959, you have been some of the following amazing careers:

Dentist
Doctor
Nurse
Veterinarian
Paratrooper
United States Army officer
Jet Pilot
United States Air Force Thunderbirds
United States Marine Corps Officer
United States Navy Petty Officer
Ambassador for world peace
Presidential candidate
UNICEF Summit diplomat
Firefighter
Police officer
Architect
Astronaut
Computer Engineer
Paleontologist
Flight Attendant
Pilot
Artist
Athlete
News anchor
Photographer

You know what else you've been since 1959? A straight up, hot mess, tore up from the floor up drunk. Bitch, this is your intervention.

Sure, you show up at my house in your nice, clean suit, your hair perfectly quaffed and ready to teach my girls that they can be whoever and whatever they want to be. Then, we pull you out of that box and you become a love sick, drinking booze at 10:30 a.m., drunk dialing Ken, stripper shoe wearing freak.What the HELL, Barbie? No wonder your strapped in a box like Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs. Mattel is your captor. You just want to let your freak flag fly, but, oh no, they are going to make you a woman of substance no matter what. And, as long as you're trapped in your little, plastic box everything is a-ok.  You get out of that box and shit gets real. Way real.  Jersey Shore real.

In every house I have EVER been in, you are in the same scenario. Naked (generally, ass up), Your hair? Totally disheveled and multiple lengths. Your shoes? Platform ass kicking boots or 7 inch heels. You are generally in a compromising situation with at least 3 to 10 other naked Barbies.  Your face? Covered in marker, lipstick or glitter glue. You like to party. Hard.

Your next gig? I'm voting for a long stay at the Betty Ford Clinic where you do some big ol' soul searching with your Double Delights. Are you sad because you lack a real vagina? For all your charm, good looks and career stardom, is it the dark depression of knowing Ken will NEVER really love you? Ken digs Men, mmm-k, girl?

During your Betty Ford stay, you just might find your true calling as an Addiction Treatment Specialist. The writing is on the wall, or, it's on your face...with permanent marker.

I love you. We ALL love you. Get help.

Hit and Run Barbie?

She drank so much her arm fell off.

Eyes Wide Shut