I’m not really sure how it happened, but I am raising two
Girly Girls. I’m ill-equipped for this
and have no guidebook or frame of reference for the challenge.
I’m a girl, obviously.
I mean I have the parts and all the official paperwork says F rather
than M. I have conditioned myself to
wear a bit of make up and appropriately feminine clothes when necessary, but
that is about the end of my experience with girlishness.
I was not what you’d call a Tomboy, either, so my discomfort
with all things Girl is not some act of rebellion. I came from a home filled with boys but never
tried to be one of them. I did
everything my brothers did and everything my sisters did, too. We climbed trees and camped and built stuff. We also cooked and did laundry and took care
of one another. Equally. My brothers are very nurturing and my sisters
are very strong. So I guess it never
actually occurred to me that we were supposed to be different.
My mother has always been an independent thinker as was her
mother before her. I am a child of the
70s when women proudly wore pants and Gloria Steinem was always in the
news. I grew up understanding history
and knowing that (to borrow a phrase from Virginia Slims) “We’ve Come A Long
Way, Baby”. I have always just known that I could do
anything or be anything I damn well wanted and don’t think I’ve ever taken that
for granted.
At the same time, I’ve just never felt the need to
Roar. Or to Empower myself, worship my
inner goddess, or whatever it is Oprah has told us we all need to do. Female bonding makes me squirm and
man-bashing makes me mad. Certainly, I
have many wonderful friends. Half of
them have breasts. The other half don’t. I love them equally, fiercely, and
individually because they each bring something to my life.
The truth is, I just don’t think there’s anything special
about being a girl. At all. But there’s also nothing special about being
a boy. We should all be the best human
beings we can be, right? So we are all
special just for being.
Why do we insist on putting girl babies up on
glitter-covered pedestals that remove them from the real world as long as
possible? This is where I struggle daily
as a mother to two little girls and the Quiet Feminist who resides inside me
takes up her sword. Somehow we went from
breaking through glass ceilings to trying to squeeze back into glass slippers.
One only needs to spend two minutes in the baby section of
any department store to see what I mean.
Pink onesies scream “Princess” or “Diva” with attitude and are covered
in ruffles, glitter and sequins. Toddler
shoes have high heels (!!!) and rhinestones. Meanwhile, the boys’ section features
comfortable cotton jersey and practical shoes meant for active little feet.
As their mother, I can control what they own and what they
wear, but only to a point and I can’t really control the steady flow of input
into their minds. Whether I buy them or
not, they will see heavily made up dolls in stripperesque clothing and
princesses waiting for a man to rescue them while fighting one another for his
attention. They will see classmates
wearing those awful shoes. They will
hear pop singers measuring their value on appearance. And I absolutely can NOT control the
glitter. It’s on EVERYTHING! Oh, how I hate the glitter. On pajamas, really?!? A four year old needs to sparkle while she
sleeps!?!?
The shows that target my girls feature female characters who
are just horrible people. Backstabbing,
manipulative, judgmental, nasty, self-centered and mean while their male
counterparts get to be smart, thoughtful, funny and vulnerable. Even the fairies are bitchy! The fairies!
All I can do to counter this is to lead by example and teach
them that it’s okay for them to be entertained by this stuff as long as they understand
that it’s not real. They are expected to
treat everyone the way they hope to be treated and that it’s never okay to be
hurtful. I teach them to mean what they
say and say what they mean and to expect the same of others.* I try to nurture their creativity, their
cleverness and their individuality while telling them that they absolutely can
be or do anything they put the effort into and that there’s nothing
wrong with Pretty, but what matters is what’s behind it. Pretty has
nothing to do with their worth.
I know things weren’t perfect back in “my day”, but I sure
do long for those days when kids were allowed to just be kids and had never
encountered the word “Sexy” or had any concept of salons, manicures and “Girl
Time”. You can get silly and play hard
in a spangled tutu, but there’s nothing comfortable about that.
Now, I know some of this is just my own preferences
talking. I get way more satisfaction from
painting a wall than from painting my nails.
A “spa day” is my worst nightmare.
And I would much rather have people think I’m smart or funny than think
I’m “hot”. Ick. If my girls really do take pleasure in those
things, that’s fine. I will do my best
to make sure they beautify their hearts and souls before they decorate their
bodies. I will never win the battle
against the glitter, but I won’t go down without a fight!
*That’s a whole ‘nuther soapbox about female
insecurity, but women, please, stop analyzing every sentence you hear. “You look nice today” very probably means “I
see you today and you look nice.” And not “You look really bad every other day
so what’s up with this looking nice thing?”
Stop doing that to yourself! Don’t go looking for hidden meaning that more
than likely just isn’t there. It’s
exhausting!
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