Breeding and Writing: Big-bottomed girls and other playthings

 

–by Tracy Lucas

 

When I was a kid, I was weird and lonely. My friends were my pets and my toys, in that order. Looking at my kids’ toys now, though, I think something big has changed.

Girls’ toys, in general, are role-playing items. They’re all related to honing future goals and practicing for adulthood. As female kids, we get dolls to raise, Barbie dolls to aspire to be, cooking centers to pretend we’re parents, dress-up clothes to imitate how we want to look or whom we want to emulate, and makeup to fine tune our obviously-lacking faces.

Boys, on the other hand, I mean, yeah they’ve got their Spider-man outfits and a few action figures, but other than that?  Come on. They get trucks, building blocks, comics, puzzles, chasing games, physical stuff, and sporting goods.

They get toys for them to use as children.
We get toys to know how to become adults.

I’m not saying that these are strict lines; of course, they’re not. Personally, I was a tomboy mix and had Legos, Construx (loved me some Construx!), Hot Wheels, and robots to build. Then again, my parents were cool like that, and again, I was a geek. I don’t know how everyone else’s childhoods went. Wasn’t there for those. (Tell me about them! I do want to know.)

But when I shop for my kids, things are very different. Between Bratz dolls (exhibit one, exhibit two), kid lingerie (no, seriously!), and Disney vanity (seen Miley from the still-running Hannah Montana show lately?), there are more weird adult themes automatically built into toys than I ever remember seeing before. Even the kid shows on TV are little much. Watch one. See how many outright references to sex there are in the average Nickelodeon or Disney show. You’d be surprised.

The corporate bigwigs are sexing everything up.  Even Strawberry Shortcake has gotten in on the act. This site (though it’s a little outdated) says that the Care Bears, the Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles, and the Warner Brothers characters were slated for changes, too.

Every generation thinks the one after it is doomed. I get that. I’m old, and this makes it true. The scandal in my grandmother’s day was that kids were reading stupid dime novels instead of playing outside. Her kids wanted their kids (us) to read books instead of watching TV. Those kids (us again) want our kids to come watch TV with the family and put the stupid video games down.

I know it’s all part of a dumb, normal cycle.

But just to humor me, entertain my premise and check these out. This is one of my daughter’s My Little Pony dolls:

And below is one of mine, same brand, from the ’80s:

See the difference?

Which one of those is kinder? Which one do you figure would sell you out and throw you under the bus for stealing her boyfriend?

When I played with dolls and all the accoutrements,  I was one of them. They were my friends or my family or my students or my neighbors, depending on the game, and they were a faithful legion. The pony pictured above, in particular, was a favorite (thus, the reason I still have it on my desk), and wasn’t stick-thin or super made-up with mascara and funky highlights. I always attributed her personality as being shy, introspective, insecure, understanding. She was kind and comfortable. She was warm. She knew how to sit back and take it in. She was on my side.

She was on my side.

The newer dolls, ponies, pets, etc., all seem to be the cool kids. They’re all either emo or slutty.

I’m far from being a prude. I want my kids to have a healthy sexuality, and I don’t expect them never to grow up. That’s not the point. It’s just sad to me–and pretty damn clear–that our toys, growing up, made us feel included, and the ones I’m seeing on the Wal-Mart shelves seem intentionally designed to exclude.

They’re the crowd you can’t sit with at lunch. They’re not approachable; they’re sophisticated, and you can either change to match or get over yourself, because they’re not waiting around for you to figure it out. They have dates, and clubs to be at in half an hour.

When I played dolls, I kept a single “mean one”. We all taught her better, using Full-House end-of-episode conversations of niceness or Lego prisons or random violence and banishment to the yard.

I remember a couple of years ago having to break it to my then seven- or eight-year-old younger daughter that no, she didn’t need the new doll with the belly chain and sequined halter top. No, I didn’t care that she was pretty. Wasn’t happening. Not from me, anyway.

And all this sounds judgmental, and I hate that. Having a closed mind is the last thing I want to include in my parenting style. Toys are just toys. We’re not talking about buying my teenager a stripper pole, for crying out loud. Let’s be real.

Still, this bothers me.

I don’t know which flavor is better or worse. Just because my toys are older doesn’t mean they’re somehow more emotionally responsible, and I’m not saying they are.

But compare what you see.

One is Paris Hilton, and the other is Jennifer Aniston.

Which is your kid planning to be?

My son?  He’s only two. If his possessions are any indication, he’s planning to be a badass.

But that’s a whole ‘nother blog post.