Cinderella Ate My Daughter, Chapter 2

Well, damn.

That’s my response to this chapter.

Just two words.

Who would have thought that so much thought went into the marketing of so-called princesses? The thought that some brands of dolls, like American Girl dolls, which supposedly fight girlie-girl culture, actually perpetuate it, is scary. I admit I wanted an American Girl doll when I was younger. My best friend had one, and it looked exactly like her: medium length, straight, dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes, it even came with the same outfit that she was wearing. Wouldn’t it be so cool to have a mini-me to play with and dress up? I thought so.

The point Orenstein makes about the materialism of American Girl dolls, however, is very valid. As a little girl, I was more fixated on my friend’s doll’s appearance than on the book that came with it. I honestly did not even remember the doll came with a story until Orenstein talked about it. So, whether purposefully or not, American Girl indeed failed at teaching that a girl’s actions are more important than how she looks, or, at least, I didn’t learn that from them.

One part that rubbed me the wrong way was when Orenstein described a conversation she had with some mothers at her daughter’s day care. Mara, one of the mothers, said, speaking about her daughter and son, “A reward for her is ‘You look so pretty, you look so beautiful.’ People tell her that all the time, and we do, too. We tell him, ‘You’re so smart.’” While reading the passage, I did not understand why I got angry, but now, thinking back on it, I think the reason was that Mara was perpetuating the old, segregated characteristics of male and female, assuming that girls needed to be pretty and boys smart. You know, Mara, what if a girl wants to be smart for a change? And boys? Boys can be pretty and handsome too. Social expectations work both ways. While girls can like pink among other colors, boys can like all colors but pink. While girls can wear dresses, skirts, and pants, boys can only wear pants. This reminds me of a best friend in preschool, who was a boy. His favorite color was pink, or so he told me one day. A few days later, when I asked him about it, he had changed his mind and denied that he said anything about liking the color pink. I’m not sure what happened in those few days, but quite possibly, he encountered resistance to his choice. In some ways, social stigmas might be worse for boys than they are for girls…but then again there are many expectations out there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~