"Oh, say it ain't so, Juliette Gordon Low!"
One has to wonder what the legendary founder of the Girl Scouts of the USA would think about the new strategic partnership her organization has forged with Mattel.
Years (and years) ago, I was a Brownie and then a Junior back in New York City. I loved it. The uniform, the handbook, the field trips.
Being a type-A child with a rather compulsive streak, I particularly enjoyed earning merit badges. It wasn't easy to qualify for some of the more outdoorsy ones (they don't actually allow you to camp overnight in Central Park), but the academic ones, the artsy ones, even the community service ones ... mine, mine, mine. The troop leaders finally issued an edict (in my honor) that we could only earn one badge a week. Nevertheless, my sash was damned impressive.
When my now teen daughter started elementary school, I was tempted to sign her up for the Girl Scouts too. I didn't, partly because of our schedule (my husband and I were both working in Boston at the time, 45-75 minutes away depending on traffic). But, mainly because my would-be Daisy Scout showed no interest. None whatsoever.
Despite giving my offspring a pass, I've always admired the Girl Scouts. The aforementioned founder, Juliette Low, was a remarkable woman and well ahead of her time. Not only did she create an organization that allowed girls the same opportunities for recreation and self-reliance as boys, but she also promoted business skills. Girl Scout cookies were a smart way to raise funds for troop activities. But, more importantly, it helped girls understand how to manufacture and sell something. Low had faced her own economic hardships when her marriage dissolved, and she was determined that girls learn how to earn and manage their own money.
So, what does Barbie bring to the party? Let's see, there's the ideal — if impossible — figure and associated eating disorders. There's the glamour, the wardrobe, the hair and the make-up. Then, there's all those fabulous careers! Or, as Alexandra (nice name!) Petri decried in The Washington Post: "You can be anything (as long as it's pink!)."
Barbie is big business with a capital B; the Barbie brand is worth an estimated $3 billion. But, the Girls Scouts aren't exactly twiddling their thumbs. According to the organization's website, "The $790 million Girl Scout Cookie Program is the largest girl-led business in the country and generates immeasurable benefits for girls, their councils and communities nationwide."
It's all about empowering girls? Yeah, maybe.
Really, it's all about the money.
This is a blatantly commercial partnership, and I assume the powers that be at both organizations see it as a "win-win." Mattel has access to a captive market of girls, tweens and teens — a serious (trust me!) consumer segment. And, obviously, the Girl Scouts get much needed revenue. So, everybody's happy. The only losers may be the girls themselves.
But, maybe the news isn't all bad. Going forward, the Girl Scouts will have a chance to earn a special Mattel-sponsored badge: the "Be Anything, Do Everything!" patch. The color?
Pink.
Of course.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Did you know that the average person spends between $90 and $100 on Valentine's remembrances? Candy, jewelry, cards, flowers, swimsuit issues.
Yes, this is the week that Sports Illustrated's famous (or is that infamous?) swimsuit issue hits the stands.
I've never really understood the whole swimsuit issue thing. Oh yes, the magazine may argue that the girls are athletic. But, all I see is long hair, white teeth, big boobs, skinny thighs and a whole lot of flesh. In many cases, the swimsuit is hardly there. In some, it isn't there at all. A fairly recent titillating trend is to paint the suit onto the model's naked body. Suffice it to say, there's not much left to the imagination.
What's the connection? In theory, I guess, a woman could wear one of the featured suits to swim or surf or play beach volleyball.
In reality, the magazine is catering to its audience. After a 51 week diet of hard-core sports coverage, they deserve a little dessert.
Still, the timing seems off. Not only because it's a holiday that's supposed to be about romance and true love. But really, isn't there something a little more sports-oriented going on this week? Like maybe ... oh, I don't know ... the Winter Olympics. Hello???
So, as usual, when I heard that this year's cover was being unveiled, I rolled my eyes. (My teenage daughter has taught me well.) "Which bodacious blonde will be the cover model?" The anticipation was killing me.
Turns out, the cover nodded to another male fantasy: the threesome. Not one, not two, but a trilogy of girls and their — shall we say — admirable assets on display for all to see. The models look about 19 years old. What else is new?
I was about to get on with my work when a sidebar story caught my eye. 'Turns out there's an alternate cover and an alternate, much older, cover girl.
Barbie.
Wow, why didn't anyone think of this before? It's a match made in heaven.
Barbie is plastic
Barbie is busty
Barbie has an unrealistic (dare I say unnatural) figure
And under all that blonde hair, Barbie's head is empty
Actually, Barbie as swimsuit model is a lot more believable than most of the other careers Mattel has given her over the decades. Maybe I'm guilty of reverse discrimination. Surely it's possible that a woman who looked like Barbie could be a pilot or a veterinarian, a racecar driver or an astronaut. To underscore this point, Mattel asserts that Barbie herself is the victim of a massive smear campaign, focusing on her looks. The theme is "unapologetic," as in "I'm Barbie and I ain't gonna apologize for my 52 inch chest and 14 inch waist anymore, dammit!" Get over yourself, girl.
Oh. Sorry, Barbie.
Don't get me wrong. We had plenty of Barbies in the house when my daughter was little. She called them "Mommies" (and yes, some tiny little part of me was flattered by that, although I did find out later that she needed glasses). The smaller Kelly dolls were the "Sweeties."
Well, as you can imagine, people take their swimsuit issues (and their $3 billion fashion dolls) very seriously.
According to Mattel, the clever cover celebrates "some of the world's most famous swimsuit legends — like Barbie — who have gone on to break boundaries, build empires and shape culture ... Barbie is in great company with the other legends, such as (actress-models) Heidi Klum and Christie Brinkley, to name a few."
As if this explanation weren't enough, Sports Illustrated adds that Barbie fits in with the swimsuit issues' "message of empowerment" for women.
Now I get it. The swimsuit issue is all about empowering women. I thought it was all about arousing men. My bad.
I'm a feminist by anybody's estimation. I could get all hot and bothered about body image and objectification. But, I'm not going to. Barbie and the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue; the combination doesn't bother me. I actually think it's funny.
Or a little bit redundant.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
This past summer, my amazing little niece stayed with us for a few days.
As per usual, we stocked up on Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, planned trips to the beach and the stable, pulled out DVDs and VHS tapes (yes, VHS tapes) that my own now-teenage daughter had adored when she was six. As per usual, I, as one of her two favorite aunties (admittedly, she has only two aunties, favorites or not), got a full-body, wrap-around hug when she arrived.
And, as per usual, my niece disengaged in a flash and bolted up to the third floor of our house. There, under the eaves, is a once magic place, neglected now except for these biannual visits. This is where my daughter played when she was my niece's age.
This is where the American Girl Dolls live.
Let me back up. For the five years between our wedding and the birth of our first and only child, my husband and I lived in a small Colonial cottage. It was built in 1790 and, even so, wasn't one of the older homes in the neighborhood. It
was small, but impeccably outfitted, with a trim garden in front and a brick patio in back. We loved it. And, it was plenty big for the two of us, then for the two of us and the miniature dachshund, then for the two of us and the miniature dachshund and the newborn. Until, said newborn started growing and accumulating stuff. It was time to look at real estate.
Predisposed to finding another antique in our town's historic district, we went through the available inventory quickly. We were okay with the crooked floors, but not the lack of closets. We knew we might have to update a kitchen, but we had neither the money nor the wherewithal to tackle an entire top-to-bottom renovation. Our options were limited.
Although it may be my imagination, I think the broker who showed us the house we eventually bought, must have given herself a little "high five" when we arrived. One of us was carrying a one-year-old. Pay dirt! You see, besides most of the items on our house-hunting hit list (wide pine floors, working fireplaces, sufficient bedrooms, even closets), this house had a bonus. (Not a "bonus room" like you'd find in a McMansion, but an honest to goodness, more than we asked for lagniappe.) The previous owners had installed a little playroom on the top floor, complete with its own "front door" and windows into the rest of the house. Inside this cozy retreat, there were hand-painted murals of Winnie the Pooh, Babar and Thomas the Tank Engine. The playroom was conveniently situated between what would become my home office and my husband's.
It was perfect. We bought the house.
Originally a place for Fisher-Price pull-toys, Duplo building sets and stuffed animals, the room morphed over the years into a dormitory for a number of American Girl Dolls. My daughter started with a contemporary "My American Girl" with wavy medium brown hair. Soon, though, she had a number of the historic characters, along with their wardrobes and accessories, pets and furniture. And, perhaps, most importantly, there were the books. Each American Girl had her own series of novels so that my daughter (along with tens of thousands of other girls) could learn about turn of the century New York with Samantha; revolutionary Williamsburg with Felicity; the American Southwest with Josephina; the freedom trail with Addy; and the depression and World War II with, respectively, Kit and Molly.
For this reason, I was a staunch defender of American Girl Dolls. Despite the practically Machiavellian (or should I say, "Disneyesque?") brilliance of the company's marketing, despite the countless, costly trips to Fifth Avenue's American Girl Place, I argued that any toys that encouraged girls to read were okay by me. A few years ago, I compared notes with my best friend from fourth grade (now a PhD and the head of the honors program at a prestigious Jesuit university). We were both insatiable readers and avid doll collectors, who would have reveled in the American Girl experience had we been born two decades later. As adults, we made sure our own daughters had that chance.
I did worry when Pleasant & Company (the original mail-order business, founded nearly 30 years ago by Rowland Pleasant) was purchased by Mattel. But, despite rapid expansion and merchandising, it seemed as if the original concept was still there. Quite recently, in fact, a new American Girl was introduced, one Rebecca Rubin, an Eastern European immigrant residing in Manhattan's lower Eastside. As a native New Yorker, I was thrilled to see this addition.
It appeared that my fears of the Barbie-fication of American Girl were unfounded. Until now.
My sister-in-law (yes, the mom of my aforementioned niece) just sent me an article from The Washington Post, linking to another from The Atlantic. Both describe the disheartening direction American Girl is now taking. Apparently, the historical characters are being "retired" (some already have been) and future dolls will have a decidedly more contemporary — and, no doubt, homogonous — flair. There will still be companion books, but while my daughter could admire Samantha's efforts to end sweatshops and child labor or be insipired by Addy's courage when she and her mother dared escape North, future girls will have to settle for anxiety-provoking gymnastics competitions and the agony of disappointing report cards.
It was true when I was in school and it's true today. Girls read history books that are full of men. They go on field trips to look at statues of heroes, rather than heroines. They study wars and political science and dynasties, kings and elected officials, the bulk of whom are men, men, men.
What a shame. The American Girl Dolls gave our daughters a chance to examine all of these things through female eyes. They could imagine how their lives would have been in these varied and important chapters of our country's story.
And understand that in America, women — and even girls — made history too.
If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
