See It, Be It, Emoji It

A few years ago, I took my daughter to see a really excellent documentary about how the media does — and does not — portray women. Miss Representation did an extraordinary job explaining why images of women (objectified, sexualized, marginalized, diminished) affect how and where women see themselves.

"You can't be it, if you can't see it."

How does a little girl grow up thinking she can become a doctor or a director, a lawyer or a supreme court justice, or president of these United States, if she doesn't see women in those roles. In movies. On TV. And, in advertising.

This is why, despite the profusion of pink, Barbie has actually been on the right track for some time. Okay, are most women pilots built like Barbie? (Then again, are any of us built like Barbie?) No. Do most women pilots wear pink uniforms with matching pink high heels? No. But, at least Pilot Barbie existed, along with Veterinarian Barbie and Teacher Barbie, Astronaut Barbie and Aerobics Instructor Barbie. At least Barbie had career options in addition to the cute boyfriend, cute convertible and cute townhouse. 

All pink, btw.

We may have grown up with Barbie (and my own teenage daughter had plenty of them herself once upon a time), but today's girls covet other, more digital, playthings. Like smartphones. The message still matters though and this week, I was happy to learn that Google has broadened its emojis of women. Until now, girls could choose from a sweet selection of female angels and brides, princesses and dancing girls. If they wanted to choose an emoji representing a particular career (other than dancing or getting married), their options were male, male, and male. 

“Isn’t it time that emoji also reflect the reality that women play a key role in every walk of life and in every profession?” Google is asking.

Uh ... duh.

The proposed new emojis (not available yet but in the works) include a lady welder, a lady chemist, lady doctors, farmers, chefs, computer engineers, teachers, executives and a female Bowie-esque rockstar.

Some credit for the overdue emoji additions is being given to a film made by the Always feminine products company in which young girls complained about their under-representation in emoji-land. (Hmmmm, does invisible really count as under-representation?) Amy Butcher, a professor from Ohio Wesleyan University wrote about it in a New York Times op-ed piece this spring: “How is there space for both a bento box and a single fried coconut shrimp, and yet women were restricted to a smattering of tired, beauty-centric roles?” Even FLOTUS has piped in; Ms. Obama encouraged Google to create an emoji girl studying.

This isn't the first time Google has updated its emojis in answer to customer calls for diversity and inclusion. You can now select different skin tones for basic emoji humanoids. And, there is a veritable rainbow coalition of families: one man plus one woman and children, two men and children, two women and children ... you get the idea.

News flash: the world is more than straight white men! Sheesh. Even in a society that's trying to catch up to the way real people look and act and love, women seem to be the last to the party.

But, it's reassuring to know that Google has finally caught up with Barbie.

If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.      

A New Doll In Town

When my now teenage daughter was very little, she had a collection of Barbies. In addition to the standard issue blondes (she had at least a dozen), there were dolls with dark hair and several with dark skin. She paired these "mommies" with Kelly doll "sweeties." And she did so with seemingly no sense that the race of the mother had to match the race of the child. So white Barbies had black babies, and black Barbies had white babies. It was one big global village, and I loved how color blind she was.

Oh, and she had maybe three Ken dolls too. (Suffice it to say, the "daddies" must have been very busy in a polygamous Big Love kind of way. Fortunately, we never really had to have a conversation about that. The whole Barbie/Ken/Kelly phase was over long before my daughter began to understand any of the ... shall we say ... mechanics.)

Soon after the Mattel dolls were retired to a set of colorful canvas drawers, we headed into American Girl territory. On our frequent visits to New York, we made pilgrimages to Fifth Avenue's American Girl Place. There, we browsed through five floors of clever if overpriced merchandise. We saw The American Girl Revue and ate at the American Girl Cafe. One winter, her doll even got a custom coif at the American Girl Hair Salon. (You can't make this stuff up.) Typically, we left with three new outfits: the one my mother liked, the one I liked, and the one my daughter herself liked.

As a marketer, I was invariably awed by American Girl's brilliant strategy and flawless execution. Their customer service was top notch and flowed seamlessly into incremental sales. During one visit, my daughter was looking for a particular character's dog (the dolls all have back stories, complete with truckloads of merchandise) and she was sad to learn that it was sold out. The sales associate acknowledged her disappointment and smoothly explained that each of the characters has a dog and why didn't they look at some of the others. My daughter trotted off happily with him and, sure enough, we went home with a dog. (And a goat too, if my memory serves.)

Still, despite all the conspicuous consumption, I always recognized a couple of redeeming features where American Girl was involved. First, all of the historic dolls as well as the American Girls of Today, had companion books. We enjoyed reading each series, based on historic events, educational and surprisingly well-written: turn of the century Samantha, colonial Felicity, escaped slave Addy, southwestern Josephina. And, second, there was a real focus on inclusion. In addition to gymnastics outfits, riding habits and ball gowns, you could buy wheelchairs, crutches and guide dogs. This was a refreshing change from Barbie's usual pink perfection and ... um ... pie-in-the-sky proportions.

This week, a good friend (and fellow teenage girl's mom) sent me a story about a new doll named Lammily. Lammily is being billed as the "normal Barbie," a doll that better approximates a real body — complete with optional scars, acne and cellulite.

Whoa.

(Between you and me, I don't need a doll with cellulite, thank you very much. I have my own.)

Anyway, this "realistic doll" is the creation of artist and researcher Nickolay Lamm. When he posed the question "What if fashion dolls were made using standard human body proportions?" the response was swift and enthusiastic. Using online crowdsourcing, he attracted more than 13,000 backers and presold more than 19,000 dolls. The first edition doll (a caucasian brunette, shorter and more athletic-looking than Barbie) is available now. The company plans to introduce different ethnic characters and body types soon.

In the past, when Mattel has been pressured to alter their flagship amazon to better represent an actual human female, they've resisted, citing sales pressure. The implication is that the public wants those idealized features, those perpetually high-heeled feet. It was refreshing, then, to see a video of second-graders react to the new doll. I doubt Barbie will ever go away (or even gain five pounds), but it's nice to see an alternative that appears to have a real shot at success.

I wish Lammily had arrived ten years ago. My daughter gave away most of her Barbies, and even the American Girls now live in a forgotten playroom cubby under the eaves. We've moved on to horses and concerts and high school. There's no reason for me to buy one for her now. 

Then again ... I do have a young niece. 

And Christmas is coming. 

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  

Very Creepy

Years ago, before we were parents, before we spent all of our free time at equestrian events or shopping at Forever 21 or helping with homework, my husband and I used to go on day trips together. We would drive up the coast to Maine. We would drive down the coast to Newport. We would drive out to Western Massachusetts. 

There was a funny informal game we used to play in the car. I call it, "What made you think of that?" Basically, if one of us came up with something that seemed to be out of the blue, the other could demand to know the train of thought that led us there.

For example, on a drive to New York:

Me: "Did you know that you have to remove male hamsters from their babies because they'll eat them?"

Him: "What made you think of that?"

Me: "Well, we just passed Co-op City, which is where my third grade teacher Mrs. Wells lived. That made me think of her class, which made me think of my desk which was the last one in the first row and right by the window, which made me think of the window ledge, which made me think of my first grade classroom in which all of our pets were on the window ledge, which made me think of the hamsters that we had, which made me think of the journals we kept and the pictures we drew when the female hamster had babies, which made me think of the morning we came in and the father hamster had eaten all the baby hamsters."

Him: "That must have been pretty traumatic for you guys as first graders."

Me: "Not as much as you'd think. We all drew pictures, but we ran out of red crayons."

Him: "Well then."

This is a true story. But, not (thankfully) the main point of my post.

A few days ago, I experienced another set of non-sequitorious events that led to an unexpected discovery. To recap quickly for you:

I am a big fan of Downton Abbey. I was intrigued by the preview that was released for season three of said mini-series, and particularly taken by the women's choral group that sings in the background. A little research led me to the Belgian choir Scala & Kolacny Brothers. I bought one of their CDs (yes, to my teenage daughter's chagrin, I do still purchase discs). There was a haunting rendition of Radiohead's song "Creep" on the CD. I was killing some time, waiting for my daughter at the stable, so I Googled it and found this video.

Yikes! 

I always knew Barbies were evil and now there is videographic proof. In this short film, a supposed "plain jane" (in truth, a lovely Madame Alexander doll) is enthralled by a group of shapely blondes. She is desperate to be accepted, so she mutilates herself — literally removes her head and puts it on a discarded but statuesque doll body. At first, it seems to have worked. The clique of "so f*cking special" girls appears to welcome her. But, no! In an act of Greek tragedy proportion, they tear her limb from limb and throw her from a cliff (or at least from a kitchen table). As the song ends, our pathetic heroine closes her doll eyes for the last time.

I repeat ... Yikes!

The not so subtle message here is that you should never change yourself to fit in with others. That beauty is only skin deep. (And, that blondes may have more fun but you should probably stay clear of them if you want to remain in one piece.)

I think it's really unfortunate that between Barbie dolls and Victoria' Secret, our society offers a fairly impossible standard of beauty for our girls to aspire to. Estimates vary, but if Barbie were a real woman, she would be 6-7 feet tall, weigh about 100 pounds and have measurements along the lines of 36-18-38. (That waist, BTW, would make her 35% slimmer than a typical anorexic.) In Mattel's defense, they did once launch a more realistically proportioned doll. It didn't sell.

Based on the figures above, no mere mortal woman could ever achieve a truly Barbie body. And, what about girls who are naturally petite or muscular or stocky or flat-chested? Are they judged by standards that relate to their own anatomy? Or are they judged by how far removed they are from this ridiculous plastic ideal?

That's why I'm going to show this video to my teen daughter and encourage her to share it. As far as I know, none of her friends have actually attempted a head transplant yet. But, we've already heard about crash diets that sound frighteningly like eating disorders, and girls who are saving money for nose jobs and — yes — boob jobs.

The song is called "Creep" and the title comes from the narrator's self-assessment. But, the video's story and unhappy ending are grounded in a very real observation about self-destructive self-image and its dire consequences.

To this mom, that's really the creepy part.