First the boys. They like cars, robots, explosions, board games monsters—the like. Excellent and typical.
I like the same stuff.
Next, the girls.
Turn to the next aisle and an extraordinary glow of pink weakened my eyes.
Congrats marketers. You know little girls like pink.
My initial reaction was to grab a bat from the previous aisle and viciously swing the bright yellow hunk of plastic side to side. But nay, I had control.
I saw the usual stuff:
Barbies
Little animals in odd settings (horses in the kitchen—?)
kitchenette set
nail polish
Ya know, conditioning.
But there was something there that was new (to me).
Everything was wearing make-up.
Everything.
What the hell? Stuffed animals and toys— from elephants, horses, kittens, puppies to tigers and babies?!
Yes little children, don't forget to put on your mascara before going out to the playground, little Tommy was giving you the eye yesterday during nap time.
Conceived by the Bratz dolls?
Enormous eyes, heads and lips.
Short torso, heels, stickly features, no nose.
Oh, yeah and they're called Brats(z).
Face plastered with make-up, provocative attire, poor attitudes that revolve around a life of consuming, consuming, consuming idiots.
Let's celebrate these unattainable and ridiculous features only possible with cosmetic surgery.
You're not beautiful girls, this doll is beauty. This doll your parents got you to play with everyday because the t.v. told you that this is what normal little girls play with— and you're normal.
I realize not all will be playing with these disgraceful things, but looking at the long term— these are a reference to which they are looking off.
I remember feeling it. I'm not tall, I don't have dark silky hair, I have a nose.
And I didn't think I was normal. And what I could tell was that I definitely wasn't normal because some girls achieved this perfect image.
(They are stripper-moms now.)
