Since Peanut was born, we've been deluged in a sea of pink...pink sweaters, pink blankets, pink bibs, pink burp cloths. It seems that people love forcing their pinkness onto my 7-day old daughter. Now unless Pink is the new Black, I'm getting a little nauseated here.
For quite awhile, my friends wondered whether I was born wearing black. Maybe it was the cool urban sensibility. But once upon a time, colorful clothing was the sign of unspeakable naiveté, to be shunned in favor of black by all properly detached critics of society. Besides, black clothing is the unofficial urban uniform of NYC. What else am I going to wear?
Not that I'm going to dress my daughter all in black. I don't want her looking like the illegitimate love child of Dracula and Elvira. But the day I drape my child all in pink is the same day that I cover her in lace frillies and an Amish-style bonnet. (Isn't it great that we can all make so much fun of the Amish because they don't have internet access and therefore will never see this unless someone copies it on a piece of bark? But I digress)
Anyway, the color pink always reminded me of cotton candy. And cotton candy always gave me diarrhea.
What's the deal with pink for girls anyway? How did this all start? Is pink meant to be some sort of gender identification? If my daughter doesn't wear pink, will she grow up to be a lesbian? Because I don't really care. Let her be whatever she wants to be. I want no part in reinforcing gender sterotypes. Nor any other kind of stereotypes. Not in my life and not in my daughter's life.
Will not wearing pink make her less of a girl? Shit...I love nice clothing, days at the spa, romantic comedies, puppies and sunsets. Does that make me less of a man? (Come here and say that to my face, yo!)
Besides, I'm curious to see what Peanut likes when she can make her own choices. Maybe she'll like dinosaurs, Tonka trucks and baseball.
Now...if Peanut grows up and wants to dress like a little Disney princess, then God Bless her little soul. I'll smother her with Barbie dolls and Betty Crocker ovens. I'll paint her room pink and decorate it with dozens of pink mermaids. I'll purchase pink parasols, painted with pink polka-dots.
But of course, I'll have to run a paternity test. I'm sure she'll understand.