MetroDad

Cinderella Dolls & the Disney Industrial Complex

All my daughter wanted for Christmas from Santa Claus was a Cinderella princess doll.

I have to admit that, for quite a long time, I contemplated not getting one for her. As a modern dad who considers himself fairly progressive when it comes to parenting, I don't like subscribing to outdated notions of gender stereotyping.

Besides, I felt conflicted about buying into the whole "Disney Industrial Complex." If I succumbed and got my daughter a Disney doll, was I enabling her lifelong entry into a global cult of materialistic fantasy aimed at the perpetual separation of me from my hard-earned dollars?

Sure one day, it's a princess doll. But the next thing you know, I'm on an overpriced Disney cruise ship throwing down martinis with Donald Duck at Club Mulan while my daughter plays shuffle puck with Bambi. Screw that!

Now, most of you know I don't get too riled up over the various parenting "controversies" that seem to divide people and cause heated exchanges on parenting boards, mothering forums, or PTA conferences. I'm generally a "whatever floats your boat" kind of guy.

Want to home-school your kid, breastfeed him until he's six, and raise him as a vegan? Go right ahead, MoonUnit. Let me be the first to stand out of your way.

Think your toddler is the next Stephen Hawking and needs to learn 4 languages, play three instruments, and memorize the Fibonacci sequence so he can get into Harvard? Go for it, dude. I'll be over here teaching my daughter the finer points of how to properly fart on the dog.

So if I'm so nonplussed about what my buddy James likes to call "high-class problems," why did I find myself tormented about buying my daughter a Cinderella doll?

Because I discovered that giving your child anything Disney or Princess-related can be somewhat conflicting and surprisingly touches on our individual beliefs more than one might imagine.

Anyway, free-thinking father of the new millennium that I am (warning: sarcasm alert,) here were some of the concerns that rattled around in my pea-brained head while I debated whether to buy her a princess doll or not...

1. Disney Princesses are terrible role models.

This was, by far, my biggest issue with the princess dolls. Look, I know that it's absurd to think of a plastic piece of crap as being a role model for my daughter but the fact is that, in Disney's case, the doll is a representation of a character. So let's take a look at those characters.

Most of them spend half their time in captivity or in a coma, waking up only when a prince comes along and kisses them. The only ones who are exceptions to this are Mulan and Pocahontas. Hell, Mulan has to dress up as a boy to fight in the army and Pocahantas lacks full princess status.

Also, many of the princess tales celebrate the ugly duckling scenario of overnight transformation. That, in and of itself, would not be that big of a deal. The problem is that none of the princesses actually "work" to achieve their transformations.

Sleeping Beauty is a victim. Snow White's greatest feat of courage was dusting. And as someone once said, Cinderella essentially gains all her power through the good will of a magical floating Angela Lansbury look-alike.

Now, I'm no feminist but it's pretty clear to me that Disney princesses tend to belittle the efforts that women have made in terms of achieving gender equality on their own terms and with their own efforts.

2. The Princesses create unrealistic body images for young girls.

The princesses are invariably tall, thin, and buxom with perfectly coiffed hair and impeccably plucked eyebrows. Whereas the average American woman is 5' 4", weighs 145 lbs., and wears between a size 11-14, if Cinderella were a real person, she'd be 6' 0", weigh 100 lbs., and wear a size 4. Her measurements would be an incredible 39-19-33.

This argument really didn't resonate with me. I have a hard time thinking that giving my daughter a Cinderella doll would produce unrealistic body images for her and lead her down a lifetime of anorexia and bulimia.

After all, that's what the media, the advertising industry, her peers, and women's magazines are for!

3. Girls shouldn't be forced to play with dolls. Boys shouldn't be forced to play with trucks.

We have never bought the Peanut a doll so I honestly don't know where she got the idea that she absolutely needed to have a Cinderella princess doll. I'm guessing that it came from one of her friends at school, probably the same one who taught her how to say "fuck" and whom I imagine will be approaching her in a few years, asking whether she wants to try stripping for crack money.

The reality is that we never know where or how our kids pick up their various influences. Just as we never bought the Peanut a doll, we also stubbornly refused to dress her in anything pink. Shit, she's a New Yorker! If she wants to fit in here, she's going to have to learn that, aside from black, the only acceptable wardrobe colors are grey and white. Besides, I didn't want my daughter walking around looking like a bowl of cotton candy.

Needless to say, despite my best efforts, my daughter can't get enough pink in her life.

4. Disney is an EVIL EMPIRE.

Despite the fact that we live in a free-market capitalist democracy, I dig the fact that people feel threatened by any massive consumer company with the power to dictate our social mores and limit our freedom of choices.

On the one hand, I like to think that we're all free to make our own decisions, right? Nobody's holding a gun to our head. You don't like Wal-Mart? Fine, don't shop there. Despise ExxonMobil? Ride your bike to work. Nobody's forcing anybody to do anything they don't want.

On the other hand, Disney's sheer size and the influence they exert over children today should be a concern. The business of princesses is a HUGE business. Sales at Disney Consumer Products, which started the princess craze six years ago by packaging its female characters under one royal rubric, have shot up to $3 billion this year, from $300 million in 2001. There are now more than 25,000 Disney Princess items. “Princess,” as some Disney execs call it, is not only the fastest-growing brand the company has ever created but also well on its way to becoming the largest girls’ franchise on the planet.

Little scary, isn't it? Where does it all end? Seriously, I'm waiting for the day when I go to Home Depot and see that they're selling $6,000 John Deere Cinderella tractors.

5. Disney is RACIST.

BossLady and I often cringe when we watch old Disney movies. The jive-talking crows from Dumbo? The gibberish-speaking monkeys from The Jungle Book? The Native-Americans in Peter-Pan? The Siamese twin cats from Chip N Dale Rescue Rangers?

Man, no matter how you look at it, that is some seriously straight-up racist stereotyping.

Now, I'm firmly opposed to political correctness. And there is a part of me that wishes that Disney's poor history on racial characterizations could be attributed to an earlier time in our nation's history that predated a sensitivity to dealing with various ethnic characters.

Sadly, I think Disney's modern characters are just as racist and insulting as they were in the past.

Did you know that the opening musical sequence in Aladdin had to be re-edited due to protest from Arab-American groups for implying that the Middle East was a barren wasteland where the justice system was based solely on limb-removal? A place where people get their "faces torn off?"

Meanwhile, in The Little Mermaid, a Jamaican crab teaches Ariel that life is better "Under the Sea," because underwater you don't have to get a job. (Up on the shore they work all day. Out in the sun they slave away. While we devotin'  Full time to floatin' Under the sea!) Why the lazy man got to be Jamaican, mon?

And what about Mulan and Pocahontas? As I said earlier, Mulan has to dress up as a boy to fight in the army and Pocahantas lacks full princess status. Heck, I can barely watch Mulan because of all the ching-chong fortune cookie prose and revisionist history bullshit. Meanwhile, Pocahontas looks African-American and is dressed like a Disney-style sexpot.

Clearly, Disney still has far to go when it comes to being racially and ethnically sensitive.

AT THE END OF THE DAY...

It was clear that I was over-thinking the whole issue. After all, at the end of the day, it's just a fucking toy.

Look, we live in an age where a child can be left unsupervised in a trailer with "American Gladiators" on the TV and a book of matches within easy reach. I'm not saying that we shouldn't think about all the things that influence our kids. However, I am saying that maybe we don't need to get our panties (or boxers) in a twist over each and every single thing. Some battles are worth fighting. Some aren't.

My daughter is a wonderful kid. She's courteous, polite, empathetic, and treats everyone with a huge amount of respect. She doesn't beg me to buy her useless shit and few things in life make her happier than simply being with her friends and family.

BossLady and I promised ourselves that we would never spoil her and agreed that, for Christmas, we were only going to buy her a single gift from "Santa."  Ultimately, after all that internal sturm und drang, we decided that if the Peanut wanted a Cinderella doll, that's what we were going to get her.

You should have seen her face light up when she unwrapped her Cinderella doll on Christmas morning. Hell, had I known she would have been so completely overwhelmed with happiness, I would have bought her a thousand Cinderella dolls. At that precise moment, all my yuppie concerns about giving her that doll disappeared in a nanosecond.

Want to hear the funny thing?

Four weeks later, we have no idea where the Cinderella doll is. However, my daughter is still having a hell of a fun time playing with the box!

Oh well, at least it wasn't Barney.

Who Popped It Best?

For the first 3.5 years of her life, the Peanut totally refused to even consider the possibility of getting a haircut.

I tried everything: I'd take her to my stylist with me so she could get used to sitting in the chair. I'd bring her to various kids' barbershops so she could see other children getting haircuts. Heck, I even tried to bribe her with books, stickers, and balloons.

I'd pretty much given up trying anymore but then last week, I mentioned in passing to the Peanut that Liz's daughter Thalia had gotten a haircut at a really fun place in the West Village that not only had videos but also gave away free bubbles!

To my complete and utter shock, the Peanut turned to me and said, "Videos? Free bubbles? Damn motherfucker, why didn't you just say that shit in the first place? Let's roll!"

Ok, those may not have been her exact words but after she said "yes," I couldn't believe my ears.

Anyway, the Peanut traded in her Sally Hershberger-meets-Chewbacca hairstyle for something a little more contemporary. Since then, everyone keeps telling her that she looks like Katie Holmes. I'm not quite sure about that. I know I'm biased but I think the Peanut looks adorable while I think Katie Holmes looks like Carol Channing's corpse.

What do you think?

 
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Who popped the look best?

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Korean DJ Wunderkinds

Back in the day, NYC was the birthplace of mixing and scratching.

Growing up as a young kid in the early 80's, my friends and I were always on the lookout for new mixed tapes from legendary DJs like Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash, Grand Wizard Theodore and Afrika Bambaataa. The tapes were always sold illegally on random street corners all over the city. And while other kids from the suburbs were trading baseball cards, we would spend our free time trading mixed tapes.

Back then, I briefly entertained the idea of becoming a professional DJ. My buddy had a turntable and mixing board set-up in his apartment and the two of us would spend hours mixing and scratching until the break of dawn.

At the same time, MetroBro ended up developing a love for freestyle rap. He was fucking fearless. He'd go out on the streets and trade battle raps with anyone. He was like the illegitimate love child of Yeats and Eminem.

But let's face it. Two Korean-American prep school kids in blazers weren't going to have much of an impact on the future of urban street music.

That's why it warms the cockles of my aging turntablist’s heart to see these two young Korean kids burning up the decks. Big props to the next generation. Word on the street is that the little girl is seven years old and the boy is five!

As I like to kid all my white and black friends when we're talking shit on the hoops court and I'm dropping threes on them, "Koreans take what you make...and we make it better! Boo yah!"

By the way, while doing a random surf on youtube, I came across THIS. How is it possible that this movie never won the Academy Award for Best Picture?  Is anyone else out there old enough to remember this classic scene or am I dating myself again?

Fuck, I'm old!

CHAOS THEORY: January 2007

Happy New Year, my friends!

Sorry for the delayed absence. After two weeks of vacation, I've practically forgotten how to type, shower, shave, speak English, or wear clothes while eating.

On the plus side, I've confirmed that my true life's destiny is to become a professional bon vivant. I remember when my immigrant father retired, he was worried about how he was going to spend his days after working non-stop his entire life. Screw that!

If anything, the past two weeks have taught me that I would be fucking fantastic at retired life. Bring me your finest meats and cheeses! Who wants another mai tai?

Anyway, I'm still readjusting to normal society. I promise to write more in the coming year. Meanwhile, here are a few quick thoughts:

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SANTA CLAUS: THE CARROT AND THE STICK

Sadly, I regret to inform all of you that we never made it to see Santa this year for the annual photo session. Whenever I mentioned it, the Peanut started freaking out.

On the plus side, she learned about Santa at school. She doesn't know about the elves or the North Pole or any of that shit. However, she gets the gist that if she behaves like a good girl, Santa will bring her presents.

For the past month, whenever she started giving me attitude, I'd just give her the Korean Death Stare (KDS,) reach for my cell phone, and say, "That's it. I'm calling Santa right now!" Wham! Total obedience.

And now, even though Christmas is over, I've got the whole thing down to a science. Whenever the Peanut gets cranky, I just lean over and whisper softly in her ear, "Santa." It's awesome.

That whole thing I said a few weeks ago about not wanting my daughter to be concerned with an omnipotent mythical father figure making value judgments about her behavior? Forget I ever mentioned it.

OPEN MOUTH, INSERT FOOT (AGAIN!)

For the record...from now on, I am NEVER going to ask a woman if she's pregnant unless she's in the hospital, has her feet in stirrups, and is pushing out a baby.

READING IS FUNDAMENTAL

One of the highlights of my vacation was just having hours upon hours to read leisurely while lying on the beach. Even though I'm a speed reader, I was still tearing through books like a mofo. Anyway, because many of you often e-mail me and ask what I'm reading, here's a quick recap of what I've read over the past week:

Free Food for Millionaires  (Min Jin Lee): Very impressive but somewhat flawed debut novel about an angry young Korean-American woman, raised by status-conscious immigrant parents in Queens, who falls out with them after she graduates from Princeton. Although the characters' troubles and struggles are cross-cultural, I think those of you whom are of Asian descent would appreciate this book more. It's almost great.

After Dark (Haruki Murakami): Classic Murakami. As always, his writing is hypnotically alluring and filled with themes of loneliness and alienation. Delicate. Suspenseful. And magical. If you've never read Murakami before, this is a good book with which to start.

Life Lessons from America's Greatest Writers: This is an anthology of never-before-published short essays by America's literary greats, culled from speeches they've given over the years at the annual PEN/Faulkner gala. Particularly great pieces from George Plimpton, Joyce Carol Oates, Alice Hoffman, Hoyce Carol Oates, and William Styron. Great toilet-reading material.

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man (John Perkins):  The author claims to have been chief economist at a private firm helping U.S. intelligence agencies and multinationals cajole and blackmail foreign leaders into serving U.S. foreign policy and awarding lucrative contracts to American business. I don't know what annoyed me more about this book, the poor writing or the self-inflated pretension. Skip it.

NEIL CUMPSTON: WORLD'S GREATEST FILM REVIEWER

I admit it. I'm a total effete film snob. My tastes usually run towards quirky or daring independent films, obscure foreign films, or arthouse movies. I see films at Lincoln Center. I read Film Comment magazine. And I have a little nerd crush on Pauline Kael and her writing.

Ironically, I usually hate people who are snobs about anything. Take music for example. Is there anything more annoying than speaking to a music buff who keeps dropping references to bands that you've never even heard of? That's why I generally keep my film preferences to myself.

MetroBro, a writer/director of independent films who not only shares my film sensibilities but also my strange sense of humor, recently sent me a link to a few reviews by Neil Cumpston, a brilliantly foul-mouthed film reviewer who is the most refreshingly honest critic writing today. It's like reading a review by your drunk uncle who suffers from Tourette's.

Take for example, his review of the forthcoming J.J. Abrams-produced horror flick CLOVERFIELD (Warning: language NSFW)...

"So here's the story: a monster attacks News York City. But that's not the fucked-up part.

The monster RIPS THE LIVING SHIT out of the city, and everyone in its path. It's like the Iraq War and Hurricane Katrina and Kathy Griffin's vagina combined and turned into a giant murder-beast and it's hungry for every hip person in Manhattan.

Which is another cool thing about the movie – everyone that's getting eaten are like characters you see in those annoying movies that are always on IFC and Fagdance. Movies with titles like Thinkin' 'Bout Being Sad and Zoe Gets a Latte and 2 Bedrooms.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the giant monster starts rubbing itself on buildings, and then stuff falls off it's gross body and crawls the fuck away – only the crawling-away stuff doesn't stay away for long, if you know what I mean...Also, I don't know if the movie-makers are looking for poster quotes, but this movie is like a pussy that eats YOU out."

If you liked this review, check out his reviews of Batman Returns and Sin City.

NEXT YEAR'S BONUS WILL BE PAID IN SNARK

As most people understand, 2007 was a tough year for the economy. For those of us who run small businesses dependent on the retail market, it was especially tough. Personally, my company had a rough year. Consumer spending was down. Sales were down. Margins were lower. Meanwhile, health care costs, taxes, and Manhattan office rents went through the fucking roof.

Despite the bad year, I not only threw a holiday party for all my employees but I also gave everyone a cash bonus. I wanted them to have some extra money so they could really enjoy the holidays with their families. This wasn't easy for me to do. In fact, in order to do it, I had to borrow money from the bank and forgo giving myself any bonus.

I have 10 employees working for me. For each one, I wrote a personal note, gave them a gift that I bought myself, and enclosed a bonus check. Guess how many of them thanked me? TWO! Is that fucking incredible or what? Not surprisingly, the only ones who thanked me were older.

As for the younger ones? What do you think it was? Lack of manners? Sense of entitlement? Ignorance about the state of the economy? Upbringing? I've told this story to a few friends my age and it didn't seem to surprise any of them. WTF?

My daughter is three. And if you handed her a piece of shit off the sidewalk, she'd still look you right in the eye, smile, and say, "thank you very much."

MELANCHOLY AND THE INFINITE SADNESS

I think I've got the post-holiday blues. Or maybe I'm suffering from SAD (Seasonal Affliction Disorder.) I spent the past 4 days out at the Doctor's house in the Hamptons. He's got this incredible Sonos/Rhapsody sound system. Basically, you can listen to any song ever written in the entire universe. For the past 4 days, I was loading up his music queue with the world's most depressing songs. Finally, the Doctor had to grab the remote control from my hands and smack me on the fucking head. Anyway, in case you're interested, here are my five favorite current depressing songs:

1. "Landslide" by Smashing Pumpkins
2. "Everybody Hurts" by REM
3. "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division
4. "Scientist" by Coldplay
5. "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley

Quick. What's your favorite depressing song?

MY VAPIDLY SUPERFICIAL NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

1. Wear suits more. Cargo pants less.
2. Stop experimenting with my facial hair.
3. Never drink cheap booze again.
4. Take sushi-making class.
5. Eat foie gras and fried chicken whenever the fuck I want.

You guys got any good resolutions for the coming year? Let's hear them.

Next post: Yeah, I bought my daughter a Cinderella doll for Christmas. Got a problem with that?