Dressing up

A few months ago now (OK, this post has sat in drafts for a while) when I came to pick my daughter up from nursery I found her wearing a pink ‘fairy skirt’ (something like a tutu). “Her trousers and her spare trousers both got wet and it was the only thing we could find!” they said cheerfully. Fair enough if true, but I couldn’t help wondering whether they’d’ve miraculously managed to find a clean pair of trousers if she’d been a boy…

“She loves wearing it, she’s been doing little twirls around for us,” they gushed. All well and good – dressing up is fun, twirly skirts are fun. But I wonder how much of it was her own doing and how much was pressure from the nursery staff? They seem generally keen on encouraging her to look in the mirror, play with her hair and so on. “Are you going to wear your pretty skirt at the weekend and show all your friends?” they cooed at her. “Yes!” she said. I sighed inwardly at the thought of the likely battles ahead of me when she insisted on wearing the skirt to bed, or in the bath, or somewhere similarly impractical.

Anyway, we got home with only one mention of the skirt (“[name] is wearing a skirt!” “That’s right, darling”) and she got out of the bike and stomped into the house, pink fairy skirt flouncing behind her. I was just wondering whether to try to interest her in make-believe such as playing at being a fairy or a dancer, since she was wearing the skirt anyway (cue a moment of anxiety as I realised I had no idea what fairies actually do) when she turned to me and announced “[name]’s skirt is Not Nice. Take it off.” She hasn’t mentioned it since even though it’s been sitting around in plain sight (so that I don’t forget to return it to nursery next week).


A few days after that she was wearing navy shorts, a blue/grey/orange striped tshirt with a little tiger icon on it, orange/grey striped socks, and her blue trainers. She had a couple of red hairclips in her past-shoulder-length hair, to try to keep it out of her eyes. To me she looked like a little girl wearing normal summer play clothes.

As we walked to the shop, she stopped to try to catch a baby woodlouse (as you do). While she was grubbing around on the pavement and I was absent-mindedly talking to her (“do you think it’s going to play with the other woodlice? Don’t eat the moss, darling, it’ll give you a tummy-ache”) a passer-by stopped to grin at her and say “Ooh, what are you doing down there?”

She was too engrossed in the woodlouse to answer, so I replied on her behalf: “Trying to play with a baby woodlouse,” I said, with a rueful grin. “Ooh, does he like woodlice?” she asked. I didn’t comment on the pronoun but replied “Yeah, she loves all the creepy-crawlies.” (It’s true – she asks to stroke snails, she thinks woodlice are hilarious, she has been known to say “Excuse me, ant” as she walks past an ant, she loves bumble-bees and ladybirds, she’s quite interested in spiders as long as they’re not too close to her.) “Oh, it’s a little girl! Oh, sorry, in shorts and tshirt I couldn’t tell,” said the woman. “No no, that’s fine, they all just look like toddlers at this age,” I smiled. “Oooh, yes, of course, she’s a pretty little girl, I can see now,” she went on. I gritted my teeth. What I wanted to say was some or all of the following:

“Well, yes, I think she’s pretty, but then she’s my daughter, so I’m kind of biased. On the other hand, she looks basically fit and healthy and (unusually) reasonably clean, and those things combined with her blonde hair and blue eyes probably mean that white people are moderately likely to describe her as ‘pretty’. I’d rather people valued her for reasons other than her appearance, but I’ll concede that random passers-by don’t know anything about her except her appearance, though that doesn’t really explain why they think they need to comment on it. She totally doesn’t care if you think she’s a boy — she barely knows what a boy or a girl is. I honestly don’t mind if you think she’s a boy when you see her passing in the street — it doesn’t bother me (though it does annoy me if you make assumptions about what she’ll do/think/be based on your guess/knowledge about her sex). If you ask me if she’s male or female, I’ll tell you; and (for the sake of not confusing her) I’d rather you used female pronouns to refer to her, because that’s what everyone else uses to/about her; but other than that her sex is pretty much irrelevant, and her gender is basically whatever her parents choose to present her as, because she doesn’t really have any concept of gender yet.

“She likes playing with woodlice because they curl up in a ball when you poke them with a blade of grass, and to a two-year-old that’s pretty damned hilarious. You really don’t have to call her ‘pretty’ to make up for thinking she was a boy. I don’t mind if she’s not feminine and I don’t mind if she’s not pretty. I don’t feel the need to balance her attractiveness against her liking creepy-crawlies, because I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive, and both of them are orthogonal to her biological sex and her gender.

Basically what I’m saying her is: SHE’S ONLY TWO. Let her get on with her life.”

Of course, I didn’t say any of that, I just smiled vaguely and said to my daughter “Shall we say ‘bye-bye’ to the nice lady now? Are you going to come and help mummy with the shopping?”


I don’t really have a worked-out conclusion or a neat moral to derive from this. It’s just interesting (and extremely frustrating) to see how much importance people seem to place on clothes. I mean, when my daughter fishes the tiger costume out of the dressing-up box at nursery, people don’t assume she’s going to start attacking gazelles; and really, when you think about it, it’s all just dressing-up.


Beyond parody

I get catalogues through the post for various different reasons. Some have been sent to me because I’ve asked to be put on a mailing list, or because I’ve bought something from the company before. Some are just random junk mail. And some, like the recent Studio 24 catalogue, seem to have been dropped through a time-machine by some malignant force which is deliberately trying to make me angry.

I started out being mildly annoyed by the all-too-common problem that all the gifts and toys seemed to come in two options: not-pink for boys, pink for girls. Here’s your options for personalised kids’ chairs:

Catalogue pictures of chairs - red with cars etc for boys, pink with fairy princess nonsense for girls.

Who's been sitting in my chair?

For boys: a big red fire engine in a street full of houses! For girls: Cinderella’s pumpkin coach (which has somehow become pink rather than, you know, pumpkin-coloured), pulled by a pink horse. For boys: a racing car! For girls: a vase of flowers. The chairs are shown personalised with boys’ names and girls’ names, just in case you were tempted to think that fire engines or racing cars might be exciting for girls as well.

It’s the same with clocks — boys get another fire engine, girls get a ballerina:

Catalogue pictures of children's clocks: one pink with a cartoon ballerina, one with a red fire engine.

Isn't it time we stopped this nonsense?

It gets sillier. Boys: how about a drum kit? Girls: how about a pink drum kit?

Catalogue images showing 'natural' guitar and pink guitar; red drum kit and pink drum kit.

Sorry to bang on about this...

The main picture, of course, shows a boy playing drums; the pink drum kit is a smaller inset, an afterthought. The message is clear: drum kits are for boys. As for the guitars, we’ve got “natural” for boys, and (unnatural) pink for girls. At the risk of sounding like the Daily Mail, you couldn’t make it up.

But it’s the dressing-up options that are really angrymaking. Are you ready? Here we go:

Catalogue images of dressing-up sets: boys are shown as fireman, cowboy, knight, red indian, pirate; girls are shown as model, ballerina, princess, bride, or belle of the ball.

You couldn't dress it up

Boys: “You can be a fireman, cowboy, knight, red indian, or a pirate!” Girls: “Be a model, ballerina, princess, bride, or belle of the ball!” (I’m not even going to address the “red indian” issue here: it’s off my topic, but all this stuff has clearly fallen through some kind of stereotype timewarp.) Basically, though, boys get five options which are instantly recognisable as active roles and adventurers; girls get… well, OK, ballerinas are pretty active (with the emphasis on “pretty”), but “princess” and “bride” are both roles that have more to do with the men in your life than what you actually do, a “model” exists to be looked at, and a “belle of the ball”… is that even a thing any more? What do you do, apart from stand around looking pretty? The five outfits are pretty much indistinguishable anyway, a mess of pink frills, short skirts (even for the bride), tiaras and glitter. Of course, the boys’ clothes come in a piratical treasure-chest, while the girls’ clothes come in something more like a dowry chest. And am I overanalysing lazily-written copy by noting that boys are given opportunities (“You can be…”) while girls are given orders (“Be…”)?

But wait! It gets worse! Here’s yet more dressing-up ideas so your children have a chance to get used to the assumptions society will make about their potential because of their sex!

Catalogue images of dressing-up clothes. Girls: horse rider, waitress, nurse, ballerina, beautician; boys: businessman, astronaut, postal worker, policeman, pilot. Also: dalmatian/tiger for boys, bunny for girls.

I want to be...

Girls’ costumes: horse rider, waitress, nurse, ballerina, beautician; boys’ costumes: businessman, astronaut, postal worker, policeman, pilot. This is just beyond parody. Girls don’t even get to be a “policewoman”, “businesswoman”, “postwoman”, or… I dunno, “astronautess”? “Lady pilot”? (Yes, I know. We call them “astronauts” and “pilots”.) We’re not even talking about clothes which would have to be fitted differently for boys and girls here: these costumes are loose-fitting tabards which aren’t even sold in different sizes, and let’s face it, by the age that girls start developing hips and breasts, they’re probably not going to want to dress up as ballerinas or astronauts.

Even the animal costumes play to the same old stereotypes, for crying out loud. Boys are shown dressed as a dalmatian (come on, even in The Hundred and One Dalmatians some of the dogs were female) and a TIGER! Grrr! Girls get to be… a bunny. A bunny that’s pink, just like a real bunny isn’t. Do I need to spell it out?

Just one more — and a slightly more subtle one this time:

Catalogue image showing personalised aprons - a girl with pink-edged apron saying 'super cook' , a boy with blue-edged apron saying 'super chef'.

Back to the kitchen

OK, that’s “subtle” like a meat-tenderiser — which presumably our pretty little cupcake cook wouldn’t use, unlike the manly maker of MEATY BURGERS. But it’s the text that really makes me cross. I’d have almost forgiven them the pink-and-blue colour-coding and the pictures if both aprons had said “super chef”; but no, the girl gets demoted to “cook”. Perhaps they actually think that “cook” is to “chef” what “cow” is to “bull” — just the word for the female of the species, rather than a lower-status job? Because at this point I’d rather think they’re that stupid: the alternative is worse.