When my daughter Mia turned two and a half, she started frequently declaring, often at the top of her lungs, “I need to look pretty!” This became her go-to excuse for choosing a pink dress over pants. My initial reaction was to push back, reminding her that a dress might hinder her playground adventures. “I don’t want to climb! I just need to be PRETTY!” she’d insist.
At first, I blamed the well-meaning strangers who would comment, “Oh, what a lovely pink dress! So pretty!” I felt frustrated that they were teaching her to prioritize being pretty, setting her up for a lifetime of unsolicited remarks about her appearance, which can escalate to more serious issues like sexual harassment.
However, as Mia’s fixation on “pretty” deepened, I began to understand that it was less about societal brainwashing and more about her own identity and expression of femininity. I realized my role as a feminist mom wasn’t to fight against the pervasive pink culture but to support her love of all things colorful and sparkly, while also critiquing the troubling aspects of gendered marketing aimed at children. This was no small task and forced me to confront my own biases regarding femininity.
Growing up in the ’80s in a conservative Scottish household, I was influenced by a form of second-wave feminism that praised tomboys while dismissing girly girls. I envied those who wore pink and played with My Little Ponies, but I learned to mock them instead. Weekend friends would reject femininity outright, and I followed suit, deriding pink toys and insisting blue was my favorite color. Even at school, I called dresses and earrings “silly” or “stupid,” the words I was conditioned to associate with anything feminine. No surprise, I wasn’t the most popular girl!
While this might be an extreme case, many of us are raised with a subtle form of femmephobia. Little girls, even those encouraged to embrace “girl toys,” soon learn that wearing heels or makeup can lead to being less respected or taken seriously. Today, I recognize this as a reflection of societal misogyny, at least I thought I did—until I found myself hiding Mia’s tutu, uncomfortable with the “pretty princess” comments she attracted from passersby.
That was my wake-up call: I needed to reassess my perspective. The tutu wasn’t the issue, nor was the concept of pretty. Wanting to feel pretty isn’t inherently wrong. The problem arises when societal standards dictate that pretty means thin, white, blonde, and blue-eyed, leaving many out of the equation. While some girls are constantly praised for their looks, those who don’t fit the narrow beauty ideal often find themselves excluded.
What I hadn’t grasped was that Mia’s definition of pretty had nothing to do with societal standards. For her, pretty is about adornment: frilly dresses, colorful accessories, and sparkly barrettes. When she exclaimed, “Mommy, you’re not pretty today,” she simply meant I should wear brighter colors. When she claimed, “Daddy is the unprettiest,” she was playfully suggesting he try a dress. When she proudly declared, “I’m the prettiest,” it was merely a statement based on her necklace collection. And in her world, “Everyone’s pretty in Mia-land” reflects a wonderfully liberated understanding of beauty.
Of course, challenges lie ahead. Mia will eventually learn that society assigns value to certain bodies over others and that some are expected to strive for beauty while others are not. It will undoubtedly be a long journey to unteach the harmful definition of pretty that permeates our culture. But for now, I cherish the lesson she has imparted: pretty is an action, not an inherent trait, and there’s nothing foolish or trivial about it. Plus, the tutu is never the problem.
For more insights on parenting and the complexities of identity, check out this article on embracing individuality. And if you’re considering at-home insemination options, this reputable online retailer offers great kits to get you started. Additionally, The Center at UCSF is an excellent resource for those navigating pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, my daughter has taught me that embracing femininity and the concept of pretty can coexist with feminist ideals. It’s a journey of understanding and supporting her unique expression of identity while navigating the complexities of societal expectations.
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