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Toys.

In my childhood, I looked forward to November for three reasons: birthdays (mine, my mom’s and my grandma’s), Thanksgiving dinner and the arrival — via our mailbox and newspapers — of toy catalogs, which I’d use to make my Christmas list.

So this morning, when I stumbled upon a toy catalog in the newspaper, I had to have a look, for old times’ sake. I didn’t figure I’d find the Play-Doh and crayons and board games of yore. But I have one word in response to what I did find, like Bratz and Monster High dolls (the latter of which I had never heard of). That one word is this:

Really?

Of all the things one could buy for kids to play with, “the fun toys” — according to the ad — are the ones in short skirts, tight shirts and pairs of fishnet stockings (which they wear on their anatomically impossible legs).

The “fun toys” are these:

And these:

And if you like how fishnets look on your daughter’s doll, you can also buy them for your daughter:

We wonder why, when a four year old girl is asked what she wants most in the world, it’s to look like Hannah Montana (1). We wonder why little girls look (and act) like teenagers, why teenagers look (and act) like adults. But then, when the impact of dolls dressed like the ones in this ad is questioned, parents say, “Please… every girl plays with this stuff. It’s what they like!”

And why is that?

“When you don’t think critically about what is being consumed, you will throw up your hands and say ‘this is what everybody wears!’ (or ‘this is what every kid plays with!’),” said my human sexuality professor — Dr. Dae Sheridan (2) — in a class over the summer. “You won’t realize this is an industry designed to take your money … you can change the demand.”

She added, “We’re pushing our children into these little boxes based on what’s available to purchase. Be a savvy consumer. Think about Bratz dolls. They have large lips and boobs, tiny waists (and are) dressed in fishnets and belly shirts … Parents say ‘this is just what kids wear’ (and ‘this is just what kids play with’) but it wouldn’t be … if parents stood up and (stopped buying it). We have to question it.”

PREACH.

– – – –

1. It’s Time to Reshape Our Beauty Standards

2. Dr. Dae Sheridan

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Do not quit.

Today, I woke up to realize only five weeks remain in what is, so far, my most difficult semester of grad school yet. Being here — in this position, at this time — reminds me of what it’s like to feel the finish line coming from my seat on a dragon boat.

A couple springs ago, I spent a season on a dragon boat team and a day competing in the Tampa Bay Dragon Boat Races. For those who haven’t “dragon boated,” it’s kind of an art form to paddle in synch with 19 other people. It’s exhilirating. And exhausting. The easy part — once you’ve trained — is starting strong. The hard part is staying strong for the rest of the race. Your job is to throw that arm into the air and put the paddle back in the water, over and over and over like everyone else. You get splashed. You get blisters. Your whole body hurts.

In a race in the Garrison Channel, I could feel the finish line coming. I paddled. And when the only thing everything in me wanted to do was stop, I started to chant.

Do.

Not.

Quit.

It started in my head.

Do.

Not.

Quit. 

I whispered it.

Do.

Not.

Quit.

I said it out loud, one word for every time my paddle hit the water. Seconds later, the race was over.

Five more weeks ’til winter break. I think it’s time to chant.

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Where the rich people go.

Happy birthday to my friend and fellow blogger SVB! To celebrate, she and I and a handful of other ladies met up last night at Bern’s Steakhouse.

For those who aren’t local, Bern’s is a restaurant on S. Howard Ave. in South Tampa. It has valet parking. And a dress code. And a cheese cave. It’s where the rich people go, and where those of us who aren’t rich find humor in the “subtle” ways we reveal it.

Examples:

1. Saying “Am I supposed to tip you now, or should I do that later?” to the valet driver when you arrive

2. Whispering “Do you think they can tell I’m not rich?” to your friends while you’re waiting for your table

3. Breaking the routine for the valet driver who retrieves your car at the end of the night — i.e., Mercedes, Mercedes, Plymouth Neon with very little paint left on it

But fitting in is not what a trip to Bern’s is about. It, I learned, is all about the dessert room. To celebrate SVB’s birth, we skipped dinner (and, legend has it, dodged the depletion of our savings accounts) and went straight to the Harry Waugh Dessert Room upstairs. Which — as it turns out — is my new favorite restaurant.

And it’s not my new favorite restaurant just because I was given the opportunity to order this:

as well as this:

Don’t judge me. I brought (most of) one of them home.

In addition to what you get to eat in the process, my new-found bias toward the dessert room has a lot to do with what it’s like to be there. For starters, the dress code means you get to (well, have to) dress up, and I always enjoy a good excuse to do that. Plus, the trek through Bern’s to the dessert room is like a tour of a haunted mansion, sans cobwebs. And as soon as you’re up the stairs and walking toward the dessert room, you can smell it: all of what will wake you up or put you to sleep, depending on your body’s response to sugar. Inside, every table is private, in its own giant wine barrel, where you can be as loud or as quiet as you’d like and no one else in the restaurant will notice.

So glad SVB chose it for her birthday celebration. So looking forward to going back.

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Imperfection.

A (delightfully) lazy Sunday so far, I spent this morning finally finishing a book I started earlier this year:

The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are by Brené Brown, Ph.D., L.M.S.W.

They say don’t judge a book by its cover, but I loved it before I cracked it because the title alone points to a reality that so pervades our culture but is, in my opinion, so largely ignored: we work hard to assure that the people we encounter will perceive us a certain way, and in the process, we forfeit authenticity. And we do it so hard, with such passion, that over time, the line between “who I think I’m supposed to be” and “who I am” gets blurry. We learn to believe “I only can be comfortable if I achieve a certain image.” and we live in denial of the truth: I can never be comfortable when I don’t accept who I am.

Brown’s book is based on a study she conducted in which she came to the following conclusion: One trait marks the difference between adults who feel like they’re loved and belong and adults who struggle to feel like they’re loved and belong: “the belief in their worthiness.” Throughout the book, she makes great points. See below for some of my favorites.

From page 25: “One of the biggest surprises in this research was learning that fitting in and belonging are not the same thing, and, in fact, fitting in gets in the way of belonging. Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn’t require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.”

From page 106: “I used my research to formulate a plan to lessen my anxiety. The men and women I interviewed weren’t anxiety-free or even anxiety-averse; they were anxiety-aware. They were committed to a way of living where anxiety was a reality but not a lifestyle … (in normally anxiety-inducing situations,) I try to be slow to respond and quick to think Do we even have all the information we need to make a decision or form a response?“

From page 121: “There are many ways in which men and women hustle for worthiness … the two that keep us the most quiet and still are hustling to be perceived as ‘cool’ and ‘in control.’ … Being ‘in control’ isn’t always about the desire to manipulate situations, but often it’s about the need to manage perception. We want to be able to control what other people think about us …”

And what Brown points out in the book, overall, is that life is far more whole when we drop our efforts to control what other people think — which, as my all my therapist and psychologist professors would tell you, is both fruitless and impossible. 

For more about Brown’s book, click here. And for a great video of a short talk Brown gave based on the book, click here.