Thoughts on a Child
Erin Douglass
CookieAugust 2007
Today, as I was leafing through my mail, I uncovered a glossy envelope with the word "Cookie" colorfully stamped on the front. "Neat," I thought putting it aside. "A new magazine for Roxy."
We already receive Babybug, the bi-monthly starter mag from the folks behind the children's classic, Cricket. A gift from a close friend, the publication probably has 30 words, tops, in its 12 or so pages. The stories feature animals at play, curious kids discovering the world, and old nursery rhymes paired with modern illustrations. Roxy, now one-and-a-half, loves it.
I do, too. I love leafing through its sturdy pages, asking Rox to point out a bird in a corner or the rubber duck in a bathtub and watching her respond, confidently, with a pudgy finger. I love watching her turn the pages herself. I love hearing her read aloud in singsong childspeak. And I love thinking about her one day diving into an issue of Cricket on her own, sprawled on her bed, lost in the world of story and language.
Later this evening, I picked up the Cookie envelope again. Only then did I spot the teaser copy running across its center: "The new magazine for the woman within the mother."
You've got to be kidding, I thought, ripping the thing open.
Inside I found the following:
- 1 introductory letter asking "What do smart, sexy, stylish moms do?" and then bragging, "From a beautiful, cashmere-soft designer hoodie for your child...to a dazzling pair of freshwater pearl earrings for you...COOKIE is the only magazine that brings together both of your worlds — the 'mom' part and the 'woman' part."
- 1 insert for the free, "exclusive COOKIE Bag" — billed as "a perfect combination of good looks and practicality," but looking more like any other boring red tote-bag with ribbed, sure-to-cut-into-your-shoulder straps.
- 1 subscription card featuring a recent cover of Cookie (hot, tan "mom" holding adorable tow-headed child on white sand beach), addressed to The Plummer Family (my husband and daughter's name), and emblazoned with a shiny Free Gift tote-bag sticker that I was encouraged to peel off one side of the card and affix to the other like a monkey.
- 1 "10 Ways to celebrate family life..." pamphlet filled with glossy, sexy photos of "moms" and glossy, fetching photos of children and featuring "Make a mess," "Give yourself a time out" and "Sneak in whole wheat" as just three of its useful tips.
- 1 sheet of alphabet and animal stickers (cute, I must admit).
I sat back and stared at the pile.
I recalled a review of Bjork's new album "Volta" (which I have and like quite a lot) I'd read the day before in a recent New Yorker. In it, Bjork is quoted as saying her new songs were for the little princesses in the world, explaining, "All they want to do is be pretty and find their prince, and I'm, like, what happened to feminism?"
The slick, staged, expensive, privileged, beautiful-girl/woman-filled veneer of Cookie made me want to ask the very same thing.
What has happened to us? To women?
Smart. Sexy. Stylish. Adjectives that we all strive for to some degree in our individual ways. And yet, more and more, this individual striving seems to be crowded out by collective, conformity-minded obsessing. "Smart" has the most latitude, even if math, science and technology fields are still overwhelmingly dominated by men. "Stylish" offers room for experimentation in spite of retail homogeneity.
Ah, but "sexy."
Even with the Web at our fingertips — and much of humanity to blog and chat and exchange photos with — "sexy" has never looked so uniform...or so essential to a woman's being. Glance at a rack of magazine covers. Turn on the tube. Look around at a bar or club. The sexy know who they are.
Do women always have to look sexy? Do we always want to have to look sexy? Scrutinizing our world — and not just our Western world — you'd certainly think so. Shopping, primping, plucking, tucking,...they used to be the preoccupations solely of rich women. These days advertainment like Cookie mag tries to convince us all, regardless of age and bank account, to do and be and toss our long hair likewise.
When the Nancy Drew movie opened recently, I made secret plans to see it on a day off. A life-long fan of the series, I wondered how they would bring to life beloved characters like "titian-haired" Nancy, "plump" Bess and "boyish" George. Then I watched a preview online. Nancy was certainly perky and clever...but where were George and Bess? And why did it look like any other high school misfit movie, rather than a story about a gutsy girl detective?
I like the word "cookie." It's an endearment. A favorite snack. A beloved Sesame Street monster. The mis-heard name (for years, I'm embarrassed to say) of a Senior NPR Correspondent. Why spoil the party with a big wad of mixed messages tied up with a cashmere-soft designer bow?
I yearn for Roxy to grow into a world that is welcoming of her radiant, many-layered female qualities. A child of the 70s and open-minded, generous parents, I certainly had that opportunity. From jock-filled soccer camp to dyke-powered volleyball team, from Puccini records to punk-rock clubs, from the Thespian Society to the science fair, I dove into sub-culture after sub-culture.
Shouldn't we all have this ability to move through worlds — varied, unexpected, even contradictory worlds — without struggle?
Leaning over the corner of my desk, I carefully inserted the Cookie promo into the shredder.
Then I gave myself a time-out and found "Volta."