quote of the day
“I don’t mean to be rude, but have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?”
—Sabrina the Teenage Witch, S1E21
(the OG show from the ’90s, not the reboot)
in defense of seasonal decor
image: Karolina Grabowska
When I was in my 20s, my Reckless Asshole years, I looked down on seasonal decorating. It was the purview of elementary school teachers (with those scalloped bulletin board borders) or Bored Straight White Midwestern Housewives (as I rudely thought of them, reducing an entire region to a one-dimensional stereotype). It was only for pathetic people; I was far too busy Having a Life to pay attention to something as inconsequential as the passage of time. (I said I was an asshole!)
Now I realize that was pretty ageist and sexist (and reductive). Of course it implies having lots of privilege—you clearly aren’t worried about housing, food, safety, etc. if you have time to decorate. (And yes, all the usual critiques of mindless consumerism, capitalism, and waste.) But seasonal decorating seems like a mostly feminine thing, or an older-lady thing, and I don’t want to shit on either of those. It’s part of America’s larger culture of sexism and belittling stereotypically feminine stuff in favor of stereotypically masculine stuff. (For example, dudes can play with model trains/cars and remote-controlled planes their whole lives, paint miniature figurines, and have a Man Cave, but the feminine equivalent of those things is somehow mock-worthy and inferior. Not to mention that gender roles are stupid and everyone should be allowed to like what they like, regardless of gender!)
image: Anna Tarazevich
Anyway, I say fuck it! Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older, but I’ve come to love Spooky Season and the chance to toss black gauzy fabric over everything. Black and white stripes, cute ghosties, spiderwebs, a DIY bat garland cut out of construction paper while I watch Netflix—I WANT IT ALL. I’ve always loved fall (summer can suck it), but my obsession has reached a new level. I guess I’m less afraid to be considered “basic” and would just rather drink the dang pumpkin spice latte than try to be cool. Spend late summer driving around to stores like Michaels in search of spooky decor I can put up two months early, even if it pisses my neighbors off? Sign me up! I guess this is what my life has become, but I’m not mad about it.
Is it pathetic? Maybe. My younger self would probably judge me and think I need to get a life. But I also know that even though I wasn’t super interested, I went to a lot of events in my 20s because I didn’t know how to say no, or I thought I was supposed to, or I was trying to impress someone. Now I’m better at boundaries and the whole “If it’s not a hell yes, it’s a no” thing. I protect my time, even if that time is just spent taking a nap or reading a cheesy murder mystery. I’m a little sad for my younger self—I didn’t really know who I was or how to stand up for myself and what I wanted. Maybe that’s just your 20s. In any case, as I continue dreading/anticipating turning 40, I’m glad I no longer give a shit. LET’S PUT UP SOME PUMPKINS!
P.S. There’s also something to be said for slowing down and embracing rituals and appreciating the seasons, whether that’s celebrating a solstice or eating something in season (shout out to the tomatoes in my backyard, who definitely know how to read and are reading this blog post). 👻
let’s go party
Filipino drag queen Slaytina via Pexels
I’m excited to see the much-hyped (some might say overhyped) Barbie movie tomorrow, to my confusion. I played with Barbies as a kid, but once I got older, I thought they were stupid. An anatomically impossible body shape that’s the equivalent of size-3 feet and a neck too small to lift her head? Ankles so thin she’d have to crawl on all fours? Isn’t that pretty much the opposite of feminism?
Not to mention this:
In a psychological study, girls from age 5 to 8 were shown images of either a Barbie doll or a more realistic "size 16" doll. Those who saw the Barbie dolls had less self-esteem and worse body image and had a stronger desire to be thin.
Yikes. Why am I so excited? I wondered. (So excited that I bought tickets ahead of time, painted my nails pink, and watched all the trailers.) What is WRONG with me?
Then I read this:
I know some folks are not a fan of Barbie, particularly because of the unrealistic beauty standards that she has represented for years. And somehow, I am totally wrapped up in the pink and nostalgia even though I never really saw myself represented through Barbie. I think we can hold space for both?!
—Lauren Leavell, body-positive fitness instructor & trainer
I really like this take. It’s much more compassionate than yelling at myself, for starters. Plus, the media blitz for Barbie has been unavoidable—Mattel really went all out on a truly ridiculous number of brand collaborations. (A less generous take might be that the Barbie movie has been shoved down our throats. No one asked for Barbie x Ruggable.)
And I think a lot of it has to do with global and national landscapes. We’re facing staggering inflation, widespread homelessness (and politicians who seem clueless about what to do), and the Ukraine/Russia war, but everything is supposed to be fine because COVID is “over.” It’s a really fucking depressing time to be alive, and this movie looks like fluffy, delicious escapism. I keep thinking of Legally Blonde and Mean Girls, both of which are quotable and silly and iconic, and hoping this movie is witty and subversive and joyful enough to sit alongside them. (Not that they aren’t both flawed and problematic too.)
Then there’s something I’ve also been trying to wrap my head around lately: decoupling pink, sparkly things from gender. After all, in the 1910s, pink was a masculine color:
The generally accepted rule is pink for the boys and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.
—Earnshaw’s Infants’ Department, 1918 (via A Little Bit Human)
Wild that things completely flipped.
I’ve been thinking about gender lately. The most widespread images of nonbinary people are thin, white, androgynous hotties wearing colors like black, navy, and gray. But I hate those colors. (Unless I’m having a summer goth moment.) I love pink, rainbows, and unicorns! I want my clothes and home to look like funfetti cake topped with iridescent glitter! I want Party City’s mermaid section to throw up on me! Who decided those things had to be “feminine”?
One quote I keep coming back to is “Femmes can be thems.” I can like stereotypically “girly” things without identifying as a girl. Wearing sparkly eyeshadow doesn’t mean I’m a woman. (At least, I hope not? I’m still trying to figure this out.)
Anyway, back to Barbie. It looks campy and queer and colorful and irreverent, and I AM HERE FOR ALL THOSE THINGS. Of course I still think capitalism is bullshit. Of course I hate that girls start thinking they should go on diets at, like, age 7.
But I also need a little treat sometimes, and I’ve been trying to feel less guilty about that.
Here’s hoping it’s a delicious little escapist treat.*
*the fact that conservatives and Fox News are already complaining it’s “too woke” is a good sign.