Last week I reviewed Peggy Orenstein’s best-selling book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, and this week, Orenstein has a disturbing addendum to her expose on gendered marketing to children:
[E]arlier this week, The New York Times reported that Disney has begun sending sales reps into 580 hospitals nationwide. The reps are offering new moms, within hours of giving birth, a free Disney Cuddly Bodysuit for their babies if they sign up for e-mail alerts from DisneyBaby.com. The idea is to encourage mothers to infuse their infants with brand loyalty as if it is mother’s milk.
Suddenly the delivery room command to “push” has a whole new meaning.
I’m not sure Disney can sink any lower.
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I think Tina Fey missed her calling. She should have been an essayist. In this week’s New Yorker, she writes a hysterical essay about being a working mother and deciding whether or not to have another baby. You have to have a subscription to gain access to the whole article, but here’s an abstract. And here are a few of my favorite quotes:
The second-worst question you can ask a woman is: “Are you going to have more kids?” This is rude. Especially to a woman like me, who is in her “last five minutes.” By that I mean my last five minutes of being famous is timing out to be simultatnious with my last five minute of being able to have a baby.
Science shows that fertility and movie offers drop off steeply for women after forty.
When my daughter says, “I wish I had a baby sister,” I am stricken with guilt and panic. When she says, “Mommy, I need Aqua Sand” or “I only want to eat gum!” or “Wipe my butt!” I am less affected.
And then there are her thoughts on the industry:
I have observed that women, at least in comedy, are labeled “crazy” after a certain age…I know older men in comedy who can barely feed and clean themselves, and they still work. The women, though, they’re all “crazy.” I have a suspicion– and hear me out, because this is a rough one– that the definition of “crazy” in show business is a woman who keeps talking even after no one wants to fuck her anymore. The only person I can think of who escaped the “crazy” moniker is Betty White, which, obviously, is because people still want to have sex with her.
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I threw together a hippie outfit at the last minute and found some pieces to embellish it at the local party store.
I think I would have made a great hippie.