Updated: September 25, 2015
Originally Published: September 25, 2015
Around the age of two and a half, my daughter Mia would frequently exclaim—often at the top of her lungs—“I have to be pretty.” This proclamation was her go-to justification for choosing a pink shirt or a dress over pants. My initial reaction was to push back, insisting she didn’t need to look pretty and that wearing a dress would hinder her ability to climb at the playground. “I don’t want to climb. I have to be PRETTY!” she would retort.
I initially attributed her fixation on beauty to well-meaning strangers who would gush, “You look so pretty in that pink dress!” My frustration was directed at these individuals for instilling in her the belief that prettiness was paramount and for exposing her to a lifetime of unsolicited comments about her appearance—an all-too-familiar precursor to harassment.
As Mia’s insistence on being pretty grew stronger, I began to understand that this was not merely a case of societal brainwashing; it was a significant aspect of her identity and a means of expressing her femininity. I came to realize that my role as a feminist mother wouldn’t be to steer her away from the sea of pink marketed to little girls but to support her love for all things girly while also critiquing the myriad troubling elements of gender-targeted marketing. This dual task made me confront my own ingrained biases about femininity.
Growing up in Scotland during the 1980s, I was influenced by a subtle form of second-wave feminism that praised tomboys while deriding girly girls. I envied the girls who wore pink and had collections of My Little Ponies, but I felt pressured to be different—more sophisticated. With my weekend friends, I’d mock anything considered girly, despising the commercials for girls’ toys and claiming blue was my favorite color. At school, I would tell classmates that their dresses and earrings were “silly” and “stupid,” associating femininity with negativity. It’s no surprise I wasn’t the most popular girl.
While my experience may be extreme, many of us grow up with a certain level of femmephobia. Even girls encouraged to embrace pink and play with “girl toys” learn that they lose respect and credibility based on their choices, such as wearing heels or makeup. Interests in fashion are often dismissed as trivial. Thankfully, I now understand this as a reflection of societal misogyny. Still, I caught myself hiding Mia’s tutu out of discomfort with the constant “pretty princess” comments she received from passersby when she wore it.
This realization prompted me to reassess my views. The tutu wasn’t the issue; wanting to be pretty wasn’t the problem either. The real issue lies in the societal definition of beauty, which often equates it with being thin, white, and conventionally attractive. Moreover, while many girls are praised for their beauty, those who don’t fit a narrow standard are often excluded from the “pretty club.”
What I hadn’t fully grasped was that Mia’s concept of pretty diverged from the distorted societal ideals. To her, prettiness was connected to adornment: colorful dresses, sparkling jewelry, and vibrant hair accessories. When she tells me, “Mommy, you’re not pretty today,” she simply means I should wear brighter colors. When she says, “Daddy, you’re always the unprettiest,” she’s merely suggesting he should wear a dress occasionally. Her declaration of “I’m the prettiest” is based on who has the most necklaces. In her world, “Everyone’s pretty in Mia-land” represents a refreshing perspective on beauty.
There are still challenges ahead. Mia will inevitably learn that society holds certain bodies in higher regard than others and that some people are expected to strive for beauty while others are not. I recognize that unlearning these harmful definitions will be a long journey. For now, however, I cherish the lesson she has imparted to me: that prettiness is an expression of creativity and joy, not a measure of worth. The tutu is never the problem.
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Summary:
In this reflection, Laura Greene discusses how her three-year-old daughter Mia’s insistence on being “pretty” challenged her preconceived notions about femininity and societal beauty standards. Initially concerned about the implications of Mia’s obsession with prettiness, Laura learned to embrace her daughter’s love for girly things while critically examining the problematic aspects of gender-targeted marketing. Ultimately, Laura concludes that beauty should be seen as an expression of creativity rather than a definition of worth.