Luckily, inter-generational warfare is postponed by the disappearance of my daughter. A frantic search finds her in the pink toy aisle, sitting inside a miniature car. The motorcar is plastic, it is pink and it is branded by a well-known doll whose breasts are bigger than her feet.
I’ve never seen my child so happy.
Naturally I’m horrified. This busty doll, in whose brand my daughter has taken a sudden, zesty interest, is at the epicenter of feminist critique. After all, she glorifies superficiality and the kind of over-sized homes last seen before the housing crash. Worse, she touts glittery pink products named ‘Glam Vacuum Set!’ and ‘Glam Laundry!’
As anyone with a mop knows, domestic duties are not Glam!
Furthermore, the pinkness of the products bolsters the lie that housework is girls’ work.
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