Taking the team concept too far.
Since I had to buy a birthday gift for a 4-year-old girl, I was forced to go to the store and over to the “pink aisle” (under the advice of the girl’s mother). I figured Target would work, right?
First, I have to pass the Junior’s clothing section. I just don’t understand the whole “Team Edward” vs. “Team Jacob” concept. Did no one read the books? Hate to ruin the ending for you kids, but Edward gets the girl and Jacob gets the girl’s girl. There. Now go learn some current events.
Seriously, I really like the books series, but I’m about to make my own t-shirt: “Team Volturi: Fry ’em all, and their little dogs, too…”
Merchandising for morons.
If you’ve never walked past the toy aisles at any large retail chain, next time you go look for the Pink Aisle. You can’t miss it. Sometimes it’s even marked “Girl’s toys”. There are no trucks here. No airplanes. No chemistry sets. No flashcards. No puzzles. No books.
There are an overabundance of baby dolls, barbies, and dress-up clothes. [Don’t get too excited, none of the dress-up clothes are lab coats, power suits, or turnout gear. Just tiaras, heels, and boas.] It’s really pretty nauseating.
If you enter the aisle on the appropriate side, you have to pass the retro-Barbie section. Here you can almost restore your faith in the whole franchise. Almost.
In 1965 Barbara was a rocket scientist. Apparently she was also surrounded by asian men in pink jump suits. If this wasn’t selling for $39.99, I probably would have bought it and created a shrine to disappointment and lost ambition. Hell, I might get it on clearance and do it anyway.
I’m sorry to say Barb’s career crashed and burned before it ever had a chance. Really, how was she going to put on all that make up in zero gravity anyway? And the helmet would have totally screwed up her hair once you removed the saran wrap headband, that is…
In the midst of a recession, set your goals a little lower.
Moving on down the aisle, Mattel has decided every good girl needs a career goal. Unfortunately, Mattel has also moved manufacturing to China and there is a little bit of a linguistics gap. Also, since Chinese manufacturing apparently has trouble spelling “veterinarian”, Barb is now a “Pet Vet”. Does anyone know any other kind of vet?
Does anyone actually have a vet that makes her own clothing? And what is with the cardboard cutouts in her pockets? There’s so many things utterly and horribly wrong here, I could really elucidate all day, but I’ll just let your imagination fill in the rest. You all probably have a good idea of how morally and aesthetically offended I am at this patchwork monstrosity.
Not to mention pink clipboards and hairbrushes. And tights.
If you can’t stand the neutering…
So you just want to be a spoiled princess and own an overabundance of yappy little dogs, well there’s a Barbie for you, too!
The plastic yappers actually urinate and defecate. Don’t you just want to rush to the store this very minute?
Assuming an author’s prerogative for random digression.
If you couldn’t tell from the previous assortment of pictures, Babs still sports that same vapid stare she has always had. Would it really kill someone to make her smile?
Standing in that pink circle of hell, I felt like I was on the verge of being attacked by lead-based plastic supermodels that couldn’t proportionately exist in nature. Really, it’s the constant staring that gets to me. Or maybe it’s the Joan Crawford eyebrows. Either way, she looks like a little person trapped in a horror movie all the time. I also think her head is possibly getting bigger. Maybe the hydrocephalic Bratz/Moxie pack is starting to influence Mattel’s design team after all.
Do they still have bendy rods in their legs? Wire strippers can turn a doll into an instant cake topper; particularly if you make the frosting a nice lime green with raisins a la “The Blob” and model it to look like it’s eating her… I’m just saying.
Prison finally brings Ken out of the closet.
Did you think I would forget Ken? No way. Particularly considering how utterly and completely he came prancing out to embrace the sexuality we all knew he was repressing for the last 50+ years. [Admit it, the first time you saw “Silence of the Lambs” you realized Ken was a secretly frustrated transexual who had been tucking all these years. Where else was he hiding the package?] He’s certainly way past being vaguely metro.
At least he lost the helmet hair, although I’m not sure this particular ‘do is a good choice. Babs must be insanely jealous; at least he has some lowlights.
Didn’t anyone tell him about white tennis shoes, though? And who on this earth thought the word “HOTTiE” should be on this package? And isn’t “fashionista” inherently a feminine term?
Just when the heebie-jeebies were in full swing.
I was about to run screaming from the Pink Aisle of Zombie Doom when I found the latest trend to make a parents’ blood run cold.
Straight from Japan [the country that brought us Anime, a.k.a. poorly disguised mainstream pedophilia] we introduce the Harumika girls. No, this is not a L.A.M.B. product. Yes, it is exceptionally creepy.
Apparently, this started as a series of mannequins that were supposed to allow little Project Runway inspired children to make their own haute couture. Somewhere along the lines, they decided it was a good idea to put faces and semi-exotic names on them. The one that stopped me in my tracks was named “Lucia”.
If the pasty, anorexic, poorly-posed thumbnail image doesn’t creep you out, let me give you a close-up of a head shot of this little monster:
What the hell were they thinking? The only thing I could figure is this is some kind of Mattel marketing ploy to make you appreciate Babs. At least she isn’t going to force your child into therapy by leaping out of a gaily wrapped gift with her death-ray stare! Babs at least will only drive your child to a psychoanalyst after years of tormenting her self-esteem and warping her body image.
[Ok, I’ll admit I thought about buying this for the 4-year-old birthday girl in question to just to prove my hypothesis.]
PAZD – 1; Mommy – 0
I finally caved and bolted from the Pink Aisle of Zombie Doom and decided books would be a much better gift. So I cobble together a cheap clearance purse, a couple of books, a slinky, a kaleidoscope, playdoh, and some markers with a jaunty bow. Mommy digs the dollar aisle.
Besides, this was also the first preschool event I’ve been to with a folk singer and open bar. My G also can’t decide if he likes the birthday girl or her best friend better. What I wouldn’t do to be 4 again…