christmas toys, gender norming, and all that fun stuff.

One of my favorite times of the year is Christmas (or winter holiday season, if I'm going to be my politically correct, bleeding-heart liberal self). In part, this is because I love Christmas movies, songs, and the fact that people are generally slightly less mean during this season, but let's be real: I love gift guides. I love that in magazines or blogs they're sorted according to the kind of person you're shopping for (trendy gal pal? Outdoorsy dad? It's all covered!), and I guess my German instincts can appreciate sorting people like that.

But they're also deeply sexist, especially for kids, in a kind of way that makes me just queasy. Looking through the Black Fridays ads with my mama a few weeks ago, I made an observation that is by no means new in the feminist world, but which bears repeating and noticing at the very least.

Toys for boys involve fun things, movement, doing stuff, attacking, ACTION.

Toys for girls involve pink stuff, dressing up, taking care of things, PASSIVITY.

Sometimes, it's just that obvious. Check this ad from Toys R Us.

As you can see, it's blue, which means it's obviously for children born with penises. And in case you couldn't guess by all the pointing and shooting and building things, the title on the page assures you that these toys are ACTION-PACKED! Because these young leaders of men deserve nothing less than action, right?

I'll be honest: these toys look fun. Potentially damaging to the interior of a house, but fun to play with and explore and interact with.

The girls' toys? Not so much.

There's not really any description of the toys. There's just a lot of dolls, pink, Barbies, and sitting. Nothing flying or remote controlled (except perhaps the pink Cadillac for Barbie and her friends). It's all passive. It could perhaps be argued that it inspires more creativity because the child playing with these toys would have to invent the action themselves (which for me, as a child, meant making my Barbies awkwardly have sex with each other, while my stuffed animals watched and gossiped. Growing up in a small town, this is pretty true to life for what adolescence held for most of us). They're not just less fun, in my definition of fun, but they also set girls up to see themselves as the passive ones, the thing that is acted upon instead of the ones taking action themselves, the ones serving others. And that makes me sad.

That being said...there are signs of progress for our society (or what progress can be gleaned from the pages of the Toys R Us catalog!). Check this out:

See those kitchens on the right? BOYS AND GIRLS baking brownies and feeding their imaginary brats. Of course, the page is still outlined in pink, so you know this is really intended for those boy tots you already think are homos, but hey, it's better than nothing.

So. I beg of you to take some awareness into the holiday season as you shop for the kids in your life. Consider getting gender-neutral gifts, or something that flips the dichotomy on its head: buy that sweet little girl a fake fun, or get that boy the dress up set you know he'd love.

What're you getting the kids in your life? As a kid, did you get gender-specific gifts from family members and Santa?

Much love,
The Sheriff

finally finally back!

Sorry that horrible hiatus (mostly horrible for me, since writing is one of the highlights of my life)! I got sick, then I spilled water on my laptop like a pro, then the repair dudes took a while to get it back to me...long story short, The Sheriff is back! Regular posting to resume on Monday. I am so psyched! We belong together, readers. We really do.

Much love,
The Sheriff

Woe is me!

Deep apologies for the lack of posting! I have a bunch of exciting things to blog about but there was this little hurricane named Sandy that swept through Philly, and now my laptop has taken an electronic dump on me so all posting has ground to a halt.

I'll be back soon! I hope.

Much love,
The Sheriff

vacation for illness

Hey ya'll,

The Sheriff is going to take a wee break this week from blogging, thanks to a debilitating illness that keeps morphing on my ass like a shapeshifter. I need some time to do more sleeping and fluid drinking, so have a nice week, and I'll see you here next Monday!

Much love,
The Sheriff

friday links

Recovery A-Z...I really like this post. It's honest. Recovery ain't for sissies.

Traits associated with eating disorders are also seen commonly in highly successful people...no shock there for me, but it's nice to have science to confirm my suspicions.

Ever wonder what causes eating disorders? Is it culture, genetics, environment?


Much love,
The Sheriff

lack of sex and self esteem: the power of choice

As you may have read, the Sheriff is giving celibacy the ol' college try. And seeing as no one is aggressively throwing sex in my general direction, it hasn't been too difficult. Kinda lonely, as we move into cuddling season, but not hard in and of itself (there's a dick pun in that sentence. I'll leave the mystery intact and let you find it). Celibacy really increasing my sense of pride and self-esteem. Which is a reversal of how it felt early on. Let me explain.

Like many, many, many people, I like feeling wanted and desirable and like I'm worth someone's time.And when someone chooses you so clearly, it's easy to let that distract you out of who you are and who you are when you're alone and what matters to you. This amnesia afflicts lots of young people (though it's not just limited to the follies of youth) when we're in that phase where who we are is still crystallizing and it's easy to fall into a relationship with someone and start to become who they want you to be or who you think they want you to be. I realized that it was easy for me to wind up somehow in one relationship after another, all of which were fine and decent and taught me things about myself...but only one of which in the last six years I can say I really, consciously chose. And that's a shame because to me, one of the central tenets of feminism and being a modern lady of sorts is that we choose how we live and the things we do--we choose when to have kids, where to live, whether or not to take our partner's last name in marriage, whether or not to get married at all or to spend your days with a cat in a one-bedroom apartment, perfectly fulfilled anyway.


Not flirting with and fucking has actually increased my self-esteem and sense of pride considerably--I'm choosing this, consciously. And when I do choose to have sex again, that'll be a conscious choice too. And I feel pretty damn good about that.

Much love,
The Sheriff

an ode to my legs

Kate of Eat the Damn Cake regularly does an un-roast at the end of each post, where she praises a body part or feature of hers. In that spirit, I'm taking this Monday to praise my legs.

From the age of three onward, I wanted to be a ballerina. I was not necessarily a graceful child, and spent most of my time running around in the woods with no shoes on, talking to myself and scraping my knees, but at the barre, in front of the mirror in my leotard, I felt elegant (except that I was three and didn't know what that meant). Dance has been a part of my life ever since, and it's always been a space where my legs serve me well--fast moving, strong, sure of themselves.

They've changed drastically over the years--pudgy and childlike as a kid, stick thin and lean during the eating disorder years, then strong and solid again. They're not long and sexy like a Victoria's Secret model sashaying down the runway. I've had Marvel compliment them for being "short and strong," which is code for stocky and squat. And while there are definitely more graceful ways to express that, I actually like that they're stocky. I could pick them out of a lineup--they hold their own on the leg press machine, and always impress me with their flexibility. Even now, when they're decidedly more jiggly than perhaps ever before, I like them. They're not perfect, but they're entirely, wholly mine.


Do you have a body part you love, despite it's non-conventional features?

Much love,
The Sheriff