Lessons for My Daughters About #BreakingtheInternet

Many situations in life are what we call “teachable moments.”  They may be times when someone did really well, but sometimes (usually) the best lessons are from when something has gone wrong.

In the past week, there was one celebrity who tried to steal the internet spotlight by baring her a$$ on a magazine cover and everything else on the inside pages (although online, cover and inside pages don’t really matter, so we got a glimpse of it all, but anyway...)  Then, another who quietly donned a white jumpsuit and cape, had her husband-to-be suit up in white, and rode two white bikes to their wedding – and the pictures took the internet by a tidal wave.  Teachable moments.

So what can we teach our daughters from these two examples of womanhood?

Overt, aggressive, look-at-me, love-me self-promotion doesn’t always work out so well.  People don’t like being forced to look at you and give you compliments.  Have you noticed whenever a person or even business entity attempts the “make a meme of me” campaign, it usually backfires? A haughty “break the internet” push actually comes off as a little too much self-absorption, and while the buzz may be out there, it’s not necessarily good. I haven’t heard anyone say “wow, I was so happy that while I was drinking my coffee this morning, sliding through Twitter, her a$$ popped up on my screen.” (Yeah, I know some thought that, but I’m talking about the rest of us.) Same when girls are strutting around in dresses tighter then their underwear and just as short or posting 100 selfies a day.  Lesson: stop begging for compliments and attention; it’s not a good look.

People like genuine-ness.  As much as we thrill in the drama of “reality” lives, in our hearts, we want to see for-real real, true love and friendship (or at least the image of it.)  So when photos of Solange’s wedding in white popped on the screen, there was a big collective “awwww, how lovely!”  Here was a celebrity who got married like a person with some sense who was focused on her own happiness, not “likes” and RT’s.  There were no secret, teasing peek photos at the wedding by the paparazzi hiding in bushes (the cute video of her and her son dancing looks like a friend took it on their phone) or month-long live E! coverage of the preparations.  I’m not naïve enough to think that there wasn’t a little bit of publicity planning involved in all of this, but the feeling was genuine and natural.  Sometimes we like things not being crazy over the top.  Lesson: We like that natural, real you better than the made-for-TV version.

In the real world, where the rest of us live, “breaking the internet” is not a real, tangible goal.  Sure, people like having a bunch of followers and friends, there’s a jolt of cyber-pride when you get some “likes” for a photo or status post. Heck, that’s what we bloggers live for – a share, a tweet, a comment. But all that amounts to very little in your quest to be a real, good, happy person.  Lesson: please, please don’t base your self-worth on electronic clicks, but instead on warm, live hugs and smiles.

And a few more quick ones:

Lesson: How you start is how you will continue.

Lesson: Pick your husband and life partner wisely. 

Lesson: Have more to offer the world than what’s physical.

And one more:

Don’t overstay your welcome.  If you somehow slipped into the party through the backdoor and folks tolerated you to stay – enjoy yourself, grab a drink, dance a little bit, don’t be a nuisance, and realize when it’s time for you to go.  Take your goodie bag, thank your host, and move on.

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Does Race Matter at Barbie's House?

It’s the rush of the holidays – wander up and down the aisles of the toy store looking for the perfect doll to go under the tree. A Barbie, a baby doll, a little friend doll. A swimmer, a horseback rider, a teacher, a fashion model; one that eats, one that poops, one that sings.  And one that looks like my daughter?

It’s the constant debate and decision – does the doll’s race matter?  We’ve all heard of the famous doll experiment where researchers gave little girls two dolls, one Black, one White, and asked which they preferred.  For reasons debated and discussed and dissected since then, the Black girls often chose the White doll.  For parents of color, that has left us in the quandary, which doll to get our daughters?  And then, what if the one she really really wants, the one that has a puppy or the one that laughs, is only available in White?  Our Baby Alive speaks Spanish, despite no one in the house being able to do so at the time, why? Because, she was the brown doll available.  Yeah, it’s that deep.

The doll experiment and social scientists since then, and parents, too, have expressed the concern that if little brown girls play with little white dolls, perhaps they will not realize how beautiful they themselves are. Perhaps they will not appreciate their own tight curls and brown skin, instead idolizing long, silky locks and bright blue eyes.  Some parents even argue that the brown Barbies emulate this same ideal of beauty, with their own long, black tresses, making little brown girls wish to have their hair permed and straightened and flowing down their back.  I wonder, do White mothers have these concerns about their daughters playing with brown dolls?

With 3 daughters, I’ve thought about this a lot.  Each time I stand in the doll aisle, I wonder, does it matter? My daughters hear that they are pretty and beautiful and are smart from us, their parents and their family. We watch TV and movies and talk about how Beyonce and Halle Barry and Jordan Sparks and Kiki Palmer are pretty. We cheer on Gabby Douglas and the Williams sisters for their athleticism. They know my friends, Black women, who are lawyers and nurses and mathematicians and professors – smart women.  Do they have to have all of that reinforced in their dolls?

I will admit, a few white dolls have wandered into our home.  Our Barbie community includes brown, white, even Asian.   Some are blonde, some brunette.  Some have really large heads.  They have curly hair, straight hair, and bad haircuts.  Some wear  fabulous shoes, one wears ice skates, some have no feet at all.  They live in the same big townhouse, share a purple convertible, trade shoes and dresses, wait patiently to get their hair braided, and sit at the same dinner table.  They all seem to get along.

And in this day, where they go to school with children from countries all over the world, with a girl from the Philipines on one side, a boy from Ethiopia on the other, a classmate who speaks Chinese and one who speaks French, one who is the fastest runner, and one who is in a wheelchair, a friend who lives in a mansion, and friend who lives in an apartment – this, this existence in harmony, is the lesson that I want them to learn.  And maybe Barbie and her friends will help teach it to them.

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Are you raising a Diva?

I was at one of my kids’ schools and in conversation, this little girl says to me, “I’m a diva.”

“I didn’t know you sang opera,” I said.

Of course, the little girl looked at me in confusion.

“Because that’s what divas do,” I further defined. 

“No, I don’t sing opera,” she said, confirming my assumption that she did not.

“Then why do you think you’re a diva?” Well, we know the answer right?

“Because my mom told me I was. She always says I’m such a diva,” she said, with the requisite teeny hand on not-yet existent hip and shake of her braids.

I smiled and nodded, keeping my next thought to myself.  Ahh, so if you aren’t an opera singer, or some other highly accomplished singer, your mother’s proud of you in the urban cultural definition of the word for being a rude, self-indulgent, high maintenance woman?  (You know the one-word synonym that rhymes with “mitch,” but this is a family blog.)

Why? Why, moms, why do we proudly call our little girls “divas,” screenprint it on sweatpants across their little behinds, put them to bed with sleeping masks imprinted with it, and throw them 10-year old diva themed birthday parties? Really? And then we get all mad about our daughters not being taken seriously as students of math, science and technology?  One of my daughter’s friends had a birthday party recently and her theme was “nerdy school girl” and the cake was designed as a stack of books. A little different, but so much better than the diva spa parties that are the new trend.

What are we telling our daughters when we sweetly and proudly call them “diva” when they pitch a fit about eating their dinner or because they didn’t get the pair of jeans they wanted or don’t have the latest iPhone25?  What message are we sending when we, essientally, praise them for such behavior? And then we wonder why when they get to their teen years they are demanding a BMW for their Sweet 16 or continue to throw tantrums when we say “no’?

On large scale, we don’t do this with our boys, right? I don’t even know what you would call a boy who acts in this manner, a “divo” perhaps?  But we do not praise our boys' bad behavior. Unfortunately, our society sometimes labels them for their behavior, but not in a good way, either. (A whole ‘nother discussion.)

We can do better. There is a whole dictionary full of more positive, beautiful images and appellations for our daughters other than high-maintenance, "witchy" women.

Unless, of course, she is channeling Marian Anderson.

Marian Anderson, Lincoln Memorial, Easter Sunday 1939

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