So, I happened to be browsing the net the other night,
bouncing from site to site and came across something that made me go “hmmm”: http://www.pinkstinks.co.uk/. ‘Pink
Stinks’ is a campaigning site devised by two mothers horrified at the abundance
of pink in the world and the way girlhood is being portrayed and stage managed
by corporations determined to paint everything pink. More than that they shed
light on the way many of the products targeted at young women and girls in
mainstream culture are capitalising not only on pink but notions of a
hyper-sexualised norm that involves domestic chores, make-up and glamour. They
believe that this sends a decidedly dodgy message that girls as young as
toddlers are listening to and buying into as they grow-up. The site attempts to
campaign against the more disturbing elements of consumer culture –
particularly appealing to common sense from parents ready to eat-up cosmetics and
other inappropriate items for girls under ten.
I myself came to pink very late in life. I was a
dungarees and t-shirt kind of kid too busy reading books and climbing trees to
buy into pink things. I was too busy running around (and clumsily falling over)
in the fresh air and riding my red BMX to take notice. My sister on the
other-hand had a plethora of Barbie’s, My Little Ponies and make-up sets; she
was painting the fingernails of dolls while I read inspiring tales of heroines
on intergalactic voyages and witches casting errant spells. Although the both
of us experienced a somewhat difficult and sheltered existence I spent time in
the library while she went shopping with mum – hand-holding cohorts running
errands together. It was me who followed books all the way to University,
believing (as I still do on a good day) that I can be anything I want to be. My
sister sadly, hides her true beauty – her funny sense of humour and her gentle
kindness - behind cosmetics, hair extensions and false nails. Battle armour for
a world that is harsher than the Disney Princesses made her believe.
I was a hoodie and jeans girl, focussed on study
all the way to University and then a funny thing happened: I struggled to fit
in with the other girls and so the group geek was given something of a
makeover. It was the stuff of a John Hughes film montage set to a song by Simple Minds; my hair chopped and dyed blonde, make-up applied and lacy pink tops
accessorised. Then another funny thing happened: I liked it. I bought perfumes and nail
polishes in every available shade, I wore heels (despite my inability to walk
in them) and went to clubs and laughed in all the right places as men tried to
chat me up, delighted by their sudden interest. Then I would inevitably drink a
little too much and seek refuge in the club toilets and feel absolutely
miserable. But why? I was doing what the other girls did even believed that I
had found what I had been missing out on all those years and yet I wasn’t
satisfied. It took me the best part of a year to figure out that whoever this be-pinked,
girlish creature was, was definitely not me and so I found my real self somewhere in between
these extremes.
That is not to say I abhor pink – far from it. Pink
and purple are two of my favourite colours… and so are red and turquoise and
blue. But, having viewed Pink Stinks
it really got me thinking and made me reconsider the products I own and the
reasons why they are the colour they are. Is it some corporate conspiracy selling
me a version of womanhood predicated on being innocent, unthreatening and meek?
Is it as Naomi Wolf maintains, a way to keep us ladies preoccupied from
rebelling and overthrowing patriarchy?
Hmmm… One look at my bathroom has me wondering if
they might be onto something…
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| Pink... because I'm worth it? |
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