So at the shop of dreams, the xmas stock has started to roll in. And it’s really at this time of year (and at mother’s day of course) that consumerism likes to, in addition to diminishing our bank balances, remind us that all of us are supposed to be exactly the same all the time always.
Women are either mums or they’re five. They will all enjoy cookbooks, novels by Jilly Cooper or little pink-packaged sets of doings to make their own lipgloss or create little models of cupcakes. Presumably so their imaginary tea-party guests don’t go hungry.
Men however, all read Lee Child and Tom Clancy novels, possibly a sports book or two, and never cookbooks, unless they have the words ‘beer’ or ‘barbecue’ in the title.
Now none of this stock is inherently bad or problematic, it’s just totally annoying (and heteronormative) how it’s all set underneath ‘for him’ and ‘for her’ signs.
(By the way, if you’re neither a him or a her, you’re not expected to like anything).
Oh, and what d’you mean you don’t celebrate xmas?
This rant has no purpose. I have nowhere to go from here.
I feel better now.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to pricing lipgloss in the shape of cupcakes and sparkplug keychains.
Just shoot me now.