In which I rant about gendered marketing
Does anybody else find gendered marketing frustrating to the point of being offensive sometimes? I am a woman, and happy to be one. I am clearly not, however, the woman to which most products are being sold. What I find most bothersome of all is that products are even marketed based on gender. Does a cleaning product really work differently because it's being applied by a man's hands instead of a woman's? Would I need to buy two sets of products if I were gender-fluid so that I could apply the right one? Should I really be stocking my refrigerator with two separate types of foods? Is using the wrong body care product going to burn a whole through my delicate, feminine skin? I think not. But marketing clearly disagrees.
Exhibit A: Food
According to marketing, a bite of chocolate ought to send me into an automatic public orgasm. I should want to eat tiny, low-fat meals made up of vegetables and fruit with the occasional bit of chicken. After every meal, I should be jumping on the scale to make sure that the three bites of fat-free yogurt I just consumed as a meal haven't made me gain a pound. But if I'm cooking for male family members, I should be making totally different dishes with creamy sauces and beef--for their sake, of course, since I'm secretly dying to eat something lighter, thinner, and more feminine.
Men, on the other hand, despise vegetables and fruit. They don't eat yogurt. They don't eat chocolate, and if it did, they wouldn't suddenly jizz in their pants in spontaneous reaction. They want steak, hamburgers, oozing sauces, bold flavors, massive portions, and a freshly clogged artery at the end of every meal. They wouldn't be caught dead eating a vegetarian Lean Cuisine. That stuff's for girls.
Personally, I don't like most vegetables. I really don't like most fruit. I love meat and dairy products, and I don't buy low fat unless the store is out of the regular stuff. I like my food to taste good. I like to enjoy eating. I don't feel guilty about anything I put in my mouth. Oh, and I don't really like chocolate. But a nice, salty, rare steak might launch a public orgasm.
Exhibit B: Deodorant
Walking through the aisle trying to find a deodorant scent I like is akin to a search for the holy grail. Here is what I have learned about what I'm supposed to want to smell like: flowers and baby powder. If I'm lucky, I can also find brands that will allow me to smell like clean linen or cotton and maybe a few of the foods that girls are supposed to eat. In other words, Secret is no longer "strong enough for a man, gentle enough for a woman," but I'm still supposed to smell like I'm nursing babies barefoot in the kitchen between loads of laundry, contentedly nibbling on cucumbers and melon.
The men's deodorant, on the other hand, comes in awesome scents with strong, vigorous, active names like "Artic Blast," "Champion", "Phoenix", and "Fire-Breathing Dragon Sperm". (Okay, I made that last one up.) While I'm off wrapping babies in fresh laundry, my man gets to be kicking ass as some kind of BAMF mythical creature or conqueror of the world. And did I mention how good they smell? No baby powder, no flowers.
It's probably unnecessary at this point to confess that I wear men's deodorant. Not only does it smell better, but it's also more likely to keep me from sweating through my shirts and leaving white streaks on my formal black dresses. I smell better and I save money on dry cleaning. No wonder men's deodorant gets all the bad-ass names.
Exhibit C: Shampoo
We won't repeat the discussion on scent choices here. I'm just mystified by the wide variety of options that women receive to prepare their hair for the six hundred steps they are expected to follow after shampooing to guarantee that their hair looks as little like it naturally sprouts forth from their heads as possible. By the time a woman is finished washing her hair, then blow-drying, color-treating, straightening, and finally unstraightening it again with a curling iron, it's little wonder she needs the array of special conditioners and serums designed to repair damaged, over-processed hair.
Men's shampoo is designed to be simple, quick, and efficient. Also, if they choose wisely, it will be massaged into their scalps by the large, scantily clad breasts of a woman who apparently has nothing to wear but a teensy strip of soaking wet white cloth. When their hair has dried--naturally, of course, with no further fussing necessary--they can ride off into the sunset on the back of their white steeds, clasping tightly the beautiful maiden with the talented massaging breasts, to go be the gorgeous, successful BAMFs their deodorant has already told them they are.
As for me, I buy whatever's cheap and smells good. I spend approximately thirty seconds a day brushing my hair and throwing it up into a ponytail. I don't own a curling iron, and I wouldn't know how to use it if I had one. Sadly, I still need to use my own hands to apply the shampoo to my scalp.
In summary: Marketing and advertising want me to be an entirely different woman than I am. They want me to be a woman who is afraid to be seen eating in public, who suppresses her own desires so deeply that a single indulgent bite of chocolate is more satisfying than sex, who wants to smell as delicate and gentle as she looks, and who is embarrassed to look the way God made her. I understand that advertising works by convincing me that I need to change something about myself--and their product will make me perfect at last!--but not why a woman should be ashamed of everything she is while a man is encouraged to be more of what he is. Men, you are meat-eating sexy beasts, and that's okay. Embrace it. But you know what? So am I, and that's okay too. I'm a pregnant woman who likes to cook, hates to clean, eats steak (and eats it rare), smells like fire-breathing dragon sperm, and does her hair in under a minute. So you know what, marketing? You can shove your gender divisions up whatever orifice is handiest and let me be, and buy, whatever I want.
Exhibit A: Food
According to marketing, a bite of chocolate ought to send me into an automatic public orgasm. I should want to eat tiny, low-fat meals made up of vegetables and fruit with the occasional bit of chicken. After every meal, I should be jumping on the scale to make sure that the three bites of fat-free yogurt I just consumed as a meal haven't made me gain a pound. But if I'm cooking for male family members, I should be making totally different dishes with creamy sauces and beef--for their sake, of course, since I'm secretly dying to eat something lighter, thinner, and more feminine.
Men, on the other hand, despise vegetables and fruit. They don't eat yogurt. They don't eat chocolate, and if it did, they wouldn't suddenly jizz in their pants in spontaneous reaction. They want steak, hamburgers, oozing sauces, bold flavors, massive portions, and a freshly clogged artery at the end of every meal. They wouldn't be caught dead eating a vegetarian Lean Cuisine. That stuff's for girls.
Personally, I don't like most vegetables. I really don't like most fruit. I love meat and dairy products, and I don't buy low fat unless the store is out of the regular stuff. I like my food to taste good. I like to enjoy eating. I don't feel guilty about anything I put in my mouth. Oh, and I don't really like chocolate. But a nice, salty, rare steak might launch a public orgasm.
Exhibit B: Deodorant
Walking through the aisle trying to find a deodorant scent I like is akin to a search for the holy grail. Here is what I have learned about what I'm supposed to want to smell like: flowers and baby powder. If I'm lucky, I can also find brands that will allow me to smell like clean linen or cotton and maybe a few of the foods that girls are supposed to eat. In other words, Secret is no longer "strong enough for a man, gentle enough for a woman," but I'm still supposed to smell like I'm nursing babies barefoot in the kitchen between loads of laundry, contentedly nibbling on cucumbers and melon.
The men's deodorant, on the other hand, comes in awesome scents with strong, vigorous, active names like "Artic Blast," "Champion", "Phoenix", and "Fire-Breathing Dragon Sperm". (Okay, I made that last one up.) While I'm off wrapping babies in fresh laundry, my man gets to be kicking ass as some kind of BAMF mythical creature or conqueror of the world. And did I mention how good they smell? No baby powder, no flowers.
It's probably unnecessary at this point to confess that I wear men's deodorant. Not only does it smell better, but it's also more likely to keep me from sweating through my shirts and leaving white streaks on my formal black dresses. I smell better and I save money on dry cleaning. No wonder men's deodorant gets all the bad-ass names.
Exhibit C: Shampoo
We won't repeat the discussion on scent choices here. I'm just mystified by the wide variety of options that women receive to prepare their hair for the six hundred steps they are expected to follow after shampooing to guarantee that their hair looks as little like it naturally sprouts forth from their heads as possible. By the time a woman is finished washing her hair, then blow-drying, color-treating, straightening, and finally unstraightening it again with a curling iron, it's little wonder she needs the array of special conditioners and serums designed to repair damaged, over-processed hair.
Men's shampoo is designed to be simple, quick, and efficient. Also, if they choose wisely, it will be massaged into their scalps by the large, scantily clad breasts of a woman who apparently has nothing to wear but a teensy strip of soaking wet white cloth. When their hair has dried--naturally, of course, with no further fussing necessary--they can ride off into the sunset on the back of their white steeds, clasping tightly the beautiful maiden with the talented massaging breasts, to go be the gorgeous, successful BAMFs their deodorant has already told them they are.
As for me, I buy whatever's cheap and smells good. I spend approximately thirty seconds a day brushing my hair and throwing it up into a ponytail. I don't own a curling iron, and I wouldn't know how to use it if I had one. Sadly, I still need to use my own hands to apply the shampoo to my scalp.
In summary: Marketing and advertising want me to be an entirely different woman than I am. They want me to be a woman who is afraid to be seen eating in public, who suppresses her own desires so deeply that a single indulgent bite of chocolate is more satisfying than sex, who wants to smell as delicate and gentle as she looks, and who is embarrassed to look the way God made her. I understand that advertising works by convincing me that I need to change something about myself--and their product will make me perfect at last!--but not why a woman should be ashamed of everything she is while a man is encouraged to be more of what he is. Men, you are meat-eating sexy beasts, and that's okay. Embrace it. But you know what? So am I, and that's okay too. I'm a pregnant woman who likes to cook, hates to clean, eats steak (and eats it rare), smells like fire-breathing dragon sperm, and does her hair in under a minute. So you know what, marketing? You can shove your gender divisions up whatever orifice is handiest and let me be, and buy, whatever I want.