- Mar 1, 2000
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http://www.theage.com.au/artic...=fullpage#contentSwap1
Small children are being encouraged to rip the hair from their bodies.
EVERY woman is painfully familiar with the phrase "bad-hair day"; that handy cover-all for the times that, despite the amount of expensive hair products used and incantations to the god of hairdressing made, you are forced to go about in public looking like a family of badgers has taken up residence on your head.
But in this peculiarly tonsorial context, the definition of concern relates to the word "woman". Last year Nair, makers of hair-removal products, released their Pretty range, aimed at 10 to 15-year-olds, or, as they call them, "first-time hair removers". Yes, you heard right. Ten-year-olds. Girls ? children ? in grades 5 and 6, encouraged to wax and chemically remove hair from their barely pubescent bodies. As online site Gawker put it, what's next: Baby Brazilians?
Well, it seems that someone heard that throwaway phrase and spied a business opportunity, because Australian website girl.com.au is now promoting a feature about Brazilian waxes, otherwise known as a torture device in which all the hair in a woman's nether regions is ripped off with a combination of hot wax and a high pain threshold. The website, which appears to be mostly read by girls in the nine to 14 age bracket, says of the Brazilian: "Nobody really likes hair in their private regions and it has a childlike appeal."
As a cosmetic pharmaceutical company, Nair is obliged to reinvent normal bodily functions as problems with handy product solutions. And the Australian arm of the company has claimed its target audience is slightly older, in an attempt to distance itself from the US campaign, which involves phrases such as "Pretty isn't a look. It's a feeling," "Nair will leave your skin smooth and totally touchable!" and this pearler from Stacey Feldman, vice-president for marketing at Nair's parent company, Church & Dwight: "When a girl removes hair for the first time, it's a life-changing moment."
There are countless reasons to be angry about this piece of misogyny dressed up as big-sisterly advice. Let's start with the semiotics of the campaign. It's hard to be angry about "Pretty". It's like being incensed by High School Musical's tween hottie Zac Efron, Labrador puppies or the colour pink.
But "Pretty" here is a (hairless) wolf in disguise. It might come in a range of fruity fragrances, but it's also a non-threatening induction into a society that sets ridiculous standards for female appearance (among them, the notion that being hairy is ugly). "Pretty" ignores the fact that young people are progressing into adulthood at lightning speed, making the "tween" stage a mere formality as they rush from skipping ropes and jelly sandals to midriff tops and glitter make-up.
The line between childhood and adulthood is increasingly blurred. And it cuts both ways, with the older generations keen to hold onto their youth and, in the case of the Brazilian, their pre-pubescence. But while 30 is touted as the new 20 and 50 as the new 40, is it really appropriate for 10 to be the new 20?
Possibly I am simply unaware of the brave new world of pre-teen girls. When I was a teenager, George Michael was heterosexual and bubble skirts were de rigueur, the first time around. Now, there are fashion magazines for five and six-year-olds that tell them how to look hot and find a boyfriend. There are pole-dancing classes for children.
In October, Channel Seven argued a pole-dancing scene in Home and Away didn't breach a G-rating because scantily clad women swinging around poles in front of baying crowds of men were now "standard dance-floor fare" (although the Australian Communication and Media Authority thought otherwise and decided the network breached classification guidelines).
The previous month a 12-year-old girl had been chosen as the "face" of Gold Coast Fashion Week. Young Maddison Gabriel turned the ripe old age of 13 shortly after the announcement and celebrated the occasion, as befitting a girl who states her life's ambition as "supermodel", at the beauty salon.
It sits oddly that parents, who note and celebrate each step of their child's development, are being encouraged to celebrate premature sexualisation as another rite of passage. So at age two, their little darlings can use simple, short sentences and sort by shape and colour; at four they're able to distinguish between themselves and other people; at five they can dress themselves; eight is a big whoop with the likes of Santa Claus filed under a newly found sense of "fantasy". At 10 they can start ripping hair from their bodies to be more attractive to the opposite sex? You'll need to try just a little harder to convince me that's a "milestone" worth celebrating.
Encourage them to be children, just for a little while longer. And don't worry. They'll have plenty of time to learn to hate themselves when they get older.
Larissa Dubecki is a staff writer.
Small children are being encouraged to rip the hair from their bodies.
EVERY woman is painfully familiar with the phrase "bad-hair day"; that handy cover-all for the times that, despite the amount of expensive hair products used and incantations to the god of hairdressing made, you are forced to go about in public looking like a family of badgers has taken up residence on your head.
But in this peculiarly tonsorial context, the definition of concern relates to the word "woman". Last year Nair, makers of hair-removal products, released their Pretty range, aimed at 10 to 15-year-olds, or, as they call them, "first-time hair removers". Yes, you heard right. Ten-year-olds. Girls ? children ? in grades 5 and 6, encouraged to wax and chemically remove hair from their barely pubescent bodies. As online site Gawker put it, what's next: Baby Brazilians?
Well, it seems that someone heard that throwaway phrase and spied a business opportunity, because Australian website girl.com.au is now promoting a feature about Brazilian waxes, otherwise known as a torture device in which all the hair in a woman's nether regions is ripped off with a combination of hot wax and a high pain threshold. The website, which appears to be mostly read by girls in the nine to 14 age bracket, says of the Brazilian: "Nobody really likes hair in their private regions and it has a childlike appeal."
As a cosmetic pharmaceutical company, Nair is obliged to reinvent normal bodily functions as problems with handy product solutions. And the Australian arm of the company has claimed its target audience is slightly older, in an attempt to distance itself from the US campaign, which involves phrases such as "Pretty isn't a look. It's a feeling," "Nair will leave your skin smooth and totally touchable!" and this pearler from Stacey Feldman, vice-president for marketing at Nair's parent company, Church & Dwight: "When a girl removes hair for the first time, it's a life-changing moment."
There are countless reasons to be angry about this piece of misogyny dressed up as big-sisterly advice. Let's start with the semiotics of the campaign. It's hard to be angry about "Pretty". It's like being incensed by High School Musical's tween hottie Zac Efron, Labrador puppies or the colour pink.
But "Pretty" here is a (hairless) wolf in disguise. It might come in a range of fruity fragrances, but it's also a non-threatening induction into a society that sets ridiculous standards for female appearance (among them, the notion that being hairy is ugly). "Pretty" ignores the fact that young people are progressing into adulthood at lightning speed, making the "tween" stage a mere formality as they rush from skipping ropes and jelly sandals to midriff tops and glitter make-up.
The line between childhood and adulthood is increasingly blurred. And it cuts both ways, with the older generations keen to hold onto their youth and, in the case of the Brazilian, their pre-pubescence. But while 30 is touted as the new 20 and 50 as the new 40, is it really appropriate for 10 to be the new 20?
Possibly I am simply unaware of the brave new world of pre-teen girls. When I was a teenager, George Michael was heterosexual and bubble skirts were de rigueur, the first time around. Now, there are fashion magazines for five and six-year-olds that tell them how to look hot and find a boyfriend. There are pole-dancing classes for children.
In October, Channel Seven argued a pole-dancing scene in Home and Away didn't breach a G-rating because scantily clad women swinging around poles in front of baying crowds of men were now "standard dance-floor fare" (although the Australian Communication and Media Authority thought otherwise and decided the network breached classification guidelines).
The previous month a 12-year-old girl had been chosen as the "face" of Gold Coast Fashion Week. Young Maddison Gabriel turned the ripe old age of 13 shortly after the announcement and celebrated the occasion, as befitting a girl who states her life's ambition as "supermodel", at the beauty salon.
It sits oddly that parents, who note and celebrate each step of their child's development, are being encouraged to celebrate premature sexualisation as another rite of passage. So at age two, their little darlings can use simple, short sentences and sort by shape and colour; at four they're able to distinguish between themselves and other people; at five they can dress themselves; eight is a big whoop with the likes of Santa Claus filed under a newly found sense of "fantasy". At 10 they can start ripping hair from their bodies to be more attractive to the opposite sex? You'll need to try just a little harder to convince me that's a "milestone" worth celebrating.
Encourage them to be children, just for a little while longer. And don't worry. They'll have plenty of time to learn to hate themselves when they get older.
Larissa Dubecki is a staff writer.
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