Saturday Morning Stereotypes
Children’s fiction that reinforces gender stereotypes by challenging them.
With three young girls in my house and a weakness for bookstores, I consume a lot of kids tv programming and children’s books. I’m familiar with the ponies of Equestria, the Magic School Bus, Rosie Revere, Llama Llama, Ferdinand, Fancy Nancy, Dr. Seuss, and not surprisingly, all the Disney princesses. And many more.
I’ve noticed that the newer stories — especially those aimed at girls — often go out of their way to confront gender stereotypes. I surmise this trend stems from a noble desire to rectify the brazenly sexist themes in our fairy tale legacy. You know the ones — a nameless prince (whose sole qualification is wealth) coming to rescue a helpless maiden (defined by beauty and youth) from an evil witch (afflicted with age and wrinkles).
Thankfully, today’s cartoons both in print and on screen are far less demeaning to both genders. Modern princesses possess skill and wit, and princes have — gasp — actual personality. However, despite the improvement in content, the gender themes in these stories lead me to an important question.
When writing content for young children, where is the line between challenging gender stereotypes and reinforcing them?
I fear that by introducing gender stereotypes too early, we inadvertently promote them. Let’s look at two examples.
In the very first episode of the hit Disney Jr. show Sofia the First, the title character sees a magical derby race at her royal prep school and wants to try out for the team. A few characters are supportive, but most are shocked. The coaches, fans, and other students tell Sofia that flying in the derby race “is not a princess thing.” Boys only.
I understand the value in writing social conflicts into children’s programming. Through these plot lines, we can help kids feel less alone when they face similar problems, and we give them tools for responding. The characters on screen model the behaviors we want our children to practice — like empathy and self-confidence.
But this episode devotes significant airtime to the message it intends to dispel. A majority of the characters advocate the sexist position, that girls can’t join the derby team. The fictional sexism is not limited to a single character; it’s ubiquitous throughout the magical, make-believe kingdom. The episode even features a lively song-and-dance number in which Sofia’s classmates merrily explain, in catchy rhyming verse, that girls do princess things like wearing gowns and hosting balls, while boys do prince things like jousting and polo.
Not surprisingly (to adult viewers), Sofia disproves her skeptics, wins the race, and joins the team. But as the episode wraps up its happy ending, I worry that my kids won’t re-write the lessons of the first half. I worry that instead, they’ll remember and repeat to themselves the words of the song. Sofia The First airs on Disney Junior, a network aimed at children ages two to seven. Children this young can’t be expected to know which messages to believe and which to dismiss.
Example the second, in which I pick a fight with Chelsea Clinton.
“Sometimes being a girl isn’t easy. At some point, someone probably will tell you no, will tell you to be quiet and may even tell you your dreams are impossible. Don’t listen to them.”
These are the opening lines of a children’s book written by the former first daughter. The book, She Persisted: 13 American Women Who Changed the World, showcases the true stories of thirteen women who excelled in the arts, sciences, politics, literature, and culture. I was excited to open the cover, gaze at the brushstroke storyboards, and read aloud to my daughters.
And then I immediately stumbled over those first three lines. Because you’re a girl, someone will tell you to be quiet? Because you’re a girl, someone will block your dreams? My daughters would be surprised to hear those words from me.
This book is marketed at readers from kindergarten to third grade, children whose adult future is nearly twenty years away. I don’t want to teach them to distrust that future, to expect the world to let them down because they are girls. I don’t want to accelerate their cynicism.
There’s plenty of time for that later; check back in with me when all three of our girls are teenagers at the same time. (Seriously, someone please check on me.) For now, let’s tell them their futures are bright. Tell them the sky is the limit, when they’re four years old.
I also think the true stories of these thirteen women should serve as inspiration to kids everywhere, regardless whether the same obstacles lie in their future. The opening lines of Clinton’s book seem to imply the opposite — that the relevance of these stories hinges on another wave of bullies telling girls to be quiet. That if sexism ended, these stories would fade from history.
I would prefer to see these stories stand on their own. Teaching history can be a great way to approach difficult concepts like sexism and racism, without spreading them into our children’s imaginations and futures.
Above are two examples, but I’ve seen many others. The Gingerbread Girl, by Lisa Ernst (writing the villain’s impression of the name character, “Anyone could tell by looking at her that she was an airhead”); The Princess Knight, by Cornelia Funk (similar to the derby race in Sofia); and somehow, in 2018, a children’s book was published with the title Who Says Women Can’t Be Doctors? (by Tanya Lee Stone). Excuse me?
In every case, these sentiments are rejected, but that they are presented in the first place makes me cringe.
I think writers of young children’s stories should be careful when importing these concepts into children’s fiction. For our youngest viewers, let’s write aspirationally, looking forward, rather than propagating our past.
