A couple of years ago, I went with a friend to see a children’s show as part of the Melbourne Comedy Festival. It was based around the conceit of a magic pencil: there was an interactive screen where a digital cartoon character interacted with images the (male) comedian drew in real-time, with a pre-recorded voice providing one half of their conversation. At four different points, the comedian asked for child volunteers to come up onto the stage and have themselves drawn, with the subsequent caricatures becoming part of the show. It was a small audience mostly comprised of young children and their parents – my friend and I were almost the only exceptions to this – and whenever the call came for volunteers, a sea of eager little hands would stretch into the air.

Sitting directly in front of us was a pigtailed girl, aged about seven, who desperately wanted to participate. Each time she wasn’t chosen, she slumped down dejectedly in her seat, only to spring straight back up again at the next opportunity. There were easily as many girls as boys in the audience, with an equal parity in the number of hands raised; and yet the comedian never picked a girl. The fourth and final time her hand went ignored, the girl in front of us let out a frustrated sigh and exclaimed, ‘He’s only choosing boys!’ Both her outrage at this situation and her powerlessness to correct it were fully evident in her voice, and I felt myself getting angry. I’d noticed the same problem, and hearing it summed up by a child in tones that suggested she’d witnessed the problem before made me utterly disconnect from the show. I tried to think of reasons why the comedian had chosen only boys. Maybe he thought their facial features would make for better caricatures; or perhaps he was worried that the good-natured teasing with which he accompanied his drawings might be more likely to upset a little girl. Maybe he was simply picking the first hand he saw, regardless of who it belonged to. Most likely, though, he didn’t even realise he’d done it: whatever other planning he’d put into his act, the idea of trying to choose two boys and two girls for the sake of equality seemed never to have occurred to him.

When the show was over, I caught sight of the little girl on the way out. She looked forlorn and sad, which is hardly the reaction that a children’s comedy show is meant to provoke, and I left feeling dejected and furious that a seven-year-old girl had already learned that sometimes, it doesn’t matter how badly you want something or how high you raise your hand: just being female is enough to make you invisible. For whatever reason, the comedian hadn’t seen her or any of the other girls in the audience, and no matter how benign the reasons for that blindness might have been, it had unquestionably had consequences.

Earlier in the year, an eagle-eyed blogger used word clouds to illustrate the boy/girl gendered language of toy advertisements. A recent article discussing gender reveal parties hosted by expectant parents shows a sample invitation which reads, “Boy or girl? Astronaut or ballerina? Come spend the afternoon with us when we find out!” Then there are images of congratulatory cards for new parents, where baby boys are praised as brilliant, while baby girls are called beautiful. Children’s books are rife with male characters, but women? Not so much. No sooner is their gender known than children are defined by it: pink for girls, blue for boys, baby dolls for girls, action heroes for boys, kitchens for girls, tools for boys, ponies for girls, cars for boys, and God help any child who wants to play with both.

All this gendering, and then we have the temerity to act surprised and shocked when a seven-year-old girl can clearly and comprehensively identify when she is being discriminated against on the basis of being female.

Early in primary school, I had a friend called Ben. We’d hang out together at lunch and recess and sit together in class, which felt like a fairly normal thing to do. This was not, however, a universally held sentiment: one of the boys in the year above, called Tim, thought there was something deeply wrong with a boy and girl being friends – or, more specifically, he thought that we couldn’t possibly be just friends, and so took to seeking us out on the playground for the sole purpose of first declaring us to be a couple and then taunting us for it. Neither of us liked this, but it was harder on Ben than me. I have a very clear memory of us sitting down together one lunch, only to find that Tim was, as usual, heading straight for us. Ben looked at me and said, ‘I think we’d better split’ – both serious and sad. I nodded, and up he got, walking away to find someone else to talk to. Tim saw this and grinned in triumph, having  accomplished what had evidently been his mission all along: to split us up.

Tim was six when this happened; Ben and I were five. I very much doubt that Tim’s parents ever sat him down and explain that boys and girls being friends was wrong – it would be as ludicrous as suggesting that adults invented the idea of girl germs and boy germs (or, for the Americans, cooties). Nor do children instinctively police each other along gender lines; certainly, Ben and I never did. But we are not raised in a vacuum, and if, from minute one of their lives, you call half the children Blue and the other half Pink; if you dress them differently, give them different toys, tell them different stories, praise them for different qualities, rebuke them for different transgressions, encourage them at different activities and actively enforce all these differences on the basis of gender (‘No, sweetie, that one’s for boys!’), then the inevitable consequence of sending them off to interact in an environment where, true to form, all the Pinks are wearing dresses and all the Blues are wearing shorts, is that even a fucking five-year-old will start to think that boys and girls talking is wrong.

Nobody has told them this explicitly.

Nobody has had to.

Writing about this week’s controversy over gay characters being removed from YA novels (excellent summations of which can be found here and here), author N. K. Jemisin says, “As many have pointed out, we live in a world full of bigotry but no bigots. No one wants to claim their own little slice of the Contributing to the Problem pie, even though everyone should get a little.” Giving her keynote address at the recent Tights and Tiaras conference on female superheroes and media cultures, author Karen Healey talked about the cultural reasons why women who otherwise love SF, fantasy, comics, fanfiction and superheroes end up steering clear of mainstream superhero comics and comic stores – specifically, about the idea that the prevalence of sexism and objectification of women at the level of both the narratives of said comics and the creative processes which create them are, not surprisingly, offputting to female readers.  And at the end of last year, an American mother blogged about what happened when her five-year-old son dressed up as Daphne from Scooby Doo for Halloween; how other mothers attacked her for it, saying that I should never have ‘allowed’ this and thank God it wasn’t next year when he was in Kindergarten since I would have had to put my foot down and ‘forbidden’ it.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – and will keep saying it forever, because it will never cease to be true: we are all a product of culture. Five-year-old children experience discrimination from parents, from their peers and from society –  because they’re boys who dress like girls, because they’re girls who want to be friends with boys, because they have the temerity to be different – but when the question of why comes up, we never consider that all those seemingly innocuous things like toy choice and clothing colours and storybooks might have something to do with it; that when you pile up all the individual molehills of culture, the end result really is a mountain. Most of us were raised this way, and we continue to raise more children along the same lines – because what’s wrong with girls being girls and boys being boys? Children are just like that. Well, of course they are, if that’s how you insist on raising them. And then those children grow up into teenagers, the primary demographic for so much of our culture, and while many of them are increasingly savvy about the subtleties of the gender biases that govern their existence, many more aren’t; and that means that they don’t question cultural output whose tropes are reflective of those biases. And after all, why would they be? Isn’t the world just like that? Well, of course it is, if nobody tries to make it otherwise.

And then publishing companies and advertising agencies and Hollywood and every other organisation who sells things for a living looks at the buying habits of the general, youthful populace says, It’s not that we’re bigoted, but books about gay teenagers don’t sell and neither do comic books where the women aren’t sexualised or films where the leads aren’t white. And I’m sick of it, because if all the excuse-mongering about demographics and target audiences by people who should know better is to be believed, then the whole of Western creative industry is made up exclusively of lovely, unbigoted people who are the friends of other lovely, unbigoted people forced by circumstances beyond their control to make books and films and comics and toys along bigoted lines, because apparently the entire creative monopoly of unbigoted editors, writers, agents, artists, filmmakers and producers constitutes such a powerless minority voice that they couldn’t possibly hope to change the standards they purport to hate, and anyway, it’s not like they’re in charge of our culture – oh, wait, it is.

The moral of this story is: don’t take culture for granted, because if there’s one thing it exists to do, it’s change. Our whole society is Theseus’ Ship, and the sooner we realise our collective power to tear down broken parts and replace them with things that work, the better. Especially those of us who tell stories; and doubly for those of us who tell stories to children and teenagers. To quote the Witch from Into the Woods:

Careful the things you say; children will listen. 



  1. Fantastic post. I too had a close male friend in elementary school and we were made fun of in much the same way as you described here. And I also get tired of the people who reduce everything to market share and who claim that culture doesn’t matter. It does, especially when it comes to shaping children’s ideas about what constitutes appropriate behaviour for their gender.

    • fozmeadows says:

      Every time I hear someones express skepticism about how culture influences behaviour, I end up wanting to cite playground precedent. Small children only behave the way they do towards gender because of culture; so to hear an adult argue that grown women don’t have any reasonable basis for disliking comics (say) because being put off by male dominion is no real obstacle to enjoyment just makes me want to stab things.

  2. Wonderful post. As the mother of a six year old, the gender policing of the playground and the gender divides of merchandise aimed at my kids is a constant frustration to me – and my friend with three sons has exactly the same problem.

    The only thing I take slight issue with is the phrase that children don’t “instinctively police each other along gender lines” – because while I absolutely believe there are adult-inspired social pressures that cause a lot of this, my experience is that most kids from 3-4 upwards are absolutely militant gender police. They are fascinated with the world and their identity, and rules for gender are one of those things that they do actively seek and search out.

    Unfortunately, whether in daycare, kindergarten or whatever, they find themselves surrounded by a horde of gender “experts”, many of whom have learned their own rules from parents and other influences, and speak in voices of incredible authority.

    Leaving me constantly having to de-program my daughter because she’s come home saying things like “purple is for girls, star shapes are for boys” (an actual example, because pink and blue isn’t enough of a divide) or “boys don’t have long hair” pointing at a stranger (leaving me to point out her DAD has long hair). It drives me crazy that a casual remark from a five year old can provide me with an hour’s homework with my skeptical child (skeptical with me, utterly credulous with them).

    We haven’t had the thing about boys and girls not being friends and I hope we never will – she goes to school with my friend’s three boys and they have been tight since they were toddlers. They tend to play in larger groups with each other’s friends of both gender. But it’s something I’m constantly watchful for, as I am with all the other screwed up gender ideas my smart little girl brings home in her head.

    I don’t think it’s an unnatural or imposed thing that children do tend to be so fiercely INTERESTED in gender and what it means to them as humans, but the very fact that they are puts a whole lot of extra responsibility on the adults around them to keep their minds as open and broad as possible, for as long as we can. Which is… a lot of work. But also an opportunity to normalise things like same sex relationships, trans people, feminist thought, the equality of mummy’s work and daddy’s work, etc. very early, through casual references. One of the great joys of my life is that my eldest daughter was old enough to understand when Australia got its first female prime minister, and that it’s something both my girls will grow up taking completely for granted.

    Another is that my godson’s favourite superhero is Wonder Woman.

    • fozmeadows says:

      It’s definitely a minefield. And I should have clarified: when I said that children don’t police themselves along gender lines, I only meant that it’s not an inherent biological imperative – they certainly do it, but only because they’re taught to do so, rather than because (to quote my most hated argument) “children are just like that”.

    • Thoraiya says:

      Great OP, and a great comment, Tansy. My daughter feels very proud of herself when she can identify things as male or female. She knows it’s important to classify them in order to talk about them (“look at him!” “look at her!” ) – she has to classify them before she even opens her little mouth. So she is keen to work out the secret of how to tell the difference. If we were naked, it would be easier.


  3. Me again, just wanted to add that the insane genderfication (probably not a word) of children’s clothes, toys and merchandise gets more and more pronounced the cheaper they get, and in the shops associated with bargain or cheaper products.

    It’s easier to find blue dresses and similarly transgressive items (boys clothes without guns, skulls or violent imagery on them! Shocking!) in the more expensive designer shops.

    So that’s a whole extra class privilege layer right there.

    • fozmeadows says:

      GAH, I say, and GAH again. Because of how, you know. GAH.

      One day, I will be a parent. Regardless of whether I have sons or daughters or a mix of both, these issues will continue to concern me; and given how angry they already make me, I tremble to think how furious I’ll become when they’re part of my daily existence. My respect for parents who actively grapple with this sort of bullshit is astronomical. I just… yeah. Look. You know? Sometimes I hate people. WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS; etc.


      • I knoooow. I am grateful that one of my best friends had all boys at the same time as I had all girls because it makes me very aware of both sides of this coin. Extra double stuff to get angry about!

        (don’t get me started on Lego)

        Children’s TV and books are both doing much better as industries, actually showing progress in this regard, but the makers and advertisers of clothes and toys for children drive me crazy in their attempts to turn our children into parodies of each gender.

        And of course that leads into how any kid who displays any interest in something outside those rigid gender norms can get looked at askance by the kids or parents who have bought into this moonshine… basically, there are three kinds of parents. Those who can cope with a three year old boy who wants to wear fairy wings, those who are delighted with a three year old boy who wants to wear fairy wings, and those who are going to react in horror.

  4. alison grahame says:

    Have just been to my old primary school reunion with over 500 past students from the 1930s upwards. And we were commenting that it seemed quite normal to us then that 3/4 of the playground was given to the boys (primary schools then were segregated believe it or not: boys downstairs, girls upstairs with separate school entrances and never the twain shall meet) and the rest for the girls. Not only that but because boys were expected to be boisterous and into energetic games their playground was all grass and we girls just had bitumen. And the marked area between the girls’ playground and the boys’ was called no man’s land, I kid you not! And if you crossed it you got the headmistress’s ruler hard on your hand.

  5. claritybell says:

    Great post. I finally collated some examples of parents teaching their kids the gender rules here: http://claritybell.wordpress.com/2011/09/21/think-pink-think-scars-of-children/

    My examples focus on boys. It’s the ol’, okay suffragettes, you have a point because men are awesome and no wonder you want men stuff, but boys wanting girly stuff, that’s degrading!

  6. […] of the new Who yet (I know, I know, shut up). But she also wrote two posts I really enjoyed – one on the way social bigotry gets imprinted on children, and the other on how the left destroys minority leaders through unrealistic expectations. Foz is […]

  7. […] isn’t the only way it can happen. Some of the exclusion is even orchestrated by adults, who, whether intentionally or not, project onto children their subconsciously-absorbed ideas about […]

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