Zoe vs.: General Outrage Report

I'm aware some of my posts have been thinly veiled diatribes against what I myself oppose while using Zoe as a three-foot-tall human shield---cough, Gwyneth Paltrow, cough---but this may be my thinly-est yet.

What follows is my general outrage report.

Those who know me well know that my resting state is low-grade inarticulate aggravation. Sometimes, about once a year (or maybe it's week), I've had my fill of the absurdity of the human race, and when I reach that point, and become aware of my own complicity in the pageant show of horrors, I explode.

Recent "clickbait" was the catalyst. I'm sure you're aware of the phenomenon: Internet headlines that clog your newsfeed (I'm looking at you, Yahoo News) just daring you to click them:

"The Sun Rose. You'll Never Believe What Happened Next"

"This Ancient Aztec Herb Will Help You Lose Weight, Find Love, Get a New Job, Win the Lottery So You Can Quit Your New Job, and Remove Difficult Stains from Your Carpet"

"8 Signs You're Paranoid That Everyone's Talking About You, Pam"

(The last one might only be clickbait for people named Pam.)

Anyway, I resist and resist and then: Click.

I'm usually disappointed.

On occasion I'm outraged, as I knew I would be from the headline, and then I have to  take personal responsibility (yuck) because isn't it true, Me, that part of you, Me, wanted to be outraged?

Yes, it's true.

I love to be outraged. And I can't be the only one.

Some recent examples that got my feminist blood boiling . . .

The first was about a girl who went to a high school dance in a sleeveless dress and was told she needed to put a sweater on to cover up. So basically she was shamed for having shoulders, shoulders that might be too enticing, and it was her responsibility to cover them lest some boy get overexcited. Her ankles were probably exposed too. Hussy.

The other girls knew it was really Madge who
gave away the milk for free.

At least she wasn't wearing yoga pants. I'm not even going to wade into the Veronica-Partridge-Christian-blogger-who-swore-off-yoga-pants-(aka-temptation-knickers) controversy. It touched a nerve with a lot of women. The implication that women yet again need to be responsible for men's thoughts bothers me, but on the other hand, I must admit I don't want to see some of the butts that daily regale me while riding the subway. Lust, revulsion, it's a knife-like pendulum swinging over our heads, edging closer and closer every day.

Too much?

The third was Colleen McCullough's sexist obituary. Famous novelist of The Thorn Birds and, oh yeah, a neuroscientist, but The Australian decided to go another way, practically leading with this gem: "Plain of feature, and certainly overweight, she was nevertheless a woman of wit and warmth." Enough with the compliments. Sheesh. It's a wonder she could write at all with those chubby, unmanicured (I assume) fingers. And you wouldn't have thought people would like her since she was such an uggo, but wowzers, they did.

The Greater Thornbird.
He knew he wasn't the greatest.

So, the tenuous Zoe connection. Since before she was born, to my shame, I've harbored concerns about Zoe's "prettiness." I don't want her feelings about her looks and/or her looks themselves to be an issue in her life. But how to avoid this in a world that prizes beauty, thigh gap, and pays inordinate attention to what female politicians wear? 

What if Zoe isn't pretty? But, on the other hand, what if she is? And what if her prettiness brings the "wrong kind of attention." The kind of attention yoga pants--donning, sleeveless shirt--wearing, non-neuroscientists are subject to. What pressures might she face then? 

And also: What's the nexus between looks and perceived intelligence? And this one: Can pretty woman be funny? My subconscious chews on these issues. I can hear it pacing back and forth in my mind because it wears corduroys and its thighs rub together.

But then my subconscious had a new target: The Holderness family.

This is the family that does the parody videos about parenting. I'm not going to link to them here because they don't need my help with promotion. Basically they do parodies of rap/hip-hop songs that get the it's-funny-because-I'm-white treatment (which I've been guilty of too; I get it).

First there was "Xmas Jammies." Then their back-to-school sendup "Baby Got Class." And most recently they did a Super Bowl one lamenting how lame they are now and how it's hard to enjoy a Super Bowl party once you have kids. Isn't it though?

Maybe what bugs me about them is that part of me feels parodies are the province of the underdog. And that they're trying to be oh-so-relatable and self-deprecating even though they're very good looking, have lots of money, and are obviously connected (both parents were news anchors and the mom had a small role in Iron Man 3). Doesn't mean they can't have a sense of humor, of course, but I just don't buy it. Nor do I buy the Hidden Ranch dressing they're peddling.

Now watch the ad in the top right corner morph into a Hidden Valley ad. It's all connected! The SheKnows network, which recently partnered with BlogHer (source of those ads) has promoted the last few videos created by the Holdernesses' production company. What if they read my criticism!? (Not that there's much danger of that.) They may take away the 34 cents I've earned, which, granted, isn't enough to even buy off-brand ranch dressing, but let's be real here, Zoe's coin-operated horsey rides don't pay for themselves!

In any case, is my annoyance at this family's singing-and-dancing expression of their first world problems in itself a first world problem?

Maybe, but then the Holderness family's problems are firster world. That's one mobius strip of banality.

All I can be sure of is, if Zoe was in their videos, she would give them all wedgies. Wouldn't that make a pretty picture?

Zoe: 78 (for hypothetical wedgies); Universe: 0

For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on Facebook and on Twitter at @zoevsuniverse. 

I need a win here, people.

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Zoe vs. Karl Lagerfeld

Considering that he dresses like a super villain, Zoe should have much to emulate in Karl Lagerfeld. At the least they should enjoy an uneasy detente similar to what General Zod and Lex Luthor shared in Superman II. But dressing like an exorcist is not Zoe's style. And from what I've heard about Karl, he would not approve of Zoe's fashion choices. As the head designer for Chanel and Fendi as well as his own line, there seems to be a lot of black, and white, and also black-and-white.

The power of Karl compels you!

Zoe likes COLOR. She also likes to mix patterns. The other day it was pink polka-dot pants with a zebra print skirt over it and a striped top. Another day it was a rainbow of horizontal stripes over a muted rainbow of wider stripes. The overall effect can cause seizures if you look directly at her. It's best to just take parts of her in at once. Whatever you do, don't look on a full stomach. The finishing touch is usually an accent like a prominent food stain.

Zoe's signature style is Silly Socks, aka unmatching pairs---her favorite mix is an orange stripe and a light blue one. Also Silly Shoes, like one black sneaker and one purple one that lights up (seizure alert number two!).

When she's wearing Silly Shoes I always make a note of it when dropping her off at daycare. I don't want them to think I'm that far gone. I am, of course, but they don't need to know that. 

. .  . while Lex, like Zoe, prefers
 colors and bold patterns.

Zod, like Karl, prefers black leather . . .

Overall, Zoe dresses like an evil clown.

Which brings us back to good old Karl. However, as we can see, Zoe's fun-loving, devil-may-care, vertigo-inducing style is miles and miles from Lagerfeld's look, which can best be described as Nosferatu chic.

I'm gonna shake my little tush on the catwalk.

I suspect Karl Lagerfeld's distaste for Zoe would extend past her style. He's been quoted as saying that when he was a child he didn't play with other children and that he hated them. He also apparently asked for a valet for his fourth birthday. (Zoe will be four in August. If she knows what a valet is, I'd be very surprised. If she asks, I'll point her to Daddy.)

Karl's said some other hilariously objectionable things* over the years. There's even a Tumblr dedicated to some of them. I'll list a few of these incredible nuggets here.

First, I have to say I don't mind his comments as much as I mind other celebrities, like, say, I don't know, Gwyneth Paltrow. I guess because he's not pretending to be anything he's not, or maybe it's that he's not pretending not to be pretending. 

Here's his take on money:

"If you throw money out the window, throw it out with joy. Don't say 'one shouldn't do that'---that is bourgeois."

I suppose just by breeding and writing a blog about my child I've already punched my bourgeois card several times.

"No one wants to see curvy women. You've got fat mothers with their bags of chips sitting in front of the television and saying thin models are ugly."

Get out of my living room, Karl! Is that monocle-looking thing around your neck a palantir?

The one pecan danish ring, and that fat mommy is eating it!

Sidebar. Why is it called a catwalk anyway? My own cat is too fat for the runway and doesn't "walk" as much as waddle. And yet if there's anyone who can match Karl attitude for attitude it's Harley. Or his own cat, Choupette, who he's referred to as a kept woman. By the by, she also has a Twitter account.

Karl's been criticized for his stance on fur. It's hard to get a read on Harley on this issue. She gives the impression of being above ethics.

I'd eat Kitty Lagerfeld for breakfast
and then eat breakfast.

"I'm very impeccable and clean before I go to bed. It's just like right before I'm going out. ... I think everyone should go to bed like they have a date at the door."

First, I don't think he "goes to bed" as much as "goes to coffin." Second, in my experience sleep wreaks havoc with one's coiffure. Going dormant clearly does not.

"Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life, so you bought some sweatpants."

This is one where I agree, as I wipe pecan danish ring crumbs off my sweatpants, I mean, yoga pants---world of difference.

Cast photo from the ill-fated Neutral Zone Story,
a musical mash-up of West Side Story and Star Trek.

"The only love that I really believe in is that of a mother for her children."

Aw, the old weird softie. I wonder if he said that pre- or post-Choupette. Either way, nice finish.

Zoe: 38; Universe/Fashion Police: 0

*There are different versions of these quotes online. I used the ones that provided maximum hilarity.

Zoe vs. Gwyneth Paltrow

A couple of months before Zoe was born, Gwyneth Paltrow shared her views on new mothers losing the baby weight through exercise. She said, “Every woman can make time---every woman---and you can do it with your baby in the room. There have been countless times where I've worked out with my kids crawling around all over the place. You just make it work, and if it’s important to you, it’ll be important to them.”

I only heard about what she’d said after I gave birth to Zoe, probably about eight weeks after, because that was when the doctor said it was safe to start exercising again following a c-section, and I plunged right back into a daily routine. Excuse me a moment while I wipe the tears of laughter off my face. It took longer than that for me to return to exercising at all not to mention with any regularity. Fact is, I am not like Every Woman/Gwyneth Paltrow. I was tired. You see, I’d been getting up several times a night to feed a baby, then, after I went back to work full time, there was commuting, plus day-care pickups, preparing meals, doing laundry, trying on designer dresses, keeping up with my exciting nightlife . . . oh wait, those last two were from Gwyneth’s life. Her every woman-ness is insidious like that, you start having her thoughts.

Every woman

Back to my own thoughts, which, about six to seven months after Z’s birth, still lacked focus from not enough of those other z’s, but were nonetheless communicating to me the need to restart some sort of exercise program. I’d stopped breastfeeding after four months but had continued to ingest that extra 500 calories a day recommended for breastfeeding moms, and far from losing the baby weight, I'd gained about eight pounds. So I was determined to get back into shape and I figured since Every Woman had done it with "kids crawling around all over the place," I could too.

"Zoe vs. Exercise" was the alternative name for this post.

Zoe's not against exercise, to judge by her constant state of movement, aka her waking life. She’s against me, and to a lesser extent, her father, exercising. And I’m not including here endless rounds of “Ring Around the Rosy” (Why don’t two-year-olds get dizzy?). Or performing extra vehement renditions of “Wheels on the Bus” to engage your obliques. I’m talking about weights, lunges, and all those variations on plank that are supposed to tighten the core muscles and get me back into those jeans I could barely zip all the way up before I got pregnant.

Toddlers have a tendency to want attention. So it was a real head-scratcher to me how Gwyneth could exercise with her kids in the room. It was one thing when Zoe was an infant but when she became ambulatory, forget it. As soon as I get down on the floor to start stretching, Zoe’s all over me. I get in push-up position, and Zoe sees it as an invitation to play horsey. Sit-ups she interprets as a variation on peek-a-boo, with her little forehead intercepting mine on the up motion: “Ow, boo-boo.” “I sorry.” “Hi, Mommy!”

Mommy magazines suggest using your baby as a kind of free weight, holding them while doing squats, balancing them on your legs as you do crunches. I did this a few times but eventually gave up because: Ow, boo-boo. I considered baby yoga but I don’t see how you can expect these little beings to hold poses when they can’t even hold their bladders. Even when she’s not literally in my face, she’s trying to get my attention, calling for mommy, asking for juice, yelling, “I poop!” And I have to stop what I’m doing to see if she pooped, though I eventually learn that if she tells me she pooped she hasn’t because if she has she’ll never admit it.

Our eventual solution was to use Elmo as a distraction, running his DVDs back to back. I will be very embarrassed if Gwyneth finds out. I heard somewhere that she only lets her kids watch cartoons in French or Aramaic or something just, you know, Better.

So how was Gwyneth able to exercise while Apple and Moses crawled around all over the place? My theory? They don't know she's their mother. And I’m just gonna assume that Gwynnie had a little help, like a nanny, or two nannies, or a team of nannies and housekeepers, cooks and stylists, and that maybe this paved her way just a little bit.

I also take issue with her last sentence, that if it’s important to you it’ll be important to your children. It doesn’t make me all mad like her previous comments. I’m more baffled. Now I can see what she’s saying in an overall family values way, like eventually, someday, in the far distant future, when my bones are too brittle for any sustained movement, Zoe will recall my foolhardy and doomed attempts at exercise and see me as a good example, but right now, I have to say, there is nothing that is important to me that Zoe has also recognized as important. Not Mommy sleeping, not Mommy drinking a cup of coffee while it’s still hot, certainly not Mommy going to the bathroom.

Now that her kids are older, and in school, Gwyneth exercises for two hours a day with a celebrity trainer. And if her kids were around, maybe they’d be keeping each other busy conferring via top-of-the-line electronic devices on how old they have to be before they can legally change their names.

But as for my husband and me, for now we are taking turns, and through the grace of Elmo I will someday again almost fit in those jeans.

Zoe: 3; Universe: 0