An open letter to Ms. Elizabeth Hurley:
I’m very seriously and sincerely wondering if you’ve lost your marbles. I’m also wondering if it’s just an income bracket thing? Maybe I won’t “get” how putting an 8-year-old hoping to look more grown up in a bikini held together by a gold ring is a good thing until I have enough in the bank to back a line of obviously slutty swimwear for children. Who knows? It might take the media controversy that ensues, selling my line of skanky little girl bikinis by default, for me to have that oh-so-important epiphany that explains to me how the sexualization of little girls is bad enough without my help. Then again, it might not really sink in until after I’ve skipped my way to and from the bank a few times.
Perhaps it’s like parenting or giving birth. I mean, we all had friends try to explain it to us before we pushed our own children into the world and became responsible for the well-being of another human who depended solely on us. But did it even sink in? Of course not. None of it made any fucking sense until right about the time when the baby’s head started to crown and we all realized that none of us is pushing anything that big out of a hole that small unless we are really emotionally invested, y’know?
Maybe words mean different things then, too. I can only assume that words like “budget,” “bargain,” and “age-appropriate attire” take on entirely new meanings when tossed about in your circles, Ms. Hurley. And the word “fun” is an interesting one, to be sure. I will have to admit that prior to learning of your bikini line for girls, I would never have associated the word with images of little girls that look strippers taking a break in between pole dances.
Oh, I’m sorry. Am I being rude? I had no idea. Please do accept my apologies. So let’s both take the focus off of you and your contribution to the problem and instead point the finger of blame at the parents who continue to create a market for this shit. You are a smart woman, Ms. Hurley. We both know you wouldn’t be wasting your time on a venture (or the time it takes to sign that contract that slaps your name on the labelthat wasn’t going to bring in some play money. Most of your customers are loyal, after all. And their children love your stuff. So let’s give it to them, shall we?
Pardon me for a moment while I stop writing to hand my five-year-old my spare set of car keys and a booster so she can see over the steering wheel, will you? She will feel so grown up and she will love me so much more for letting her do exactly what she wants without setting parental limits because I’m her mother and know better.