Aah, summer! I love it, love it, love it! Only some vast cosmic mistake/conspiracy caused me to be born somewhere so far north as the UK, with its annoyingly unpredictable summers and yakky wet, cold winters (ack, damp feet? Kill me now!). I am sunshine, me. Delete said vast cosmic mistake/conspiracy and I would have been born in the south of France which is where we de-camp to every summer for long, hot days at the beach, midday naps, chilled vino and saying, Christ, it’s too hot to do anything…the utter impossibility of doing anything meaning doing nothing becomes, ipso facto, guilt-free.
Boogie loves it at the beach. She’s five. The beach is just one huge soft play area with surfing facilities. She does the whole shebang: splashing, boogie-boarding, swimming, sand-castling, rock-pooling, dune-rolling, beach tennis, sand football and occasional impressions of Olivia (the pig) when she lies down until she turns pink (curse that almost-translucent Scottish skin!). And she does it all in whatever swimsuit happened to be dry that morning, uncombed hair and (too often to really confess to), the remains of that morning’s pain au chocolat smeared around her cheeks and (god, OK, it happens sometimes – I did say it was too hot to do anything, OK?) unbrushed teeth.
It seems, however, that Boogie better get her shit together. Because in less than three years, she is apparently supposed to show up at the beach looking like this. She has, it’s safe to say, some way to go. She doesn’t even own a wig and her eyeliner skills are patchy at best, without the added trickiness of it being water-proof, and whilst she has plenty of ‘tude poses, she as yet has none that go anywhere near the come-hither stare and snog me pout that’ll be summer’s hot items when she’s all of seven or eight. Jesus, it takes her long enough to get ready in the mornings as it is. If she’s got to apply three shades of eyeshdow (and blend! blend! blend!), we’ll make it sea-side by about lunchtime.
Who does this? Who creates these images and thinks, goodness, what a lovely way to portray small children? Who? Who? Yes, yes, I know in this particular instance it was a swimwear manufacturer, but I mean, on a deeper level, who are these people? Lots of commenters on Pigtail Pals accuse the creators of paedophilia, but if only it was that simple. I shake my head and look away, but I confess, I don’t understand it at all. We live in a world where women everywhere are doing their damnedest to look like girls but we still can’t actually leave girls to look like girls because, well, that would be leaving some group of females in relative peace and we can’t have that, can we? Fuck no. We have to take girls and make ’em look like twenty year old Playboy covers.
What’s the betting the boy models weren’t treated to the addition of creeping back hair and a stick-on bald spot?