The advertising campaign at the time (early 1980s) promoted the fact that using Oil of Olay would help a woman look years younger. I think the actual campaign said something to the effect that it could make someone in her forties look thirty again. I knew this and was trying to make my family laugh. But when I think back about this scenario, I’m surprised that already at age seven, an advertisement could impact how I viewed aging and the negative connotation that was attached to it.

All of this came back to me as I clipped coupons with my daughter this past weekend. I saw a print ad for a new Oil of Olay product called Oil of Olay Total Effects 7-in-1 Anti-Aging Body Wash. “Wow,” I thought. “A body wash that fights aging?” In the last couple of decades we have gone from simply trying to prevent or reduce the number of wrinkles on our faces to trying to stop the effects of aging on our entire bodies.

I visited Procter and Gambles’ Oil of Olay web site and read about this age-defying body wash. The description calls for “soft, smooth skin in 1 shower, improved elasticity in 1 week, and young-looking, radiant skin in 1 month.” It claims to do this by tackling seven skin issues associated with aging:

1. Improves elasticity
2. Relieves dryness
3. Deeply moisturizes
4. Brightens dull skin
5. Evens skin tone
6. Smoothes rough skin
7. Minimizes the appearance of dry lines

Sounds good. I like well-moisturized skin. I haven’t exactly been thrilled with the onset of wrinkles around my eyes. But doesn’t this product and others like it simply add to the complexity of body image issues facing girls today? According to the media and images in magazines, we women are all supposed to be skinny, pretty, flawless and ageless—that’s nothing new really. I knew that at age seven. But now our entire body is supposed to look young as long as possible. The marketing behind this Oil of Olay body wash is preying upon our fears: if any part of us looks old, we have failed in some way. Who would want someone with old-looking skin? We would be rather worthless then, wouldn’t we? But buy this body wash and help every inch of you to look as young as possible. Take note, girls: you’d better try to stay young forever or you just might not have any value whatsoever.

I also learned by visiting the Olay web site that the number of products under their category of “Anti-Aging” is staggering: lotions, firming creams, wrinkle repairs, treatments, serums, therapies, even a group of products they call an “Anti-Aging Starter Protocol.” All in all there are 85 Olay products classified as “anti-aging.” It’s dizzying.

I realize that looking young and wanting to be young is nothing new. It just seems that nowadays, it’s nearly out-of-control. Men are also targeted for anti-aging products (such as hair coloring, or even wrinkle/line treatments), but not on the same scale as women are. As a girl, by seeing these ads, I learned that aging was negative. It was something to dread, something to fight and hold at bay for as long as possible. However, for today’s girls, the impact is magnified. But what does it really mean to have wrinkles and gray hair? In some cultures, it means wisdom, respect and seniority. In our culture, it means its time either to do something drastic to reverse the effects or to risk being devalued.

I hope I can encourage my daughter to love herself and the way she looks at every age, exactly how she is naturally. Real beauty doesn’t come in a container. It’s self-contained. I hope we all can see through the marketing messages and realize just that and teach that to our daughters by opening up discussions with them about this and leading by example.

If you have a related story of your own to share, I’d love to hear it! Just leave a comment here. I hope to share readers’ stories and experiences on such subjects in the weeks to come.

“So what would he like?” I asked as we rolled through the aisles.

“Tools,” she replied matter-of-factly. As if to say, ‘like, duh, Mom. Everyone knows he likes tools.’

Exhibit 1

I was relieved to find, without much searching, a really cool tool kit in the toy department (see Exhibit 1, at right). Such a good price, I thought of perhaps getting one for her too.

“No, Mama,” she said. “That’s a boy’s toy.”

Oh, no! Did she really just say that?!? I was floored. My husband and I have never distinguished between boys and girls toys. We’ve always approached toys as being just that: toys. Gender-neutral. Pink and blue for everyone. Cars for girls, dolls for boys. It didn’t matter and it shouldn’t.

“What do you mean a boy’s toy?” I hurriedly asked.

“It’s for boys,” she said. Once again, Mom—duh!

We placed one of the kits in the cart—only one—and finished our shopping.

It was later in the day, when I realized who might have been the source of the toy-gender labeling: her mostly-male cousins, who are not much older than my preschooler. Through no fault of their own, they might have planted it in her head that certain toys are for boys, others are for girls. I thought it was time for a discussion.

“You can play with tools too, if you want to,” I said. “You can play with dolls, or cars, or be a princess or a dragon. It’s up to you. You can be or do anything you want.”

She smiled. She seemed very relieved. “I can play with tools?” she asked, just to be certain.

“Yes, you most certainly can,” I said. Then, I reiterated, “You can do anything you want.”

“I can do anything I want,” she repeated, contentedly.

I didn’t realize that I would need to have discussions like this so soon, but I do. We all do, I think. Whatever opinions about what girls “should” do and boys “should” do trickle down from parents and perceptions floating around in the media. This all affect skids while they’re young—very young. I have discussions with other mothers all the time about how boys are told to stay away from pink, from dolls, from “girl toys,” and girls are told to do the same. Some if it might come naturally or instinctively—boys might typically gravitate toward certain toys and girls others. But I know my daughter wanted those tools; I could see it in her eyes. It was someone else’s labeling system that was stopping her.

Later, my husband called and I told him about our gift purchase.

“He already has a tool kit—two of them actually, from both sets of grandparents,” he said. Of course he does, everyone knows he loves tools. Once again, duh Mom! “I guess we’ll just have to take it back and get him something else.”

Then it hit me.

“We’ll get him something else,” I said. “But I have another idea for the tool kit.”

So I stuck it in my closet to save for someone else’s birthday. I can’t wait to give it to her. I know that she’ll just love it.

Me, suited up and ready to race!

So yesterday I went auto racing.

Okay, maybe that’s a little bit of a stretch. But I did something that was as close to the auto racing experience as I’d ever get: I raced at Chicago Indoor Racing, an indoor go-kart track.

These are not the type of go-karts you find at your summer carnival and they’re not for kids. You must be over 18 to drive these serious little driving machines: Bowman Race Karts with racing tires, Honda engines that can rev up to 5,500 rpm, hydraulic brakes. Basically, these little karts can go about 30-35 mph—what I do when I drive to the grocery store in my minivan—but when you’re sitting just an inch from the ground, zipping around tight corners with another kart and driver breathing down your neck, that easily feels like 70 mph.

So here’s my story: when I was a kid, my dad often took me to Road America, a professional race track in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin. We’d see everything race: from Indy Cars to little Volkswagon bugs. As a girl—for a brief spell—I wanted to be a race car driver. They looked so cool (both the cars and the drivers in their helmets)! They went so fast! It looked like fun! There was no Danica Patrick back then, but there was Lyn St. James, the first woman to win a solo North American professional road race back in 1985. If she could do it, maybe I could too?

I practiced everyday in an old cardboard box. I kept going to races with my dad and watched them on t.v. And then….well, I decided I wanted to be a professional golfer. There went my dreams of racing.

Until yesterday. I headed to CIR with a small group of family and friends. We suited up. We looked serious (I mean, c’mon! Take a look at that photo! Does that not look like a real race car driver???) We watched our training video, then we hit the track.

Racers, Karts and the Racetrack

Another race was in progress. My mouth dropped open and my knees went a little wobbly. That can’t be only 35 mph! I thought as the little karts whipped around the track. That has to be much faster than that! What have I gotten myself into now?

Unfortunately, I was in the lead car for the start. My stomach flipped. I had no idea what I was doing. My husband gave me a thumbs up, an attempt to inspire in me some confidence. It didn’t work. I said a little prayer. Please God, whatever happens, get me through this alive!

The light turned green. I put my pedal to the medal and away we went! The first lap was kind of a warm up—no one could pass, everyone had to go slow. Then the race began. It wasn’t long before everyone passed me. I took the turns slowly. I exercised caution. If I saw someone barreling down on me over my shoulder, I went wide to let them easily pass. I sped up at times, braked when I could, got bumped a bit, felt the wind creep in under my visor, felt my arms burn a bit as I turned the wheel and sped off.

So how did I do? I finished dead last. Bested by both men and women. But I made it through without a scratch,and wow! Was it fun!!!

In the second race, I took more risks. Everyone still passed me, but this time, I tried to catch them. I tried to mimic the other drivers and the lines they were holding (or trying to hold). I saw how they took the turns differently than me and I tried to do what they did. I spun out once, but I got right back in it. I had even more fun and bettered my average lap by two seconds. I still finished in last place, but I improved. The second race was now my personal best!

Chicago Indoor Racing, a "Field of Dreams" for many

Whenever we test ourselves, step out of our comfort zones, I feel we really get to explore another side of ourselves and grow a little bit. I learned so much yesterday, about racing and about myself, just by daring to try something new and actually following through on it. So what did I learn?

- Driving a race car must be really hard, because kart racing wasn’t easy! It takes great strength, skill and talent. It really is a very physical sport. It’s not just about who has the better car. It’s just as much about the driver and I’m in awe of anyone who can go 200 mph. Go Danica!

- The kid me wouldn’t have blinked. Eleven-year-old me would have jumped right in that kart and driven as fast as I could make it go. There would have been no nerves, no timid driving around the curves. I remember being fearless as a little girl in many ways; but not anymore. I used to climb high, yet now I’m afraid of heights. Where does a girl’s fearlessness go? And how as women do we get it back? Maybe yesterday, I did gain a little of it back?

- I thought I might be one of the only women out there yesterday, but I wasn’t. Far from it, actually. I was pleasantly surprised to see just how many women were suited up and ready to give this a shot! My friend Beth whizzed by me and really kept up with the guys very well. In our racing suits, with our long hair tucked into our helmets, it was very hard to tell the men from the women. In many cases, it was the same when we sat behind the wheel and started our engines. The proof was in the final results.

- I could not have been a race car driver after all. I am quite confident that I do not possess the skill to ever have been a professional race car driver. But hey, few people do! However, I sure had a good time giving it a shot yesterday. I’m so glad I tried and had this experience and shared it with some great people—both male and female. And yet, if it hadn’t been for the likes of Lyn St. James and Danica Patrick, I’m not sure I would even have considered it. Sometimes having women pave the way for us (or, in their case, tear up the track!) helps us not just in professional pursuits, but in other areas of life as well. It shows us all that we can try anything, even if it’s just for fun, and gives us the confidence to try something new right alongside the boys. And in my case, I’m very glad I did.

Yippee.

Me, on my sixth birthday

Remember when you were a kid and just couldn’t wait for your birthday to come? I recall being about six or seven years old and looking at the calendar, thinking, “It’s three whole weeks until my birthday? That long? It’ll never get here!”

But not anymore.

Now, when I tear off January and see month number two staring at me in the face, I think, “Oh no! Again? Will I really be that old???”

But why is that? Why is it that once we pass our twenties, we begin to cringe when our birthday looms? This year I decided it was time for an analysis.

First off, I guess it’s only natural to feel that with every passing birthday, we are one step closer to well, you know: The End. It’s true. It’s inevitable. And quite frankly, it’s not something any of us really look forward to. But I think the whole revulsion of birthdays goes a little bit further than that.

Our culture is one that embraces youth and frowns upon age. Everything is anti-wrinkle, anti-gray, anti-aging. Some of us don’t reveal our ages or we say, “I’m turning 29 again,” or “I’m 29 forever.” We worry about where we’re going to “put” our aging parents, as if they need to be conveniently stored in an out-of-the-way place so as not to interfere with our day-to-day lives (I already have a plan for mine and my inlaws; they don’t know it yet, but it involves bunk beds). In our culture, the old are not embraced, but rather sidelined. If you’re over 50 and out of work, it’s more difficult to find a job. Cover models (except for perhaps the AARP Magazine) are all young. Even older actresses say it’s more difficult to find roles as they age.

Me and Mom, celebrating today at Benihana

But not every culture feels this way. In some, the elders are revered. They are sought out for their wisdom. They lead their people until they physically no longer can. In some societies, age is embraced. In Japan, they have a word for it: sabi. It means “to have a beauty and contentment that only comes with age.” Hannah Montana cannot have sabi. Neither can the cast of Twilight, as gorgeous as they are. Sabi is reserved only for those who have earned it.

I realize too with this birthday that I am very lucky. Not everyone makes it this far. I have had family members and neighbors who passed away when they weren’t that much older than me. I look now at every passing year as an accomplishment that I am lucky to have achieved.

With that said, I’m using this blog today to wish everyone who’s reading this a happy birthday this year and every year! Look upon your magical day with anticipation, not dread. Be thankful that you have reached another year and hold your graying head high! For with every birthday, we are not simply adding a year—we are gaining wisdom and sabi.

For your next birthday, treat yourself like I did today. My mom took me to Benihana where received a free entree just for adding another number to my age (may I recommend the seared tuna). Check these sites to learn more about special birthday treats:

• Benihana
• Cold Stone Creamery
• Noodles & Company

Contest Button from American Apparel's Web Site

I debated writing about this topic, but when something makes me very angry, it’s hard not to. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give this company and their ‘campaign’ any more attention, but I feel that the issue that arises from it is worth the risk.

American Apparel is the largest clothing manufacturer in the U.S. They operate roughly 200 stores in 18 countries. It’s a company that touts itself as providing “fashionable basics for men, women, children, and babies.” They pride themselves on being “Made in the USA” and “Sweatshop free”—all good things that we consumers look for in a company we give money to. However, since they sell clothing and other products that are made for children, we feel their latest marketing campaign crosses the line. And I mean, crosses way over the line.

American Apparel is searching for the “Best Bottom in the World.” Sounds innocent enough, but if you view their site, it really isn’t. You have to be at least 18 years old to submit to them a picture of your derierre. Men and women are both eligible to submit pics, however, the pictures of contestants’ booties are predominantly female. Two lucky winners will be selected to be AA’s new “butt models” (their language, not mine). The page on their site where you can view all entries looks like a gallery of porn. To add to the absurdity of it all, site visitors are encouraged to not only score each entry on a scale from 1 to 5 but also comment on the entries. So if you see a bottom that’s less than perfect, you can let the entrant know your opinion. Very classy.

My problem with this is that they don’t just cater to adults. They sell clothing and other accessories for children and infants. If a preteen girl were to visit their website in search of the next hip, trendy item of clothing, she might find what she’s looking for alongside pictures from this butt contest (honestly, when visiting their web site, there’s no escaping it. Some of the entries are nearly bare. You can view the contest entries here).

What message does this send to girls? Sure, the contest is technically for both males and females, but really it’s the female booty that’s plastered all over the site. It appears as if the company borrowed one of Playboy’s site designers to create it. On one hand, someone might say American Apparel is just trying to have some fun and engage their customers. But they’re selling products to minors. Most major shopping malls have an American Apparel store. They want that “tween” business. But the message their sending is one that’s extremely sexualized. Girls might leave their website thinking that “it’s not important to be my best, just look my sexiest.” Remember, on American Apparel’s site, the sexiest butt wins.

Because of all of this, we at G is 4 Girl decided to remove five products from our store that were manufactured by American Apparel. Fortunately, that leaves us with many wonderful products to choose from that display our message of encouragement and empowerment for females everywhere, mostly made by Hanes.

If you are outraged by American Apparel’s marketing campaign, there is something you can do about it. You can sign a petition that was started by a wonderful organization for girls, Hardy Girls, Healthy Women. Check out their website to see an organization doing something positive for girls. You can sign the American Apparel petition right here.

“Ewwwww, that’s pink,” the boy said of my daughter’s toothbrush the other day. (The brush is actually equal parts pink and purple). “I don’t like pink,” he added.

“I do,” I said. (Albeit, it’s not my choice for carpet, jeans, or eyeshadow, I don’t have a problem with it.) “I think pink is a nice color,” I said, enlisting myself in pink’s defense, shocking the tomboy within.

But don’t tell Daddy.

There’s been a great deal made lately over the color of pink. It’s the symbol of the fight against breast cancer, the color that people assume most girls like to wear, the color of princesses, the color macho men apparently think is the color of sissies, and a color some women are rebelling against. I’d say right about now that pink has the weight of the world on its shoulders. But should we pick a fight with pink?

There’s an organization based in the U.K. called Pink Stinks. It’s a nonprofit geared toward encouraging positive gender roles for girls and improving girls self-esteem. It’s name really grabs your attention. Pink Stinks — what’s it all about? According to their web site, Pink Stinks believes that “body image obsession is starting younger and younger, and that the seeds are sown during the pink stage, as young girls are taught the boundaries within which they will grow up, as well as narrow and damaging messages about what it is to be a girl.” So they’re taking a stand and trying to do something to change this. You go Pink Stinks!

I wholeheartedly agree with Pink Stinks’ mission. Girls need to be exposed to everything and told they can do anything: sports and arts; science, math and music; wear a tool belt and a tutu; choose pink and blue — you name it. Whatever the boys are exploring, they can explore too, if they want to. They should not be bound by stereotypes that they need to be pretty princesses in order to be feminine. They do not need to hope that “someday their prince will come” to take care of them. They need to learn that they can do anything; that they shouldn’t have to wear pink, but have all colors available to them and still be who they are; that they shouldn’t be afraid to break a nail; that their beauty and strength comes from inside; that they are beautiful and talented and smart and amazing just as they are. That’s why I started G is 4 Girl. I’m all for all that.

My daughter’s favorite color is not pink. It’s blue. But what if she wanted to wear pink all the time? Right now, I’m kind of thinking, “So what if she does?” And I think that’s the real point in all of this. Girls should be free to be whomever they want to be. They should know that all of the colors, activities, jobs, and dreams they want to take part in are available to them and within reach and that none of their choices — not even to wear the color pink — should be vilified. They should not be made to feel badly for choosing pink. They should not feel that to wear pink is to be weak.

When I was in college, my school’s football coach had the opponent’s locker room painted pink before a big game. He wanted them to feel weak, to feel like a team of, well — girls. I have encountered many men who have this opinion that women are weak. I’ve heard fathers berate their sons not to throw, cry, or whine “like a girl.” These boys who hear these things, exactly how will they view women as adults? In the workplace, will they see them as the same or inferior? In relationships, will they be told that they have to “wear the pants” in the family? In the case of our family friend, I think he’s anti-pink because he’s afraid his son might be viewed as being gay or that he might become gay if he uses continues to use a plastic pink sippy cup.

I can’t help but feel that girls today are under a lot pressure. Everyone’s pulling them in different directions: Marketers are giving them one message, magazine covers another, perhaps their friends another, family another. I think all they really need is just to be told to be themselves. To follow their hearts. To choose any color they want. And to ignore all of the people who say they can’t.

If you have a daughter, granddaughter, or niece, send them over to the site CoolToBe.Me. It’s a site in development that’s geared toward girls that tells them great stories about real role models.