mr. rogers ain't about slut shaming
About the sexy Mr. Rogers costume.
I shared it on my Facebook page because I thought it was:
Shocking
Not shocking
Funny
Ragey
Likely to connect with a number of my readers
Simple, right? A straightforward social media conversation. Sexy Mr. Rogers? Wrong! So wrong. Bring on the gifs. Let’s all laughscream into the void together on 3!
The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that the sexy Mr. Rogers costume deserves a little more thought and discussion before we file it under “Ground, Burn it to the” along with every reference of Brock Fucking Turner and People who Call the Police On Black Children’s Lemonade Stands.
What was the first thing you thought when you saw sexy Mr. Rogers?
For me, it was “Is nothing sacred?” For you, it might have been, “Holy hell, my eyes,” or “Not Mr. Rogers, please, Lord, no, anyone but Mr. Rogers,” or “Smash the patriarchy and use the rubble to line my septic tank.”
All valid responses. All some version of “Oh, hell no.”
But let’s hit pause and reflect on Sexy Mr. Rogers. Let’s ask some questions of ourselves to find out where a knee-jerk “Oh, hell no,” reaction is rooted.
Who designed this costume?
The company that produces this costume, Yandy, is infamous for other provocative, click-baiting, rage-diarrhea-inducing costumes like “Sexy Ebola Nurse,” “Sexy Handmaid,” and most distressingly, for me at least, “Sexy Girl Scout.”
A deeper question might be “Who measured the inseam of the spanky shorts and who inspected the visual balance of the necktie against the neckline of the sweater?” A costume like this doesn’t pop into existence like a Nancy Pelosi coat meme. A costume like this takes a minute to put together, and the person who put it together did it on purpose. Who did that, and what was that person’s goal?
I’m making an assumption that a heterosexual man designed this costume, but there’s no way I’ll ever know for sure. It’s not like that person has “Designer of Sexy Mr. Rogers Costume” on their LinkedIn profile. Trust me. I checked LinkedIn. And after I came up empty-handed online, I decided to check something else - my approach.
I’ve been approaching this costume from a prosecutorial “WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS” stance. Perhaps I should be approaching this costume from an economic “WHO DEMANDED THIS PRODUCT” stance. Perhaps that’s the bigger question here.
For whom was this costume designed?
It was designed for women to wear, but it was designed to please - YEAH I’M SAYING IT - the male gaze.
Who’s going to buy it? Probably women. For whom are these women shopping when they buy this costume? Probably men.
You can tell that this costume is really, at its core, for women to wear for straight men, because this costume is about a woman’s sex parts, not Mr. Rogers. Honestly, Mr. Rogers is barely recognizable in this costume. If I didn’t tell you that this sexy Mr. Rogers costume was supposed to be Mr. Rogers, you probably would have thought this was a sexy Grandpa or a sexy secretary or a sexy teacher... OR a shy stripper or an Amish nudist finishing her PhD -- because don’t forget, this could be a naked version of conservative figures or a conservative version of naked figures, YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW. What we do know is that this constume is designed to pluck the string that’s stretched tight between the opposing pegs of “wholesome nerd” and “sexy sex person,” and that string plays a tune as old as song.
If you do a broader search for Mr. Rogers costumes, the male versions have actual cardigans, with, you know, actual fabric, along with full-length slacks and sneakers. They’re desexualized interpretations of Mr. Rogers as a celebrity.
So yeah, this costume, which is about women, sex, and the age-old fantasy of the “unsophisticated dork who turns out to have an amazing rack,” exists to excite men.
Am I offended by this costume?
Obviously. Thank u, next.
WHY am I offended by this costume?
Now that’s a tougher question, as chewy as a Red Vine, and just as unfulfilling.
First obvious point:
I’m always offended by the sexualization of children. While Mr. Rogers is not himself a child, he is is a childhood icon. There is no defensible reason to associate Mr. Fred Flipping Rogers with tits, butt cleav, camel toe, bare midriff, or ruffled fucking ankle socks stuffed into fuck-me pumps, and the inevitable boners that may ensue from the aforementioned sexual accountrements.
To be honest, the most offensive part of this costume, for me, personally, IS the ruffled socks. They are so clearly a child’s garment, tacked onto a hypersexual image for maximum titillation.
Which brings me to the second obvious point:
I am always offended by the infantilization of women into girls. Coupled with the sexualization of children, I am deeply offended by the pedophiliac misogyny that strips women of power by turning them first into children, and then into sex objects. Or, I don’t know about the order tbh. Maybe pedophiliac misogyny first turns women into sex objects, and then into children. Not that that’s any better. This is a real chicken-or-the-egg question here, except it’s which came first, the pedophile or the misogynist. Ew. Came. Sorry.
Weirdly, while I’m super offended by the infantilization and over-sexualization of women, I am not at all offended by the idea of a woman wearing this costume. To paraphrase historian Evelyn Beatrice Hall’s famous free speech defense, I disapprove of your Sexy Mr. Rogers costume, but I will defend to the death your right to wear it.
I’m furious that we have an insatiable cultural demand for sexy baby ladies. I’m actually a little MORE furious that it always feels like our first stop on the outrage train is “Shame Station,” where we cluck our tongues at “floozies and skanks” and remind them that if they want to be respected they have to start by respecting themselves.
You know, I don’t actually think that my self-respect has a damn thing to do with the inseam of my spanky shorts. I think we - maybe you - continue to approach the idea of “respect” from the orchestra pit where men keep plucking the string drawn tight between “she’s a good clean girl” and “she’s a bad dirty whore.” And we can see that in the direction in which we choose to volley our outrage when costumes like Sexy Mr. Rogers hit the market.
Who are you mad at?
Women who want to buy this costume? I’m mad at the fact that women have to live in a world in which the path of least resistance places them squarely within the algorithm that serves this costume to their Facebook feeds. I’m mad that resisting that path costs so much fucking time and energy and emotional work and therapy and old friends and movies I used to love and romance novels that used to relax me. I’m mad that part of living in this world means I remain skeptical of the reasons that women would buy a sexy Halloween costume because I know how hard it is to untangle the patriarchy from your ideas of what is beautiful, cute, sexy, and appealing, and I know that many of us haven’t even begun to do that work. I hate that my skepticism of her judgment makes me mistrust and disempower her, and assume that she remains trapped in the male gaze. I hate that it’s much easier to judge her for remaining trapped there than it is to realize that I’m pinned against that wall right next to her.
The truth is that we’re all somewhere on this path to disentangling ourselves. Are we supposed to live joyless, sexless lives until we arrive at complete disassociation from the white supremacist patriarchy? Because if we do continue to shame our own sexuality and restrict our own freedoms, then we’re not really moving along that path any more, are we? Yet, if women continue to explore their sexuality while they are in the process of distinguishing what really turns them on versus what they’ve been told LOOKS sexy their whole lives, and sometimes continue to choose what LOOKS sexy rather than what FEELS sexy, we yell at them for not being liberated enough. That shit takes time, people.
Sexualization of women is a fraught, complicated discussion. On the one hand, all we want is women to feel empowered to live their best lives, wear what they want, and have both mind-blowing and consensual sexual relationships. No more slut shaming. Women’s sexuality has been taboo for too long. Getcha some, mama! Getcha all the some!
On the other hand, when we face the idea of what one person’s version of “sexy” looks like, and it looks like something a man may have originated, we stop caring about whether or not that particular brand of “sexy” is legit fun and empowering for some women (regardless of where those women are on their journey to full actualization), and we want to burn that sexist Halloween bullshit to the ground and yell at the women who like it. That ain’t sex positive feminism. That’s slut shaming.
I’m mostly mad because in all this hubbub about protecting Mr. Rogers we’re losing the thread of Mr. Rogers’ entire message. If Mr. Rogers met a woman on the street wearing this costume, do you think he would turn away from her or remind her to respect herself? Heck no, he wouldn’t! He would tell her that it was so nice of her to think of him. He would tell her he likes her just the way she is, and that nobody in the whole world is like her. So if in the process of defending Fred Rogers’ legacy you find yourself snarking at women who are walking tall in their short shorts, baring their midriffs or butt cleav or camel toe, you need to check yourself.
Who are you really mad at?
I am deeply offended by the pedophiliac misogyny that strips women of power by turning them first into children, then into sex objects, and then into the objects of outrage and hostility from the only other people who can understand what it’s like to grow up a girl in this particular time and place.
Are you mad at these women? All women? Yourself? Or the world we all have to live in?
Is it okay to be disgusted by the existence of sexy baby costumes, and also accepting of women who like sexy baby costumes? I think that’s the balance we’re trying to walk here - between giving women space and grace to learn to live inside their bodies instead of observing them from a male judge’s perspective, and perpetuating the existence of misogynistic pedo fantasies that continue to hurt everyone - EVERYONE - who’s exposed to them.
Finding that balance is a lifetime of work and nobody’s going to get it right all the time. But as we approach this Halloween season and you start to see, maybe, some fishnets and push-up bras, and you start to feel grumpy or judgy or angry, remember that Mr. Rogers loved you just the way you were. And remember that inside the costume you might hate is a woman you can love.
It's you I like,
It's not the things you wear,
It's not the way you do your hair
But it's you I like
The way you are right now,
The way down deep inside you
Not the things that hide you,
Not your toys
They're just beside you.
But it's you I like
Every part of you.
Your skin, your eyes, your feelings
Whether old or new.
I hope that you'll remember
Even when you're feeling blue
That it's you I like,
It's you yourself
It's you.
It's you I like.