Toys

One advantage to growing up in the third world is that the range of toys I get to play with far outshines those of single-culture babies. In my toy chest I have everything from the technologically advanced to the downright primitive. But more than a mere curiosity, this variety of playthings is quite instructive and provides a window into the psyches of the cultures they represent.

Take my African dolls, for example. They are simple and stuffed. They represent the people that are likely to buy them – the mothers of the children who are likely to play with them. They are familiar, round, soft, black. They wear brightly colored African prints and have braided hair. They are easy to make, reflecting the technology available to the artisan – for that is what the doll maker is, an artisan. He or she learned a skill, honed it, and then used it to earn a living. And no matter how talented or clever or successful the doll maker is, it will never be more than a modest living. These dolls are not merely African - they are Africa.

Now, consider the most popular distraction for Mexican niños. Here you can see my mentor Naomi with my cousin Sebastian donning the face coverings of the fabled heroes of the lucha libre ring. These masked men are the south-of-the-border counterparts to the titans of American mythology like Batman and the Lone Ranger, except they’re real guys. Oh, I forgot to mention another important distinction: they don’t fight evil or stop crimes, they just fight each other. It is their job to fight. They show up to work, beat each other up, go out for tacos together on their lunch break, then beat each other up some more for the rest of the afternoon. To grow up in Mexico is to dress as your favorite wrestler and throw your weaker siblings mercilessly off the couch and into the emergency room.

Of course, I far prefer an overt mano-a-mano pounding to the diabolically subtle violence perpetrated by this Goes-Down-on-Her-Knees Barbie from the United States. Plastic, vapid, curvaceous, dyed hair a color not found in nature and manufactured by a mega corporation which is probably a subsidiary of a make-up/laxative/plastic surgery conglomerate. She has accessories and spin-off products which bear her name and image; she stars in movies and books; she has a 1-800 number for you to call if the tiny bottle of suntan lotion is inexplicably missing from your Beach Barbie box set. She’s so American she could be President (if she weren’t a woman, that is).
I don’t know, maybe I’m reading way too much into what these toys say about the societies that produced them. All this crap was probably made in China anyway.

Un beso,
Lainey