Today's blog is brought to you by Dove products, for all your bath and beauty needs.
I use Dove soap for two reasons.
One, it moisturizes my skin.
And two, the brand has undertaken a vital project -- addressing the self-esteem of girls and women.
I know the ultimate purpose of the Dove Self-Esteem Project is to sell more soap, deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, etc.
But unlike other beauty product ad campaigns -- shallow and sometimes dangerous campaigns, in which women are told there's something wrong with the way they look, but don't worry, this product will fix it! -- the Dove campaign strives to tell women that beauty comes in all shapes, all sizes, all colors, all hair lengths and textures, and all temperaments.
This is the first ad campaign in my memory that truly seems to "get it" -- that people, especially female people, must love themselves to live their lives as fully, and with as much fulfillment, as possible.
When I was a girl, the adults in my life certainly didn't "get it."
In the time and place I came of age (rural Midwest, 1960s, '70s and '80s), the thing that adults seemed to fear most was that children would get a "swelled head."
That's why our pastors and Sunday school teachers seemed to talk about nothing but sin, and portrayed a right relationship with God as being obedient, industrious, quiet and self-deprecating.
It's why our parents rarely praised us when we succeeded, but could be counted on to punish us when we inevitably came up short.
It's why adults (and peers) communicated to girls of all ages that their value lies entirely in their attractiveness to men and their prospects for marriage -- yet a girl who actually thinks she's pretty is "stuck up."
It's why charm schools existed. I was actually sent to one when I was about 14, in the Sears store in the Merle Hay Mall. (Did it work? Well, I didn't get a Sears catalog modeling gig out of it, if that's what you mean.)
And for me, it meant being told, by dozens of people in thousands of ways, that there was something wrong with my body. I was too big, too tall, too uncoordinated, and not cute like my girl cousins.
I wish there'd been a Dove Self-Esteem Project when I was young. But if anything, it's the young women and girls of today who need it far more than I ever did. When I was a girl, there was no Facebook, no SnapChat, no instant messaging, not even email. And those are the ways in which too many females have been bullied, told they're ugly, or even persuaded to harm themselves.
Late in life, I've learned what the Dove Self-Esteem Project is trying to teach: That loving oneself is basic, and that all meaningful achievement, accomplishment and confidence must stem from believing, in the core of your being, that you are lovely and worthy of being loved.
I think modern educators (or those who were educators a generation or so ago) know now that self-esteem doesn't come from giving trophies just for participating, or giving an A grade regardless of performance or results.
But it does come from silencing any voice that contradicts the gentle message that we are, at our core, worthy of love, first from ourselves, and then from others.
If a soap ad campaign can accomplish what parents, teachers and media (print and electronic) have failed to accomplish -- if it can help women and girls love themselves -- I'll keep buying the soap.
I use Dove soap for two reasons.
One, it moisturizes my skin.
And two, the brand has undertaken a vital project -- addressing the self-esteem of girls and women.
I know the ultimate purpose of the Dove Self-Esteem Project is to sell more soap, deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, etc.
But unlike other beauty product ad campaigns -- shallow and sometimes dangerous campaigns, in which women are told there's something wrong with the way they look, but don't worry, this product will fix it! -- the Dove campaign strives to tell women that beauty comes in all shapes, all sizes, all colors, all hair lengths and textures, and all temperaments.
This is the first ad campaign in my memory that truly seems to "get it" -- that people, especially female people, must love themselves to live their lives as fully, and with as much fulfillment, as possible.
When I was a girl, the adults in my life certainly didn't "get it."
In the time and place I came of age (rural Midwest, 1960s, '70s and '80s), the thing that adults seemed to fear most was that children would get a "swelled head."
That's why our pastors and Sunday school teachers seemed to talk about nothing but sin, and portrayed a right relationship with God as being obedient, industrious, quiet and self-deprecating.
It's why our parents rarely praised us when we succeeded, but could be counted on to punish us when we inevitably came up short.
It's why adults (and peers) communicated to girls of all ages that their value lies entirely in their attractiveness to men and their prospects for marriage -- yet a girl who actually thinks she's pretty is "stuck up."
It's why charm schools existed. I was actually sent to one when I was about 14, in the Sears store in the Merle Hay Mall. (Did it work? Well, I didn't get a Sears catalog modeling gig out of it, if that's what you mean.)
And for me, it meant being told, by dozens of people in thousands of ways, that there was something wrong with my body. I was too big, too tall, too uncoordinated, and not cute like my girl cousins.
I wish there'd been a Dove Self-Esteem Project when I was young. But if anything, it's the young women and girls of today who need it far more than I ever did. When I was a girl, there was no Facebook, no SnapChat, no instant messaging, not even email. And those are the ways in which too many females have been bullied, told they're ugly, or even persuaded to harm themselves.
Late in life, I've learned what the Dove Self-Esteem Project is trying to teach: That loving oneself is basic, and that all meaningful achievement, accomplishment and confidence must stem from believing, in the core of your being, that you are lovely and worthy of being loved.
I think modern educators (or those who were educators a generation or so ago) know now that self-esteem doesn't come from giving trophies just for participating, or giving an A grade regardless of performance or results.
But it does come from silencing any voice that contradicts the gentle message that we are, at our core, worthy of love, first from ourselves, and then from others.
If a soap ad campaign can accomplish what parents, teachers and media (print and electronic) have failed to accomplish -- if it can help women and girls love themselves -- I'll keep buying the soap.
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