By Laura Pappano

This is my son’s favorite sweatshirt – from when he was 3. My sister made it for his pink-Red Sox-guitar-themed birthday.

Now he’s 12. He doesn’t wear much pink, but neither does he avoid it. He grabbed a pink towel the other day to go swimming.

So why do I avoid filling up one of the pink water bottles as he heads for a soccer game?

It’s not that he will object; it’s that I am aware that guy-world is not – yet – really safe for pink. As a top scorer, kids get in his face, use the F-word and harass him. He recently told one non-stop trash-talker that Moammar Gadhafi wanted his personality back (I said he was 12, right?).

On the cusp of Father’s Day – once depicted on calendars by neckties, pipes, and golf clubs – we are having new conversations about being male in our society. A New York Times story described a more forward-thinking approach to parenting children who want to wear and play with what they want to play with. USA Today captured second-family Dads digging into parenting with less rigid gender roles.

Stereotypes, like my quiet pink avoidance, however, persist.  News that college athletics departments are spending more despite budget cuts elsewhere only amplifies the fact that football and basketball increasingly take center stage in a college’s brand identification. This does nothing to reverse gender inequalities on or off the field (or in our children’s lives).

Over years of writing and talking about this issue, though, I am struck by a recurring experience:  I cannot anymore count how many dads have stepped up to tell me about their daughters. Hockey players, go-cart racers, basketball stars, Little League pitchers. They are proud, even boastful.

Institutions – none more than organized sports — preserve an antiquated hierarchy of male privilege and power (and, of course, gender roles). But more Dads (and maybe boys who don’t get wigged out about pink) offer a fresh perspective.

There is a new way of being male. These men and boys see things differently. They aren’t loud, but neither are they afraid. It’s time we listened — and gave them credit.

By Katie Culver

Given the frenzy surrounding The Royal Wedding and future Princess Kate Middleton-Windsor (we feminists can only hope for the hyphenated name), it seems prudent to consider the implications of “princess mania.”

To mothers of 4-year-old girls (I am one of those), the term needs no explanation. To those needing a definition, it describes the overwhelming popularity of princess culture that bombarded our nation long before the Royal Engagement.

Now, I have thus far resisted, refusing to buy princess gear (as if it’s a sport!) or let my daughter watch Disney princess movies (am I so cruel?).

So while the airwaves will be filled with Brits parsing The Royal Wedding, I offer an alternative go-to source: Peggy Orenstein’s recent book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter. In it, she explains our society’s problematic obsession with princesses, particularly those with Disney lineage. She substantiates my hesitance to soak my daughter in “girly-girl culture.”

What did I learn from Orenstein that will get me through all the princess talk?

·         Disney Princesses are not harmless. In fact, when you consider the dominant characteristics, it’s plain scary: Sure they have beautifully made-up faces, impractical and sparkly gowns and tiaras, but they are also friend-less, mother-less, and non-action-oriented individuals waiting to be saved by a prince (and pining for marriage). They are victims unable to escape cruel step-mothers, and spend their time tidying up and looking after others. Ariel of The Little Mermaid even gave up her voice (!!) to be with the Prince of her dreams (I didn’t know this before Orenstein pointed it out).

·         The emphasis on appearance – the central feature of Princess gear — sends a powerful message:  How you look is more important than what you do (or think, for that matter). The princess phenomenon establishes a dangerous path focused on image, pleasing others, and finding the right man to seal a happy ending.

·         Yes, many (especially moms) defend their daughter’s obsession with all things princess by describing an unstoppable drive. You hear that, “She is so into princesses, it’s all she wants to play,” that “everything has to be princess (or PINK).” Is this nature? Is it destined? NO! It’s a $4 billion Disney enterprise supported by sales and marketing of more than 26,000 Disney Princess items on the market. As Orenstein puts it, “…it’s a little hard to say where ‘want’ ends and ‘coercion’ begins.” One Grandmother told me that if she wants her granddaughter to like her gift, it has to do with princesses. Have grown-ups lost their ability to think for themselves?

·         Part of the “princess problem” – if I may call it that – is what the scripted play with princess dolls, books, movies, music, furniture, light fixtures, etc., excludes: opportunities to be the hero of their own stories and to develop non-princess skills of athleticism. After all, princesses rarely run, jump, climb on the swing-set, kick a ball, or ride a bike.

I, for one, wish Kate Middleton all the best, and hope maybe she can transform the future of princesses—with a career, strong mind and seemingly subdued nature (o.k., she’s gorgeous too, but what can you do?). However, I am nearly dreading the Royal Wedding (and poor Kate—what a spectacle the event has become!). Middleton’s dress color is a well-kept secret (ivory? champagne? lilac?).  Let’s just hope it’s not pink!

1. Ignoring athletic development of girls. What’s wrong: Sports is the language of power and self-efficacy (a particularly urgent matter in places where females face violence and lack equal rights). Failure to encourage girls – whether in Texas or Bangladesh or on the preschool play lot – to learn the skills and rules join physical play puts them at a social, economic, and political disadvantage. What to do: Lace up (sneakers on little girls) and speak up for women’s access to athletics everywhere.
2. The financial devaluation of females in sport. What’s wrong: Whether it’s LPGA purses, coach salaries, promotional budgets, or college ticket prices, paying less just because it’s women (guys, I’m sick of the supply-and-demand arguments; it IS more loaded than that) is fundamentally wrong and detrimental to women. What to do: Women, open your wallets and get in the game; supporting talented female athletes is a political act!
3. Single-sex sports – especially in grade school. What’s wrong: Sorting athletes, particularly as children, by gender before skill or competitive level sends a message to little girls that somehow they shouldn’t – or can’t – play with the boys and enforces gender stereotypes, even outside of sports. What to do: Support co-ed athletic opportunities at all levels; if sports has the power to build international relations, why not gender relations?
4. “Lady”-name-the mascot. What’s wrong: Until we’re ready to put the label “gentlemen” before college mascots (say the Tennessee Gentlemen Volunteers, the Gentlemen Blue Devils?) modifying only the women’s team nicknames creates, enforces, and publicizes a second class status. What to do: Call both teams by the same mascot name and bet most fans will know the difference.
5. The pink-if-fication of sport equipment and wear – for females. What’s wrong: Nothing against the sprightly color pink, but the marketing belief that color-coding athletic goods in pink makes them “safe” and “appealing” to females is an affront to our sportiness (do we do this for boys?) and marks the vast non-pink sports universe as male. What to do: Push past the pink; spend your green on the real stuff.
6. Hot pants for playing. What’s wrong: Uniforms that are more about sex appeal than athletic zeal (and free movement) mark women’s sports as entertainment of the wrong sort. What to do: No one says you have to wear granny rags to work out or play, but respect yourself as an athlete. Who wants to slide into third wearing hot pants (and whose idea are shorts in softball anyhow?)?

By Laura Pappano

I can’t wait to see what happens when I tune in to the NFL this weekend. Will we see more dropped passes? Missed routes? Hugging and giggling in the huddle?

After all, the league is kicking off a month-long effort to support breast cancer awareness through its “Crucial Catch” campaign to encourage regular mammograms. Unlike last year, when teams handed out pink ribbons and sold pink fan T-shirts, this year players, coaches, and refs will be having actual pink-colored items touching their bodies.

Smartly, however, the NFL (as it does so well) has imposed limits on the amount of pink. About 100 players will be wearing pink cleats like this, others will wear pink wristbands, gloves, and helmet decals. The captain’s patches will be pink and they’ll use a pink coin for the toss.

Pink, as I’m sure you know, is a very dangerous color.

The explosion of pink merchandise (MLB, NFL, among others), like pink sports gear — from baseball and softball gloves to soccer balls and lax sticks — after all, has been positioned as a concession to female fans and girl athletes. Turn it pink and it’s a little less threatening. We’ve been conditioned to think of pink as soft, gentle, diminutive, a little ditzy, perky, bubbly….(you get the idea). Not hard core competitive stuff.

Of course, that’s precisely what University of Iowa football coach Hayden Fry insisted when in the 1970s he had the walls of the visiting team’s locker room painted pink to “weaken and debilitate opposing football players.” (In 2005 the color was extended to the carpet, urinals and lockers – setting off more than a little debate — photo here).

To be fair, the Iowa shade is a bit paler than the NFL is showing this month. Perhaps it is the difference between dusty rose and a near magenta? We can call it “Power Pink,” but there’s no doubt that the psychological signaling around this color is getting awfully confusing (for a change).

Just 10 days ago Nicole Lavoi wrote on her blog One Sport Voice, about the still-alive-and-well practice of a hockey coach belittling a player by making him wear pink gloves. Did this coach not know about NFL players wearing pink gloves? Or might pink –gasp! — be on the cusp of an image makeover?

Credit those who take a stand and raise awareness about the critical importance of cancer screening (and kudos to Susan G. Komen for the Cure for pioneering the pink ribbon as a symbol of breast cancer awareness in 1991). Heck, the other day I saw a pink oil tank truck and yesterday a pink newspaper landed in my driveway. If this isn’t a sign of success, what is?

Yet, how can we normalize the overly-loaded color pink when guys like my friend, political writer Dave Denison, point out that they have been trained since childhood to find the color repellant? (And Dave in print and in person is the quintessential fair-minded dude).

Can Dave be persuaded by the likes of Brett Favre to rethink his pink aversion? (To be fair, I’m not nutty about the color, either, but perhaps I, too, have fallen under Fry’s spell?) Maybe the NFL needs to stop being so timid and go full tilt. Make the jerseys and helmets pink (think of the merchandising – it could rival throwbacks!). Why not make the football pink? And who says the lines on the field have to be white?

Then maybe we could move past all this silliness about pink – and onto whatever is next.  Like, say, What color is prostate cancer awareness?

It is the quiet story behind the high-profile victories of women’s athletics:  After thirty years of Title IX, after the superstardom of Mia Hamm, Michelle Wie, and Venus Williams, even after the advocacy of groups like the Women’s Sports Foundation, girls – especially in urban communities – are playing sports in lower numbers than boys.

There are many reasons for this and we heard about some in the Sunday New York Times and, more poignantly, in a short video on the NYT website.

As an athlete and a recent Yale School of Public Health graduate who just completed a research project in which I focused on this very issue, I can tell you it’s frustrating and disappointing. Why do so many sit on the sidelines – or in public health terms, why do so many girls express feelings of low self-efficacy towards sports?  The problem is particularly prevalent in urban and African American communities where residents have below average health, are low-income, and come from less educated households.

What do girls in just about every research study say? “I am self-conscious about my looks when I exercise” or “I am not motivated to be active.” Such feelings reflect a youth sports culture in which girls join later, play less, and quit sooner than their male counterparts.

So what has been done about it?

For years there has been a focus on trying to get girls to change the way they perceive their place in relation to sports. (In my world of lacrosse, sticks, gloves and goggles aimed at girls are ubiquitously pink). Some populations of girls have responded (When Title IX was enacted in 1972, 1 in 27 girls in high school played sports, now it’s one in three!). But other groups remain obstinately unchanged. This is, to some extent, unsurprising in a market saturated with images and messages aimed at bolstering female sexuality. (See FGN post)

Rather than try — and fail — to change girls’ attitudes, some of the newest interventions side-step the low self-efficacy issue all together. Instead, new strategies promote non-sports physical activity to prevent these children from becoming disinterested in or unable to participate in exercise all together.

The first of its kind, the Stanford Dance for Health intervention, for example, substituted dance classes for traditional physical activity classes three times a week in a mostly low-income middle school population.   In a randomized control trial, girls who had been assigned to the dance intervention significantly improved their fitness and reduced their BMI gain compared to girls in the control group.

Hip Hop to Health Jr. is a 5-year randomized intervention conducted in 24 Head Start programs where each site is randomized to either a 14-week dietary/physical activity intervention or a general health intervention. These approaches capture the attention (and it seems, enthusiasm) of an audience that will seem (at the moment, at least) unlikely to be captured by classic youth sports such as gym class dodgeball or Saturday morning soccer.

The big question remains, though: Do these programs miss the point that girls need to participate in sports? How you answer may depend on what you think sports do for a child (there is much more, many might suggest, than fitness to be gained).

On the other hand, might dance-based interventions give these girls safe time and space that might otherwise be lacking?  And if young girl gets that body confidence first in dance, whose to say it can’t be guided onto the field, court – or into the pool?

Lauren Taylor, assistant coach of Women’s Lacrosse at Yale, graduated from the Yale School of Public Health earlier this month, and is now working for the Yale Global Health Initiative.