Barking Mad
Pet apparel a surprising sign of human prejudice, sexism
Rebecca Bauman
Issue date: 11/5/09 Section: Opinion
I'm taking a course on gender and society for (as I'm sure no faithful reader of this column will be suprised) women's studies credit. In this class we were told to produce a photo essay in which we capture signs of gender in our everday lives - gendered jobs, like nurses and firemen; gendered behaviors, like shopping and football; gendered toys, like Barbie and G.I. Joe. We were on a mission to observe and analyze how society "shows" the social attributes of opposite sexes, and to ask ourselves if these things were merely the signposts of a character that naturally threads itself through all males and females, respectively, or some human delusion that helps us to compartmentalize the world, thus making it easier to navigate and, sometimes, dominate.
I believe that we, as a society, decide for ourselves what kinds of things show femaleness and what shows maleness. We follow the established guidelines, often in fear of being ostracized if we do not. And all along, we are led to believe that this is a natural order, the way things are and will always be.
I thought it would be best, then, to show gender in a milieu that might highlight what an abstract concept this thing really is. And that's what led me to seek gender in a context that wasn't exactly human: pet clothes.
When I examined the kind of dog apparel that was available to (human) consumers, I found that most items were designed to ensure no one would make a mistake as to the sex of the animal who wears them. (This is ironic when one considers that so many well-kept pets are literally divided from their reproductive organs.) Still, as some human mothers work to make clear that their infant children are either male or female-dressing them in massive bows or baseball caps-some doting pet owners also seem to have an interest in communicating the gender of their own "babies."
It's the seeming superfluousness of this endeavor that points to gender's manufactured origins. Dogs, of course, aren't born with clothes on their backs; they don't really make "dress" decisions in order to prove their masculinity or femininity. But because their species is so enmeshed with ours, we have indoctrinated them (perhaps against their will or, really, knowledge) into a realm of thinking that is absolutely homo sapien in origin.
I believe that we, as a society, decide for ourselves what kinds of things show femaleness and what shows maleness. We follow the established guidelines, often in fear of being ostracized if we do not. And all along, we are led to believe that this is a natural order, the way things are and will always be.
I thought it would be best, then, to show gender in a milieu that might highlight what an abstract concept this thing really is. And that's what led me to seek gender in a context that wasn't exactly human: pet clothes.
When I examined the kind of dog apparel that was available to (human) consumers, I found that most items were designed to ensure no one would make a mistake as to the sex of the animal who wears them. (This is ironic when one considers that so many well-kept pets are literally divided from their reproductive organs.) Still, as some human mothers work to make clear that their infant children are either male or female-dressing them in massive bows or baseball caps-some doting pet owners also seem to have an interest in communicating the gender of their own "babies."
It's the seeming superfluousness of this endeavor that points to gender's manufactured origins. Dogs, of course, aren't born with clothes on their backs; they don't really make "dress" decisions in order to prove their masculinity or femininity. But because their species is so enmeshed with ours, we have indoctrinated them (perhaps against their will or, really, knowledge) into a realm of thinking that is absolutely homo sapien in origin.
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