Elmo: Friend or Foe?

Shortly after Ben was born, I read Consuming Kids: The Hostile Takeover of Childhood, by Susan Linn. The book thoroughly freaked me out. Linn shows how advertisers start targeting children in infancy, and work to create parent/child conflict in the hopes that parents will give in and buy products for their children that are at best unnecessary and at worst unwholesome.

I vowed not to get Ben toys with licensed characters on them. Linn describes how, in her own therapeutic practice, children are less creative with branded toys; given a stuffed Cookie Monster, for example, kids will use a particular voice and only have him say and act what they've seen on TV. Linn asks why companies make things for babies covered in corporate characters and logos: "They might be marketing to parents and grandparents attracted to a particular familiar brand, but they also believe it provides a jump-start on brand loyalty that could last through preschool and early elementary school, if not, for companies like Ralph Lauren, for life."

I wanted to resist the mainstream consumer culture with my children. But before Ben was born, my mom bought the first Elmo. It was an ice pack with an Elmo cover; she thought it was cute. For Ben's first Christmas, my sister-in-law gave him a stuffed Big Bird and the Sesame Street Activity Atom, an obnoxious toy that makes noise whenever you trip on it and seems to scream "I love crack!" (We figured out after a while it was Oscar the Grouch saying "I love trash!") For Ben's first birthday, my former boss gave him a Sesame Street Speak and Say, and he got a Cookie Monster video. I ignored all the licensed characters; after all, we weren't buying them for him, and he didn't know Elmo from his teddy bear.

But then one day I picked him up from day care, and he pointed to one of the other little kids, who was holding a stuffed toy. "Elmo!" he said, and it began. Suddenly, he was aware of all the Elmos. I realized to my horror that his Pampers have Sesame Street characters on them, including Elmo dancing with Big Bird on the back of every single one. Now, in addition to checking on his belly button at every diaper change, Ben checks on Elmo.

We don't even let him watch TV! (More on that another time.) So now, despite my best effort, Ben knows Big Bird, Elmo, and Cookie Monster. (He's especially interested in Cookie Monster, because he has recently discovered the delights of cookies.) I'm torn. Is this a humorous post? Ha ha, despite my best efforts and my puritanical preparent thinking, I've given in to Elmo! Or is it more sinister? Despite my best efforts, the forces of marketing have slithered their way into my child's life!

When I was a baby, one of my nicknames was Tessie Bird. My parents' explanation for this was that I had a big head, and looked a little like Tweetie Bird. Throughout my childhood, I collected assorted Tweetie Bird paraphernalia: a hat, a keychain, a shirt. Am I forever in Warner Brother's thrall? Probably not. Even if Ben sustains a strange devotion to Elmo for the rest of his life, maybe it will inspire him to work to keep PBS well-funded.

But I do think Linn makes good points, especially about how characters on TV shows are used to inspire children to want everything from backpacks to junk food. We live in a materialistic culture, and I believe that it's our job as parents to help children navigate that culture wisely. I may have given in on Elmo, but that doesn't mean I'm going to start letting Ben watch TV for hours a day or have every Elmo toy he sees. I'm a big believer in thinking about our parenting choices, rather than accepting all the assumptions our culture would have us make.

Image of Elmo from pbs.org.