As the mother of a 3-year-old girl, I can tell you many things about Hello Kitty. I can tell you that she lives in London, is perpetually in third grade, and has a twin sister named Mimmy.
But I cannot tell you the one thing my daughter desperately wants to know about Hello Kitty—why she doesn’t have a mouth.
I guess I know. Sort of. Because the artists who drew her didn’t give her one. (Thanks a lot, jerks.)
But that’s not meaningful to my 3-year-old daughter, who doesn’t understand that Hello Kitty isn’t real, that she’s just the figment of some horrible, horrible person’s imagination who was put on this earth to destroy the souls and empty the wallets of unsuspecting mothers like me.
And I’m not going to tell her. Not only because she wouldn’t understand, but because I don’t want to burst her happy little pink, sparkly bubble. I don’t need to remind you all that we’re Jewish. She’s never going to have Santa Claus (I’m both psyched for and terrified of the day when she causes a major scandal at school by telling all of her little friends the truth about Santa), and Hanukkah Harry just sounds like some alcoholic pedophile with a bulging paunch to me, so I figure the least I can do is let the kid have Hello Kitty. Read the rest of this entry →