So, you have these new ads. Apparently, you hope that the trend of charm bracelets will sweep the nation this holiday season. Women will bond, in the language that all women share: jewelry. Men will be lauded for their savvy gift-giving.
Because a bracelet can communicate critical facts, such as the following….
"The ballet slippers?" "I used to dance."
"Suitcase?" "Anniversary trip."
"Soccer ball?" "Soccer Mom."
Or this one, in which the token professional accolade (She's the boss!) is quickly set aside. Do we find out that she oversaw a merger? That she has a law degree from Haravard? That she holds a revolutionary engineering patent? Nope.
"She's been to London, Paris, and her son plays baseball."
Each time with the tag line...Telling her life story with just a turn of the wrist.
Oh, Jared. Your new ads are horrible. We're not even going to get into "the red-hot love bead." (Though if you are prepared to offer a cast pewter clitoris, let's talk.)
How kind of you to innovate a way for us to express ourselves. But luckily, we came up with a few alternative options, such as: Poems. Essays. Whole memoirs, even. Do you want to see what it looks like when a woman really tells a life story? Read this...
"Breasts Like Martinis" - Jill McDonough (Slate)
or this:
"Till Death Did They Part" - Molly Krause (Brain, Child Magazine)
or this:
"Piece of Her" - Monica F. Jacobe (Barely South Review)
Here's the thing, Jared: the truth doesn't jingle neatly. A woman's story doesn't consist of sequential beads on a string; it doesn't consist solely of activities pursued on behalf of her children, or in the company of her husband. We love, we sacrifice, we regret, we wonder, we hope, but none of it is linear. This is what it means to live a life.
You know what Pandora was doing, when she turned her wrist?
She was lifting the lid off the box.
