Gender Policing Is Real and Starts Early

Tonight I met up with a friend in Odaiba. I need me some new trousers, and besides, it’s a lovely place.

Rainbow Bridge and Tokyo Tower looking their beautiful selves.

While browsing at H&M this little kid, elementary school age, came over from the men’s side. He had his eye on this awesome fluffy Black and white checkerboard coat. It was awesome. He’d be styling in it.

Mother: “But this is the ladies section.”

Boychild: *touching the coat covetously* “What does that mean?”

Mother: “It’s only for women.” *leads him back to the men’s section* “What about this?”

Boychild: *staring at the sweatshirt she unfolded as though it were sprouting cockroaches*

That sweatshirt was the enemy and opposite of all that was good in the checkerboard coat. Beige? It wasn’t even beige. It was the antithesis of joy.

I’ve never wanted to be wealthy more in my life. If I had the extra scratch I would have bought a fluffy checkerboard jacket in every size and handed them over so that little kid could have been styling the way he was meant to be.

Later we wander over to the men’s side, where I found this hot little number:


The hell is pink doing in the men’s section, if gendering clothes is so damn important?

Did I buy it? You bet. I bought it because that little boy had a bit of spirit crushed for no good reason. I bought it for the little girl I was, who was too scared of what people would say to wear red boots.

Little boy, wherever you are, I hope you grow up and get a job and wear the flashiest, funnest clothes on the planet. I hope that beige isn’t even a word in your vocabulary.

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