Sanrio.
In one word, that's how it all began. Officially, anyway.
I have this pet theory about the human nurturing instinct. Some people nurture plants. Others take the straight shot and nurture children. Some people are born animal domesticators. their "nurturing" or "mothering" instinct is directed towards baby animals, not baby humans. I think Kawaii taps into that primal nurturing instinct, so people who have a high degree of nurturing instinct like Kawaii. The direction your instinct runs predisposes you to certain themes. Plant domesticators like little flowers and fruits, child nurturers like kids, and animal nurturers... we like Hello Kitty.
Hello Kitty (and to a lesser extent Little Twin Stars) was the object of my affection as a young child. I just happened to wind up in Southern California in the early 80's, where Sanrio goods were becoming plentiful in the American market. I was enthralled by the sweet white kitty and all of the tiny, cute goods she was emblazoned across. I also enjoyed the pastel world of the Little Twin Stars, especially when it featured their fluffy animal friends. I snapped up mini colored pencils and erasers and folding combs like they were precious gems. I remember trying to convince my mom to buy me a glorious (but expensive) Little Twin Stars travel case. I earnestly told her it was made of "pure vinyl" as a selling point. She laughed, but ultimately bought the little travel set.
In my darkest moments (and trust me, there were some rough times in my childhood), I always turned to cute for comfort. My stuffed animals, my little collection of tchotchkes- they all gave me strength by giving me something precious to protect. They also proved to be a handy litmus test for determining who I could trust in life. Anyone else who "got" cute was a friend; those who scoffed were not to be trusted. Oddly enough, this turned out to be more than just the desperate and unfounded superstition of a lonely child, as I really can look back and see a distinct divide between those who were Kawaii-friendly and those who were not, in terms of their level of decentness towards me and in general. This was such a strong impression that I actually ended a romantic relationship as an adult with a man who gently mocked my "childish" taste in bedroom decor.
Love me, love kawaii. It's that simple.
As a writer, I have wrestled with the themes of my childhood, including my love for Kawaii in my newest work, a semi-autobiographical coming-of-age novel called
Things I have Lost and Found on Newport Avenue. Below is an excerpt from my book that I think addresses some of the feelings kawaii evokes for me.
3.Two Hello Kitty ink pens- one purple, one pink.
I was poor in a sea of wealth. Even in fourth grade, I knew
that much. My mother and I, being refugees, had that hodgepodge thrown-together look of displaced persons. We obviously didn’t “fit” in our
upper-middle-class neighborhood with our turquoise blue clunker straight out of a
Mexican street gang’s wet dream. While the other kids at Arroyo Elementary wore
their preppy Izod polos or their slouchy Flashdance-inspired leg warmers, I was
rocking Cheap Crap From Zody’s.
Today, I like to think that we were the leading edge of the discount
department store craze, but at the time, we just looked really awkward. One of
the things my mother made a priority of, purchases-wise, was school supplies. I
might be wearing last-year’s fashions from Pic’n’Save, but my notebook, pencils
and pens were state-of-the art.
For me, the
state-of-the-art was Sanrio. The original purveyor of Japanese kawaii-themed
stationary and tchotchkes was my Calvin Klein. I adored their every iteration
of the mouthless Hello Kitty and her animal friends and the gender-ambiguous
Little Twin Stars in their pastel cloud heaven. I looked forward to every squatty
blue Tuxedosam the penguin eraser and sticker, and delighted in the antics of
the curiously caucasian Patty and Jimmy. I loved the stuff so much that I
couldn’t conceive of a future when I would put these things aside.
One day, while
cruising down Newport in our blue whale, my mother began the standard-issue
parent-child conversation.
“What did you do today at school?”
I gave her my standard-issue response.
“Not much.”
Much to my irritation, she continued in this vein.
“Surely you did something today.”
I sighed. “Of course we did something. It just wasn’t a very interesting something. We finished
a story in Reading about Maria Tallchief, and then had to write a bunch of
stuff about what we want to do when we grow up.”
My mother perked up. “Oh, the ballerina? I think I’ve read
that story, too. What did you write about wanting to do?”
“Well, I want to open my own store that sells nothing but
Sanrio products.” I began. “Like, a huge Sanrio store, as big as a grocery
store. I would sell everything they make- maybe even old stuff. It would be the
biggest one in the world, even bigger than any in Japan.”
My mom giggled.
“As big as a grocery store? That might be hard. Do they even make that
much Hello Kitty stuff?”
I rolled my eyes. “Sanrio is way more than just Hello Kitty,
Mom. There are a lot of different
lines. I feel confident I could
find enough to stock my store.”
It seems insignificant, but my mother’s decision to allow me
these little indulgences went a long way in easing my passage through school’s
social minefield. Though she may
not have been able to tell the difference between Kerropi and Poccacho, she did
know about the casual cruelty of small children. She also seemed to understand that improbable as it seemed,
the stoutest armor against the cutting remarks of the clique could be fruit-scented
erasers and dangly pencil charms.
My Sanrio collection went far beyond the obligatory pencils
and erasers, though. I happened to be the lucky owner of a Hello Kitty desk
tray pencil organizer and a Little Twin Stars portable pencil box with a
magnetic clasp. In them I had a fulsome assortment of pens and pencils,
sharpeners, erasers, and even a pair of scissors. I understood the street value
of such exceptional examples of the stationer’s craft, so I often would pack up
my best accessories in my travel case, and bring them home in the afternoon for
safekeeping. In this way they served double duty, making me a sought-after bus
seat companion, as others would urge me to show them my trove as we lumbered
slowly along Newport.
The other love in my life at that moment aside from Sanrio
was a boy in my class named Daniel Reese. Daniel had sleek black hair and
dreamy hazel eyes, and a quick smile that he lavished on everyone, including
me. I had the great luck to both sit behind him in class and ride the same bus
with him to and from school. Though he lived a block up from me on Newport, we
would meet the bus at the same stop.
I would casually initiate conversations with him about
homework assignments and other class happenings as we stood in the morning
waiting for the bus. Nothing made
my day brighter than starting it with small talk about the language arts
workbook or the math problems from the night before. I began to feel as if I
had a real rapport with Daniel- I felt much more at ease talking to him than
any other boy. The strict sex segregation of the younger grades was beginning
to break down, and I was excited and nervous to engage the opposite sex.
As we stood at the bus stop one morning, a slight November
chill in the air prompting us to huddle together a little more closely on the
sidewalk, Daniel sidled up next to me. My heart began thumping loudly as he
leaned in to look at what I was doing.
At that moment I was showing another girl some of my newest
acquisitions- a set of Hello Kitty ink pens in my favored pastel colors.
“Wow! Those are rad.” Daniel enthused.
I blushed slightly. “Uh-huh. I just got them. They write
really well.”
“They look really cool. Could I have one?” Daniel asked.
My heart skipped a beat. Daniel wanted something of mine?
Something girly he wouldn’t normally want? That could mean only one thing. He
was “in” to me.
“Yeah, sure. Take two. I’ve got more at home.” I quickly
blurted.
He stood looking at the pens in my outstretched hand for a
second, then slowly plucked the pink and purple out of my grip. My favorites. I
was lying, of course when I said I had others, but this was worth it for the
cause of True Love. As he took the
pens, the bus came screeching up to the bus stop.
“Thanks. These are awesome.” He said as he smiled and leapt
up the stairs of the bus.
All the way to school, and most of the day in class, I
fantasized about Daniel treasuring my pens, taking them out and sighing as he
looked at them. Where would he keep them? Under his pillow? In a special box? I
grinned stupidly the whole day as I imagined how he would confess his true love
to me. When I got on the bus that
afternoon, my eyes darted around the seats, looking for Daniel, but I could see
he was already seated in a knot of other boys, giggling over a stack of Garbage
Pail Kids. I took a seat a few places up and on the opposite side of the bus,
and turned slightly to my side so I could glance surreptitiously his way once
in a while. Because of my awkward position, I didn’t notice who took the seat
in front of me.
“Kari. Hey. Kari Pennington.” I heard my name being called.
I glanced up, and saw Kim Mc Shaughnessy looming over the
back of the seat in front of me. I cringed a little and groaned inwardly at the
sight. Kim was the “it” girl in our class, and she barely ever spoke two words
to me. She was vapid but pretty,
and was the type of girl who I saw as my complete opposite. I understood beauty
was power- a lot more power than smarts would ever be- so I instinctively knew
Kim and her ilk to be my most dread enemies.
“Uh, yeah?” I replied.
“Hey. Are these yours? Like, they look like the stuff you
usually have.”
Over the seat, Kim held up my two pens- Daniel’s pens now.
It was my turn to be the space cadet as I looked at her without the slightest
hint of comprehension.
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t have any like that now.”
Kim tossed her head a little. “Oh, because Danny Reese gave
them to me today, and when I asked where he got them, he said you. You can have
them back if you want.”
Everything got a little darker on the bus around me. I
stopped hearing the chatter of the kids and the roar of the struggling diesel
engine. I felt a huge lump form in my throat as everything suddenly made sense.
Daniel took the pens from me to give to
Kim. He doesn’t like me at all. He likes her. He was just using me, and she
knows it.
This was Do or Die time, and I knew it. Any hint of
weakness, however slight, would doom me to an indeterminate period of ridicule
from Kim and her crew. I had to answer the right way, and I had to do it
quickly.
I looked Kim directly in the eyes, carefully composing my
features into “bored” configuration. Inside, my heart was beating crazy
irregular rhythms, and the remnants of the turkey sandwich and gummy bear lunch
in my stomach was trying to crawl up my throat, threatening to choke off my
words.
“Oh, yeah. Those. I’d forgotten about them. You keep them.
They were just extras I had.”
I kept my tone cool, my words offhand.
The subtext was clear-
Those things? I was just going to throw them away. That’s why I gave them to
someone like Daniel. Keep my trash if it makes you happy.
Kim sniffed a little as she eyed me. “Yeah, OK. I just
thought you might want to have them back. I’m not even sure why he gave them to
me.”
Yeah, right, bitch.
I thought. You know damn well why he gave
them to you, but I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of seeing me
flinch. Just the thought of curse words being lobbed
at that stuck up Kim Mc Shaughnessy made me feel a little better. But only a little. Because my heart was
breaking- I not only wasn’t liked by my beloved, but he had used me, and put me
in an awkward position. It was total betrayal, pure and simple.
The rest of the ride home along the gentle curves of Newport
seemed to take twice as long as usual. As I piled off with the other kids at my
stop, I was grateful to be away from the noise and the smell of the bus. I
noticed Daniel didn’t even try to make eye contact with me- he knew his crime had
been discovered. I walked quickly home, my head low, so no one else could see
the hot tears that rolled down my cheeks. Thank God for Newport’s loud roar
that day- no one could hear the choked little sobs that escaped the back of my
throat. I ran into the house, straight to my room. I dumped my backpack out on my
bed, and grabbed my pencil case. I clutched it hard to my chest before opening
my nightstand drawer and putting it inside. Today marked the end of my Sanrio
era- or at least the end of my conspicuous public consumption of Sanrio goods.
The gambit had worked for a while, but it was turning sour. I would have to
find a way of amassing social capital that didn’t put my heart in such a
vulnerable spot.
My friends were surprised when the iconic white pencil case
never reappeared. I casually commented that I thought that stuff was getting a
little babyish- what I really liked now was Trapper Keepers.
At least, I reasoned, no one could ask you for your binder,
and they made great “fortresses” when you opened them and stood them up on your
desk. Fortresses would become my
new favorite things- actual ones like the binders my friends and I would crouch
behind as we giggled together, and figurative ones like the distance I would
carefully build between myself and anyone who would try to get too close to me.
I didn’t belong here, and I didn’t have anything special to make the locals
want to take me in. So, I needed fortresses to hold back the sweeping currents
of Newport, the currents that washed away my first love.
