On the seventh day of Christmas, idobi gave to me a kick ass chick who’s jolly.
Dear Mrs. Claus,
This year for Christmas I want you to tell us your name. Your husband has a different moniker for every continent: St. Nick, Father Christmas, Santa, Père Noël, Kris Kringle. You’d think he’s wanted for credit card fraud with all these pseudonyms. Wait. That must be how he pays for the toys. Nice hustle. But what about you, Mrs. Claus? Who are you?
I ask because you’re one of the most famous women in the world and yet you have no name. You’ve become a stereotype, presented one of two ways:
- Hot babe in the short dress and the long boots.
- Apron wearing Granny, perpetually shoving hot cookies in our faces.
That can’t be all there is to you. If so it’s a failure of pop-culture imagination. Christmas is a big business. There’s no way the North Pole makes its deadline each year without your help. An empire does not run on cookies alone. Wait. That’s where the Keebler Elves come from. Equally nice hustle. See, the elves are on their game. What about you? Maybe you’re a toy engineer of great skill. Or the mad scientist who figured out how to stop time long enough to hook the world up with wishes. You could even be a warrior who battles yetis and frost giants to keep the Pole safe. Mrs. C, I’d be okay if you’re the Bonnie to St. Nick’s Clyde and masterminded the whole credit card fraud operation (it’s for a good cause). I just want you to be a woman with agency.
Or maybe a fully realized, complex woman is who we need you to be. There are a lot of young girls who should know that having your mate’s back doesn’t require that you remain in the background. You’re the oldest woman still around. You probably gave Betty White piggyback rides back when cell phones still flipped up. But you’ve got things you could learn from Betty, like how to figuratively kick ass or to lead by being amazing. So, this Christmas do me a favor and step forward as a multifaceted woman we can cheer for. And please don’t lose your cookie baking side if you don’t want to. Be all of who you are. But first, tell us your name.
xoxo, Sherin
