Sexist Lego a success

In spite of the uproar, the Lego Friends range is selling well

 

Earlier this year, Lego released a “Lego Friends” series that would widen the plastic blocks’ appeal to girls. Pundits bemoaned the range’s perpetuation of stale gender stereotypes, questioning whether it was really necessary to replace the traditional boxy Lego figures with curvy teenage girls that hang out in beauty parlours and cafes. Despite the controversy, Lego’s sales have increased 24 per cent year-on-year and “Lego Friends” have proved a success.

This is unsurprising considering the amount of market research that went into the range. Lego spent four years analysing girls’ playing preferences. According to Businessweek, the company found that girls paid more attention to things like aesthetics, level of detail, and role-play (this last point justifies the “Ladyfig” innovation – girls see the figurines as avatars, and are therefore, allegedly, more likely to see themselves reflected in a less angular piece of plastic). Furthermore, they found that although girls enjoyed building as much as boys, they did so in different way; while males enjoyed the more “linear” process of copying what is on the box as quickly as possible, females preferred “stopping along the way” for story telling and rearranging pieces.

The study confirms that boys and girls, at least broadly, play differently. But I suspect that the range’s success is less tied with this than with the simple fact that Lego Friends have made it more socially acceptable for girls to ask for Legos. The truth is, the brand has always done its best to fit squarely in the boys’ aisle of Toy’R’Us – since 1966, the Lego has been selling gas stations, trains and cars. Its recent makeover (side note - makeovers happen to be one of Emma’s [a Lego Friend] favourite hobbies) has made it possible for the brand to compete alongside dolls and kitchen sets. The difference between the Star Wars series and Lego Friends is, basically, a matter of packaging. But at an age where – however artificially - gender divides are at their most blatant (everyone knows that six year old boys have cooties and are to be derided for it), neither boys nor girls want to be seen wandering down each other’s aisles. Lego can't be held to blame for effectively doubling its demographic, and it is unequivocally a good thing that little girls can enjoy building blocks without feeling like a silly boy.

Or maybe kids don't actually care about these things and it's adults that find it easier to narrow their options when choosing presents. 

In any case, it’s sad that even toys are a partisan affair.  

Lego Freddie Mercury Photograph: Ghetty Images
Photo: André Spicer
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“It’s scary to do it again”: the five-year-old fined £150 for running a lemonade stand

Enforcement officers penalised a child selling home-made lemonade in the street. Her father tells the full story. 

It was a lively Saturday afternoon in east London’s Mile End. Groups of people streamed through residential streets on their way to a music festival in the local park; booming bass could be heard from the surrounding houses.

One five-year-old girl who lived in the area had an idea. She had been to her school’s summer fête recently and looked longingly at the stalls. She loved the idea of setting up her own stall, and today was a good day for it.

“She eventually came round to the idea of selling lemonade,” her father André Spicer tells me. So he and his daughter went to their local shop to buy some lemons. They mixed a few jugs of lemonade, the girl made a fetching A4 sign with some lemons drawn on it – 50p for a small cup, £1 for a large – and they carried a table from home to the end of their road. 

“People suddenly started coming up and buying stuff, pretty quickly, and they were very happy,” Spicer recalls. “People looked overjoyed at this cute little girl on the side of the road – community feel and all that sort of stuff.”

But the heart-warming scene was soon interrupted. After about half an hour of what Spicer describes as “brisk” trade – his daughter’s recipe secret was some mint and a little bit of cucumber, for a “bit of a British touch” – four enforcement officers came striding up to the stand.

Three were in uniform, and one was in plain clothes. One uniformed officer turned the camera on his vest on, and began reciting a legal script at the weeping five-year-old.

“You’re trading without a licence, pursuant to x, y, z act and blah dah dah dah, really going through a script,” Spicer tells me, saying they showed no compassion for his daughter. “This is my job, I’m doing it and that’s it, basically.”

The girl burst into tears the moment they arrived.

“Officials have some degree of intimidation. I’m a grown adult, so I wasn’t super intimidated, but I was a bit shocked,” says Spicer. “But my daughter was intimidated. She started crying straight away.”

As they continued to recite their legalese, her father picked her up to try to comfort her – but that didn’t stop the officers giving her stall a £150 fine and handing them a penalty notice. “TRADING WITHOUT LICENCE,” it screamed.


Picture: André Spicer

“She was crying and repeating, ‘I’ve done a bad thing’,” says Spicer. “As we walked home, I had to try and convince her that it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her who had done something bad.”

She cried all the way home, and it wasn’t until she watched her favourite film, Brave, that she calmed down. It was then that Spicer suggested next time they would “do it all correctly”, get a permit, and set up another stand.

“No, I don’t want to, it’s a bit scary to do it again,” she replied. Her father hopes that “she’ll be able to get over it”, and that her enterprising spirit will return.

The Council has since apologised and cancelled the fine, and called on its officials to “show common sense and to use their powers sensibly”.

But Spicer felt “there’s a bigger principle here”, and wrote a piece for the Telegraph arguing that children in modern Britain are too restricted.

He would “absolutely” encourage his daughter to set up another stall, and “I’d encourage other people to go and do it as well. It’s a great way to spend a bit of time with the kids in the holidays, and they might learn something.”

A fitting reminder of the great life lesson: when life gives you a fixed penalty notice, make lemonade.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.