Chapter 1: ‘Meet Abby’
It seems dramatic to say, “When
I was six, I happened upon a book
in a library, and that’s why, 16 years
later, I am where and what and who
I am.” That’s just a completely insane
statement.
It also happens to be the truth.
By the time I turned six, my mother
had learned that the best way to deal
with me was to put a book in my
hands. And so, on an unremarkable
winter afternoon, not unlike the day
I’m writing this, she brought me on
our regular excursion to the library. I
picked up a copy of “Meet Felicity,” the
book that is responsible for who I am
now, 16 years later.
The book told the story of Felicity,
a young girl growing up around the
time of the American Revolution.
Immediately, I was hooked. I quickly
devoured “Meet Felicity” and all
the subsequent books in the Felicity
series, as well as anything I could get
my hands on about the Revolution.
I dragged my exhausted parents to
every relevant historical site in the
greater Boston area (and there are
many relevant historical sites in the
greater Boston area). I even dressed
up as a colonial girl for Halloween that
year. I was well and truly obsessed
(evidence pictured on the right).
Now, a mere 16 years later, I’m no
less enamored with learning about
history. I enjoy reading history books
roughly the size and weight of bricks; I
binge-watch war documentary series
on Netflix; I’m about to graduate
from the University of Michigan
with a degree in history. All because I
stumbled upon that one book.
Chapter 2: ‘Abby Learns A Lesson’
The “Felicity” series was one
of several six-book series that the
American Girl brand had authored,
centering their stories on young girls
(typically between eight and ten years
old) at different points throughout
American history. While the books
highlighted typical children’s book
narratives — love, friendship and
kindness — they also illustrated the
changes in history each girl would
have lived through at the time.
They followed a pattern with
which I soon became familiar:
“Meet Felicity,” “Felicity Learns A
Lesson,” “Felicity’s Surprise,” “Happy
Birthday, Felicity,” “Felicity Saves the
Day” and “Changes for Felicity.” Over
that six-book arc, each American
Girl (with her name inserted in the
title) navigated her own journeys and
learned her own lessons. In these
seemingly-kiddish stories, history is
not just the contextual background. It
is a central part of the story.
Accompanying the book series,
American Girl fashioned a doll of
each historical character along with
her various clothes, accessories, pets,
toys and other accoutrements — all of
which are sold separately. Naturally,
I desperately wanted a Felicity doll
so I could engage with her books’
Revolutionary War scenery that had
gotten me so excited about history. At
the time, the doll cost 87 dollars. And
so I started saving.
My one-dollar weekly allowance,
Tooth Fairy and present money went
straight into my piggy bank. Months
went by, but I held firm: Felicity, I
reminded myself, would be worth the
wait.
I still remember the pure, delighted
pride and self-satisfaction I got when
the doll arrived on my doorstep
shortly before my seventh birthday.
I had done this — I had earned it for
myself — and it had been so, so worth
the wait.
American Girl dolls and all the
accompanying toys and accessories
are not cheap: A doll currently retails
for $110; outfits, pets, toys for the doll
and doll housewares are typically in
the $20–$50 range; doll furniture can
be upward of $100. I wasn’t the only
one saving up: With the arrival of their
holiday catalog each year, girls all over
the country just like me were pouring
their allowances toward the brand’s
robust offering of sparkly products.
It was a near-universal part of how
people experienced the brand — at
one point, American Girl even created
an activity to encourage girls to save
up to buy their dream doll. The hyper-
commercialization of the doll brand is
also prevalent throughout the books:
The main characters often want a
doll, dress and/or other toys which
are deemed “special”; their eventual
receiving of it later becomes a central
development within the plot.
Promoting
a
culture
of
consumption is a central part of the
brand, as Allison Horrocks, a public
historian with the National Parks
Service and American Girls podcast
co-host, explains.
“Most people … have a story of
remembering
about
saving
up,”
Horrocks said. “There’s, I think, a
difficulty with this, that a lot of it is
driven by consumption: You want the
things, you want the stuff.”
The price of their products may
reflect the historical research invested
into each doll; multiple historians are
consulted in the process of writing
each doll’s stories and designing her
various clothes and accoutrements.
But it’s worth considering who
has access to these toys and the
historical lessons they offer. Teaching
young children about history, and
teaching young girls about women’s
experiences throughout history, is a
noble goal. And yet, it’s a goal tainted
by financial inaccessibility.
Chapter 3: ‘Abby’s Surprise’
In addition to financial barriers,
diversity
and
inclusion
were
regrettably, if unsurprisingly, foreign
issues to my and many others’
elementary-school minds. So when
American Girl released a new
historical doll, Rebecca Rubin, I was
intrigued. Rebecca, after all, came
from the same background that I do:
She was a young Jewish girl, born in
America and living on the East Coast;
her family had immigrated to the
United States shortly after the turn of
the twentieth century. American Girl
had finally released a doll that was just
like me.
When reading her book series, I
remember admiring the glossy brown
waves of her hair, so similar to mine in
color. I compared her smart burgundy
dress to my own, decidedly less stylish
synagogue outfits.
The series followed the familiar
six-book progression, with one key
change. The third book in the series,
typically called “Felicity’s Surprise,”
would be a Christmas story. But
Rebecca’s third book, “Candlelight for
Rebecca,” was instead a Hanukkah
story. After years of consuming
seasonal Christmas content without
much of a second thought, I didn’t
realize how much I’d been craving
seeing my own traditions represented
in the same venues as those of my
Christian friends. The introduction
of Rebecca catapulted these stories of
Jewish culture into the mainstream,
Deborah Dash Moore, professor of
history and Judaic studies, told me
over Zoom.
“Certainly, the Rebecca doll is a
new way of (telling stories about young
Jewish-American girls in history),”
she said. “I do think it’s a really great
means to teach.”
Reflecting on Rebecca now, though,
I have concerns that didn’t occur to
me when I was nine. I worry that
Rebecca, a middle-class Ashkenazi
Jewish girl living in New York who
dreams of being an actress, skates
close to long-standing antisemitic
stereotypes.
Rebecca’s
attention-
seeking,
sometimes-envious
behavior and “dramatic flair” could
cause her to be seen as a ‘Jewish-
American Princess.’ Her “knack for
business and making money” could
play into long-held canards about
Jews as the scheming, miserly
manipulators of the world’s money
and economy.
The full story, along with an
additional interview with Stephan
Brumberg, historian and Professor
Emeritus at Brooklyn College, is
available at michigandaily.com.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
6 — Wednesday, February 2, 2022
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
S T A T E M E N T
ABBY SNYDER
Statement Correspondent
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
American Girl dolls: Where the brand has
both championed and failed America’s girls
T
h
e
‘
U
n
s
k
i
ll
ed
La
b
o
r
’
Pa
r
a
d
ox
:
Reckoning with
classism at the
University
My local coffee shop, Goody’s
Juice and Java, was where I
mastered the art of so-called
“unskilled” labor, or work that
doesn’t require formal education.
I had spent the previous summer
working in a restaurant where I
became an expert in enduring long
shifts and angry customers. I’d
serve every order with a smile, even
as my feet ached and hot plates
burned my hands. But, I had never
quite gotten the hang of working
through an intense rush hour
without getting overwhelmed, or
of balancing cleaning and food
preparation
with
completing
orders.
In some cafés, baristas go
through an intensive training and
certification process. That wasn’t
the case for my employer. Whatever
I needed to know, my boss figured
I’d be able to pick up on the job.
At the beginning of my tenure
there, I couldn’t tell a latte from a
cappuccino — I was basically only
good for washing dishes. But when
I left, I could make drinks, clean
the entire café top to bottom and
please even the most demanding
customers. I wasn’t a certified
barista and I hadn’t earned that
much money, but at the end of
the summer, I knew infinitely
more
about
hard
work
and
professionalism than I had before.
The café was just one role in a
long string of gigs I worked
during high school
and
the
summer
after my freshman year of college.
First: a server’s assistant at a
trendy local restaurant. It was
popular with tourists visiting my
sleepy hometown from cities such
as Chicago and Detroit and had
a gentrifier-industrial-chic look:
exposed brick, metal bar stools
painted bright yellow, hanging
pendant lights and Americana-
inspired decor.
Roles
were
loosely
defined
there:
Sometimes
I
played
hostess, sometimes I made salads,
sometimes I cleared tables and
washed dishes. That had been my
first job; I was 15 when I started.
Afterward, there was a brief stint
as a receptionist at a marina.
And finally, after completing my
lifeguard certification, I spent two
summers working at a community
pool and tutoring on the side.
In high school, I wasn’t working
because I wanted money to go out
with my friends. I didn’t see it as
a résumé-building experience. I
was working because I knew my
parents couldn’t support me after
I turned 18. I wanted to attend
college, but at the time, there was
no guarantee that I’d go on to earn
a degree.
My
experience
working
in
high school felt distinct from
most of my college classmates’.
If they had spent a summer as a
waitress or a lawn-mower, it was
often because they were “paying
their dues.” The job was just an
intermediate, strictly temporary
phase in a life that
had set them up to becoming
a
management
consultant
or
financial analyst. There was no
question that they would, in time,
move up to the ranks of “skilled
labor.”
Now, I like to tell stories of
my “past lives” to my college
classmates, especially if I know
they haven’t worked a low-wage
job before. There were certain tells
revealing that someone hadn’t,
the most obvious being how they
treated low-wage workers. But a
trained eye can see other signs,
too. If you don’t stack your plates,
I know. If you complain about tip
jars at coffee shops, I know. (An
aside: It’s common knowledge
that servers can be paid below
minimum wage because they make
tips, but if you see a tip jar at a coffee
shop or boba place, there’s a decent
chance their employer classifies
them as a “tipped employee” and
pays below minimum wage).
With my friends, I’d reenact
memorable
exchanges
with
customers or recall the grossest
bathrooms I had cleaned. Reactions
were mixed. Sometimes my peers
were disgusted, sometimes they
were sympathetic and sometimes
they’d laugh along with me. While
I had certainly exaggerated the less
savory details of my jobs, I never
felt ashamed for having worked
them. I never felt like my
labor was “unskilled”
or
unimportant:
Every job I
had
in
high school proved quite the
contrary.
***
With a tightening labor market
and
record-high
numbers
of
workers quitting their jobs in the
service industry, low-wage workers
have
received
unprecedented
attention from policymakers and
the
white-collared
executives
who take them for granted.
Simultaneously dubbed “essential”
and “unskilled,” the message to
these workers is clear: Society
needs your labor to function, but
won’t give you the dignity or pay
that you deserve.
Just days after his inauguration
in early January, New York City
Mayor
Eric
Adams
sparked
controversy
when
he
urged
downtown offices to reopen. In
what appeared to be an attempt to
highlight the interconnectedness
of the city’s economy, Adams said,
“my low-skilled workers, my cooks,
my dishwashers, my messenger,
my shoe shine people, those that
work in Dunkin’ Donuts, they don’t
have the academic skills to sit in the
corner office. They need this.”
Adams later said he meant to
say “low-wage” instead of “low-
skilled,” but his correction only
emphasized the logical fallacy
in his original statement. Adams
seems to suppose that wage and
“skill” are dependent on ability,
rather
than
deeper
issues of access and an
inequitable job market.
In this line
of
thinking
that
his
comments
represent,
the
Wall
Street
employee
making
six
figures
in a corner
office is there
because they’ve earned it, they’ve
studied hard and capitalized on
their natural talents. The janitor
cleaning their office just isn’t cut
out for white-collar work.
I had a series of internships and
other
professional
experiences
in college but still felt like my
financial situation was precarious.
It wasn’t until November of 2021,
when I accepted an internship offer
working in data science and product
growth at Facebook, that I realized
my days of working low-wage jobs
and worrying about money were
behind me. Since the summer after
my freshman year, I’ve made the
jump from an “unskilled” worker to
a cushy, well-compensated tech job.
I had a sense I was underpaid and
undervalued as a high schooler, but
I had grown up in a post-industrial
town as part of a working-class
family. Working in poor conditions
and for low wages was simply the
norm.
Now, people I don’t know
message me on LinkedIn to ask
about my internship. When I was
home for the holidays, my parents
repeatedly prompted me to “tell
them where you’re working next
summer” when in the company of
others. The male classmates who
spoke over me in class treat me
differently once they find out I have
a FAANG (Facebook, Amazon,
Apple,
Netflix
and
Google)
internship.
Upon entering the corporate
world, I’ve struggled to reconcile
the long hours and low pay at
my first jobs with the status and
privilege that my education has
afforded me. How did my degree
catapult me into the white-collar
world? My low-wage jobs had
taught me invaluable lessons, but
would my corporate colleagues
recognize
their
value?
What
knowledge and expertise does the
term “unskilled” obscure?
I spoke with Adam Stevenson,
a lecturer in the University’s
Economics Department, to try
to understand the relationship
between education and “unskilled
labor.” He expressed frustration
that the term had been co-opted
from academia, noting that its
precise definition is often lost in
translation.
“One problem with economics
is that we use a lot of words that
are conveyed in plain language
and used all the time, but when
we use them in our models, they’re
being used in a very particular
way,” Stevenson said.. “When an
economist in a practice of modeling
says ‘unskilled,’ they mean that the
requirement of entry into that job
involves a low degree of education ...
Do I think that these jobs don’t take
practice, that they don’t involve
dignity, that they don’t involve an
incredible amount of learning? No.”
Stevenson acknowledged the
problematic
implications
that
come with labeling something as
“unskilled.”
“It’s hard to separate that sort
of moral judgment of the word,”
Stevenson said. “It certainly does
lack in public relations versus
what it’s actually meant to convey,
which is that even though those
jobs are really important, essential
jobs and even though they can
take impressive feats of skill and
endurance and knowledge, they
still pay less.”
As
Stevenson’s
comment
suggests, the terms “unskilled” and
“low wage” work are often used
interchangeably. And while the
formal definition of “unskilled”
labor makes no reference to
wages, it was telling that they
were used together. “Low-wage”
and “unskilled” don’t have to be
synonymous, but for all intents and
purposes, they are.
Adams’s comments and other
takes on “unskilled” labor seem to
reflect this misunderstanding of
how the term is technically defined.
Still, the buzzword has taken on a
life of its own. The term “unskilled
labor” — both in academic and
colloquial uses — purposefully
obscures
the
knowledge
and
expertise that goes into these roles.
Engineering junior Peter Wu
started working when he was 11.
First, he worked at a restaurant
owned by his relatives, and then in
the restaurant his parents opened
after they moved to Michigan.
There, he dabbled in all aspects of
the business. Wu cleared tables,
cooked food, filed taxes, managed
business operations and delivered
orders on his bike before he could
drive.
“From 11 to 18, I’ve been working
in a restaurant with my parents or
somebody else’s place. I didn’t ask
for any wage, because at the time
I thought learning these skills are
good and beneficial,” Wu said.
But it was about more than just
building skills. Wu and his family
put in long hours at the restaurant
because “for us, every penny
counted. And every penny still
counts. We needed this to make a
living.”
***
There’s a certain kind of folk
knowledge that goes into making
espresso.
HALEY JOHNSON
Statement Columnist
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