Changing Times

Smalls Books and Models was a shop selling ‘books, plastic kits and diecast transport and military models’ in Central Wellington. Every time I walked past it, I recalled the heady (and that’s not just due to the rather enticingly-named poly cement) days of Airfix kits.

With these models you could glue, assemble and paint rockets, ships, tanks, cars, dinosaurs and historical figures. They were a great thing to do on a rainy day when you couldn’t ride your bike or go to the park to play football. Parents got to play with them too, having hours of fun using tweezers for the fiddly bits that podgy children’s fingers couldn’t manage.

I remember my sister making a scale model of the Golden Hind, with miniature figures clinging to the rigging for their dear little plastic lives. Of course it was educational as she found out all about Sir Francis Drake and his voyages of discovery. It took her ages and the manufacture of it was more than half the fun – when it was finally finished, it was left to gather dust on the windowsill – I think it may still be there.

Building model kits taught skills for later life such as following instructions; manual dexterity; hand-to-eye co-ordination; patience; and the pleasure of seeing something develop before you and knowing you had made it yourself.

Airfix is now in a fix as their sales are down. Parents complain that many of their constructs are violent. Today’s children, and their parents, prefer instant gratification with either sanitised whimsy or video games, which as we all know, are inherently placid.

Whether this has anything to do with the disappearance of Small Books and Models, I don’t know, but I do find it symptomatic that it has been replaced by a shop called ‘The Apple of My Eye’. Established in late 2005, TAME purports to sell ‘a gorgeous compilation of our favourite hard to find nursery items and playthings from around the world.’

The website insists the ‘fantastic range of goodies are vintage inspired, contemporary and whimsical.’ The writers freely admit that they love sentiment. They also love the unholy mix of marketing and manipulation. They trumpet that the goods they sell are ‘ethically made and traded’, offering a ‘unique example of craftsmanship and design’.

Hence you can buy dolls with pink co-ordinated accessories, so your ‘wee one’ can learn early on about succumbing to fashion dictates. With a clear conscience and a knowledge that you are being ‘kind to the world and those in it’ you can start a child on the road to capitalism with ‘Birdie anibank’; a hand-knitted depository that wears a ‘cute little hat and sports rainbow striped wings.’

Smothered in saccharine you can buy ‘cosy’ cotton items for ‘onseies’ and ‘modernist’ blankets that are, apparently, ‘so snuggly (sic) that parting from them would be unbearable.’ The nauseating advertising continues with things for ‘baby’s room’ like the resolutely pastel ‘bedtime buddies’ and ‘softies’.

Of course, gender stereotypes are strictly reinforced with blues for the boys and pink for the girls. If you don’t yet know what flavour ‘the sunshine in your life’ is going to be, but are still desperate to part with your cash, there are some green, orange and brown items: Elfie and Sprite are mythical spirits combining a twee fantasy world with the latest boardroom buzzwords, as they are ‘perfect guests for tea parties, and robust enough for garden adventures.’ And there are knitted car-shaped music boxes which are both pink and blue.

TAME offers ‘apple lessons’ in which you can learn new talents and ‘wow your coffee group friends with stories of your trapeze and aerial tissue lessons.’ Clearly this is far more socially acceptable than spending time with your child building a model of something real.

We have softened the edges of our world, so it is all a big blurry, fuzzy cocoon. How nice; how safe; how mind-numbingly dull; how blatantly untrue; how crushingly brainwashed. Pass me the Valium – oh, I see, you’ve used it all up already.