I’m late this week on a blog post thanks to a flu/strep/ear infection that my kids decided would be awesome to make friends with.
They’re on the mend if you care about those things (I mean, who wouldn’t? You some kind of asshole?)
Anyway, that means they’re controlling a lot of the media in the house this week because I feel bad that they’ve been feverish and boogery and miserable. This means I’ve spent most of my day watching non-stop My Little Pony on Netflix (kill me).
I’m not going to get into the brony stuff, I mean, everyone deserves to enjoy something, but it does have me thinking about the entitlement culture surrounding nods or easter eggs – items in children’s media made to appeal to the adult forced to sit through the program. Sometimes, those nods are great and help to foster a bridged fandom (take Gravity Falls. Me and the whole family adore the show and it became group viewing for the long haul) but other times, I feel like there’s a false sense of ownership that people have over media that’s simply not for them.
Case in point: My Little Pony. There’s really nothing wrong with the show. It’s colorful and the voices are all distinct and the characters are visually appealing to my kid. All standard stuff. What I don’t see? I don’t see anything for me. Know what? That’s fine. I don’t need all media to cater to my ass when the other 95% already does. I think it’s important that the spread become even wider. Hell, that’s the whole point behind why we need more diversity in our media – broad appeal just doesn’t cut it when “broad” merely translated to a single group (and let’s be real, it does).
I often wonder whether people realize that our parents catered to us. I’m pretty fucking sure my mom hated He-Man and my father stares at me blankly whenever I remind him my first movie memory was Return of The Jedi with him when I was 3. Sometimes we age out of things and I think that’s fine. It’s the same with music – things don’t always have to be about us specifically.
I can go deeper. I can touch on how that sense of entitlement is probably worsened with social media and FOMO; how when we once screeched about individuality we’re quite often terrified of NOT being in the crowd these days. It’s an interesting social switch, I guess, but here we are.
Anyway, if you have kids, let them watch whatever the hell appeals to them. Or not. I’m not sure if I can survive another two or three hours of this fucking show, man.