Daddies, Daughters, and Consumption

Just a quick Valentine's Day tale...

Let me preface this by saying that I am in no way a Daddy's girl--my father and I aren't particularly close, and he certainly doesn't dote on me or spoil me in the way that's associated with that label. My parents have been separated since I was twelve, and while we get along well, in a joking, pop-culture-reference-talking way, we don't have a deeper emotional connection.

In terms of material compensation, Dad's never been much of a gift-giver--he usually gives me cash for birthdays and Christmases/Hanukahs, and I think the last time he ventured into the world of girl culture was when he got me My Little Ponies in grade school.

So you can imagine my surprise when he showed up at The Cheesecake Factory during my shift, with a deliciously understated black Barney's bag, telling me it was my Valentine's present. Inside was an adorable, petal pink Marc Jacobs cross-body bag (the Percy turnlock to be precise). I was shocked, and very touched, but mostly shocked: he's never even attempted to get me prototypical feminine things, and even my close friends and ex-boyfriend who were familiar with my style, rarely ventured to purchase something as taste-specific as a purse for me.

Compounding my surprise, why would he get me something for the this hallmark paean to commercialized love? Usually he just gives me a Snickers if he remembers, and isn't Val day typically reserved for grand gestures sublimated into purchases and designated for your significant other (versus fathers and daughters)? So obviously I was completely floored by this incongruous and oddly romantic offering, even moreso when he animately explained his selection process: there was another bag he thought I might like, but they sold out, then he decided this one was more versatile etc etc--he was clearly so proud of himself for entering and successfully navigating the feminine sphere of consumption, since women and their shopping practices are constructed as mystifying and inscrutable in the male mind.

My favorite part however (besides my enjoyment of a luxe gift) was watching the surrounding female reactions. All the other hostesses and female servers noticed the chicly minimalist Barney's bag (a taste-culture signifier in itself), and when I showed them the purse, they made appreciative "oohs" and "ahhs," and to my bemusement, several of them said something like "Wow, you're so lucky your dad's does that," or "I wish I had a dad like that."--the reality is, no you don't, you have no idea about the fraught inner dynamics of this particular filial relationship, but in that moment, a fetishized commodity that represents high-end consumption and femininity temporarily stood in for happiness and love, and that seemed especially fitting for the holiday.