Not my cup of baby formula
My name is the Editor and I am an Etsy addict.
I am quite happy with my addiction, thanks for asking, and you need not offer me any of your twelve-step recovery plans. I have met some delightful artisans; I have spent my money where it will make a difference to talented people; and I have received some lovely jewellery, scarves, etc with which to draw attention away from the fact that my appearance would otherwise be far from fetching.
But there is no denying that some of the things which are held out for sale in the furthest corners of the site are ... strange. Strange is by no means necessarily bad, of course, and one man's meat has long been another man's poison. Items to which I would not personally give house-room under any circumstances are enthusiastically snapped up by customers whose tastes are evidently geometrically-opposite to my own.
Most of what is on offer in this shop, if I'm honest, scares the bejeezus out of me.
Now, admittedly, I am one of those rare women who lacks whatever gene it is which leads to cooing over babies. I simply don't find babies attractive. I can understand, intellectually, that one would more than likely be very fond indeed of one's own infant, and would probably deem him or her to be cute beyond all telling. But the warm, damp, squawling little bundles leave me entirely cold.
Combine this infant-indifference with the fact that I have read Graham Masterton's book, "Walkers", in a paperback copy illustrated with a screaming face bulging through brickwork, and you will understand why this, to me, is a ceramic rendition of a bloodied and distressed baby trapped behind a wall.
I am quite happy with my addiction, thanks for asking, and you need not offer me any of your twelve-step recovery plans. I have met some delightful artisans; I have spent my money where it will make a difference to talented people; and I have received some lovely jewellery, scarves, etc with which to draw attention away from the fact that my appearance would otherwise be far from fetching.
But there is no denying that some of the things which are held out for sale in the furthest corners of the site are ... strange. Strange is by no means necessarily bad, of course, and one man's meat has long been another man's poison. Items to which I would not personally give house-room under any circumstances are enthusiastically snapped up by customers whose tastes are evidently geometrically-opposite to my own.
Most of what is on offer in this shop, if I'm honest, scares the bejeezus out of me.
Now, admittedly, I am one of those rare women who lacks whatever gene it is which leads to cooing over babies. I simply don't find babies attractive. I can understand, intellectually, that one would more than likely be very fond indeed of one's own infant, and would probably deem him or her to be cute beyond all telling. But the warm, damp, squawling little bundles leave me entirely cold.
Combine this infant-indifference with the fact that I have read Graham Masterton's book, "Walkers", in a paperback copy illustrated with a screaming face bulging through brickwork, and you will understand why this, to me, is a ceramic rendition of a bloodied and distressed baby trapped behind a wall.
But the stuff of my nightmares is, to others, an appealing rendition of a gorgeous infant. As my mother frequently intones, "Life would be very boring if we were all the same". With which homily one really cannot argue.
But, but, but......
Assuming I have any readers who heart tiny babies very, very much, I would be grateful if one of them would explain to me exactly what it is that is adorable about this cup.
The Editor
posted by
Lady Bracknell | Sunday, February 03, 2008
9 Comments:
I'm like you in the hard-heartedness to babies thing, so I tried viewing it as a kitten instead. Made no difference - it's not my cup of tea either.
The red tile looks like a scene from Dune.
I don't particularly like babies. They can't talk or anything. Of course, by the time I kind of think they're cute and they can talk, their favorite word is no. But they're not my kids so I don't really care.
This is totally about the weird and bizarre factor-- it is a sub category of kitsche. For those who are interstate museum type collectors (ala Ripley's Believe it or not).
Those are very, very sinister objects. Why would anyone want to display sections of dismembered infants, or make them for that matter?
I am happy to admit that I have fairly strong maternal instinct and fully intend to have children at some point, love looking after and playing with children of friends, etc, etc, etc... and that cup gives me The FEAR. It's terrifying!
Aaargh!!!
I like babies, but these are Not Nice.
I did wonder, momentarily, if they would be any less horrid if the babies looked happy instead of captured at a moment of crisis, but no! They are simply too reminiscent of so many horror / science fiction moments.
I'm sure there is a niche market for them; but it's not a niche in which I would wish to spend much time.
Beam me up, Scotty!
I *DO* "heart" tiny babies and STILL find these quite alarming, Especially the upside down head cup ... almost smacks of cannibalism or something.
Babies are nice. *Parts* of babies, not so much. I could see someone deciding the plaque was an adorable baby (though the color freaks me out), but he mug is of a baby in the wrong position (babies not being known for balancing on their heads), and with part of the lower face gone. I don't think it's for people to look at and coo over the cuteness.
What a lot of parenthesis. (I blame my chem midterm.)
Babies seem fine as long as you can give them back to whomever they belong. Can you tell I too lack the "maternal" gene? lol Well maybe at some point in the future I will turn to mush over babies but even then I don't think I will ever get my head around drinking my "cha" from half a babies head :S
Sakura ♥
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