The Wrong Target Market

Today my faith in one of the best places on Earth was tested.  That place is Target.

It is one of the few places that 45 minutes of alone time can be transformed into a mini-vacation complete with a venti half-caf caramel macchiato.

I love that Tyra Banks conspired with Oprah to make buying inexpensive clothes fashionable there.  Its name rolls off your tongue like that of a boutique found on the Champs-Élysées..."Tar-Jay".

On a good day there, you can pick up clothes for work, an outfit to pretend you are going to do yoga in, a lawn chair, diapers, and dinner.

We were on a mission to get some exercise sneakers inspired by my three-year-old, Isla.  I think her exact words were "Mommy, you look funny in your belly." Maybe it's because I was wearing maternity shorts (from when I was pregnant with her.) Or maybe it's because of my affinity for all things food related.

While we were there, we picked out a birthday present for her friend.  Her first choice was a total score.  A Furbee.  It's loud and cute.  Her friend will love it, and it will be sufficient payback for the drum machine Isla received on Christmas.

Somewhere around the sock aisle, it happened.  She ran to the shelf, picked up something, ran back and yelled "It's so pretty! I want it." Not being a big fan of "I want it", I waited for the "manners" song and dance. "MAY OI HAVE IT PLEASE?" (She gets an accent when she's being polite.) She handed it to me so proudly.

I'm not easily confused, but this was seriously puzzling.  What she handed me was a training bra. Warning...I'm about to sound like a grandmother talking about walking to school, 5 miles both ways, with no shoes.  But when I was a kid, a training bra was a bit more, well, innocent.  This "training bra" looked like it was part of Victoria Secret's "Very Sexy" line. It was a padded training bra for a seven year old.  I can't possibly imagine what she could be training for.

"PUH-LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ MOMMY?" she said it again.  This time she hugged my leg a little.

Luckily I was able to divert her attention to some Elmo jammies and quickly stash it back in its home next to an equally troubling pair of tiny bikini panties.

Don't get me wrong.  I remember the days of "I must, I must, I must increase my bust" but the only company willing to help me was Charmin.  And I was closer to 12. I get that there may be a small (and disturbing) market for this, but is it really the message we want to send to our daughters?

One day I will no longer be able to divert her attention.  One day this will require "a conversation" and I'm not sure what I will say.  For now, I'm going to give Tar-jay the benefit of the doubt.  If you need me, I'll be in my yoga clothes, on my new lawn chair, drinking my macchiato.