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My daughter got her first doll for Christmas. Because she has yet to develop the power of speech (she might be saying “mama,” “dada,” and “cat,” but then again, she might also be saying “madamaddammacacataada”), I took it upon myself to christen the doll. I chose “Brunhilda,” on account of the doll’s pink skin, blue eyes, and braided blond hair. It was a joke, but the truth is that the doll’s appearance did set off an alarm for me. We’ve all heard a plenty of accounts of kids with dark (or even less than completely not-dark) complexions growing up with only Aryan dolls to play with, wondering why no dolls looked like them. It is only a cliche because the problem is so widespread.

The thing is, like me, my daughter is a blond, blue-eyed paleface. The resemblance she and Brunhilda share is striking, which I’m sure is precisely the reason the doll was chosen for her. But that brings with it its own host of dilemmas. I worry about what effect it might have that her personal beauty aligns so closely with mainstream societal standards. Will she receive too much attention because of her coloring? Because she looks like so many dolls, will people will treat her like one? Obviously, these are issues that I never had to deal with growing up , so I’m struggling to anticipate what she might internalize. (Not that I didn’t have my own crosses; when you look like the villain in a movie about a group of plucky losers who have to win a breakdancing contest to save their community center, society has a distinct box for you.)

Last night, my wife and I had a conversation about the possibility of getting rid of Brunhilda. Ultimately, we decided against it. Given how much the baby likes the doll (at this point, mostly because it flops around when she shakes it), it seemed like a cruel measure. The solution we decided upon is that when she is old enough to actually appreciate dolls as dolls, we’ll buy her others that offer more accurate representations of human diversity.

Or in other words, we’ll combat sexism, racism, and lookism with consumerism!

I didn’t spend Saturday in Downtown Oakland, and I didn’t spend it at home staring at a computer monitor crowded with livestreams and twitter feeds. I was at a family function all day, and didn’t have a chance to check in on how Occupy Oakland’s Move In had gone until pretty late at night. By then, folks on the Internet were scrambling to categorize the event as a success or a failure. Predictably, they were choosing their criteria based on how they wanted to characterize the day rather than vice-versa.

Did not occupy a building – FAILURE!

Put Occupy back in the national media – SUCCESS!

Made themselves look like violent thugs – FAILURE!

Made OPD look like violent thugs – SUCCESS!

Empowered the concern trolls – INEVITABLE!

No single litmus test can be applied to an action like this to measure its success, if in fact such a thing as quantifiable success or failure exists at all. Ultimately, I don’t personally care. I didn’t participate because it didn’t interest me, but I’m still glad it happened, just as I’m glad for OO’s questionable weekly “Fuck the Police” marches: No matter how poorly organized or reasoned, action normalizes action. The tamest protest, the most balls-out run at the barricades, the clever alteration of the billboard advertisement, and the brick through the bank window are all reminders that democracy does not begin and end at the ballot box.