Suzy Homemaker: The unexpected sting of a name I never thought would be mine
There is value in a life built at home, but I may never escape the cringe
I’ve been teased a few times in recent years for being a “Suzy Homemaker.” I've heard it 5 times from 5 people, and I remember every single instance.
Not really knowing where this term came from, I googled it this afternoon.
Suzy Homemaker was a line of toys made in the 1960s — big dolls paired with plastic kitchen appliances and toy vacuums. I had never heard of them, but apparently they were second in popularity only to Barbie.
During and after the women’s liberation movement, “Suzy Homemaker” quickly became derogatory, used to castigate women who conformed to society’s then-domestic expectations.
Considering how it made me feel to be called this — knowing none of that backstory — this history makes sense. There’s a tone that comes with the term.
I guess I come off a bit much with my sourdough, the grain mill, the pantry shelves, and the sewing machine. I don’t work outside the home, so the shoe fits. But it’s stung every time I’ve heard it.
Maybe because this homemaker life is one I never imagined before Leo was born. Maybe it’s because I’ve absorbed a lifetime of indirect prejudice and disrespect for the women who earn nothing, and who spend their days in private acts that few see as valuable.
Somehow, I thought I’d evade the social contempt. After all, I went to college, moved far from home, traveled the world and had a respectable (if abbreviated) career before starting my family. Surely I would be able to throw off the stigma.
But no. It wasn’t enough to appease those who feel distaste, no matter how subconscious, at the idea of a housewife — especially one who does not drudge through the kitchen but actually quite enjoys it.
So I make pie. I make pizza. I grow flowers and cut them for my table. I sew pillow cushions and dresses. Mostly, I’m happy. And I still cringe as I imagine everyone else cringing at me.
So anyway, I made this pizza tonight. It’s sourdough and I milled the grain myself. I also made the pizza sauce from tomatoes I grew in my backyard and then canned in the summer. The cheese came from a local farm. It tasted like August and smelled like San Francisco, and it was delicious.
