If it’s a little small for you, the caption there is:
As Angelina cuts Shiloh’s hair shorter than ever, Brad breaks down worrying that his little girl will be ridiculed.
(Written on Brad Pitt’s shoulder) “From dolls to dinosaurs”
Oh God no, she’s well on her way to becoming a ridiculed lesbian who trains dinosaurs to rip the heads off dolls and also the heads of the little girls who carry them!
Yes, she’ll probably be ridiculed for being a tomboy at some point in her schooling days — she’ll probably be ridiculed anyway because her parents are very famous — but that is a function of growing up. She’ll probably also hit an extra snag in the rough patch of the middle school era, where there is a skill set of girl stuff (nail polish, sleepovers, the general fit of clothes, etc.) you miss out on if your friends skew male. But, there is a hierarchy of weird children out in the world, and frequently, the weirdest among them don’t really care that other kids make jokes. If they did, they’d modify the offending behavior.
I can name you the memorably weird kids from elementary school — and I’m sure you could do the same. If we went to elementary school together, I’m probably on the list, Shiloh Jolie-Pitt-style:
True story: The only time I’ve ever cried to get out of something in my entire life is when my parents wanted me to go to cotillion in the fourth grade. At the mention of “white gloves,” I started crying right there in Charley’s Place, the restaurant that preceded J. Gilbert in McLean. White gloves! The horror, the horror. At the time, my friend Sean told me that his parents bribed him with an N64. My parents took a German approach only slayed by tears.
Anyway, this is not an adult. This is a little kid. If she wants to play with her brothers and build forts and play with dinosaurs, who the hell cares? That sounds awesome. If she’s 26 and she’s idling around, playing dinosaurs, then you’ve got a problem. But this sounds pretty normal for a kid.
The insinuation, one supposes, is that this is some example of Angelina Jolie conditioning her child to be transgendered — or at least not correcting course where a Good Woman would. Indulging the eccentric, and so forth. What’s the alternative? Forcing the girl into dresses and taking her dinosaurs away? That always turns out so well. (Also, WTF, girls can’t play with dinosaurs now? Why do dinosaurs Hate Women?)
When I was in kindergarten, my teacher pulled my mother aside and told her she needed to stop letting me dress myself (lots of striped t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers) and ensure I made friends with girls (my best friend was a boy), because once the second grade hit, boys and girls stopped being friends and I wouldn’t have any. Needless to say, because my mother is awesome, she did not take well to that information and told her off.
Now, there’s some truth to that horrible advice: Anything resembling social success eluded me for a very long time, as it did for a lot of those very weird kids. But most of them turned out fine, and in a lot of ways, better than some of the other more normal ones.
As my mother has also said frequently kids with mohawks and kids with dyed hair:
It’s just hair.
IT WILL BE FINE, LIFE & STYLE.