The other day I found myself telling my four-year-old daughter that there’s no such thing as “boys colors” and “girls colors.” My favorite shirt is pink; my favorite shoes have pink soles. As soon as I started reading fairy tales to my daughter I knew that atavistic gender ideas would be omnipresent, but I didn’t realize how much they would come to permeate my existence. She likes pink; that’s fine, I do too. She likes ballet and ballet clothing, that’s great. But it comes freighted sometimes with expectations for who can and can’t like these things. I was wondering where that feeling comes from.