I've been having fun with stereotypes lately. One of my higher ed clients has been working with a design concept that centers on cartoon-like college student characters. In last year's marketing materials, the characters said random things in talk bubbles. This year, they've brought me into the project to develop actual personae and story lines.

The whole point is for students to look at the characters and say "Oh yeah, I know that dude, the one who has his entire life planned out on a spread sheet," or "That bubbly, happy, positive-thinker chick sounds <em>exactly</em> like my roommate last year."

Stereotypes can be useful. By making generalizations and exaggerating characteristics, we can bring humor and even clarity to our complex society and world. Marketing professionals who create branding rely on stereotypes to understand core audience traits, desires and motivations. We often actually develop stereotypical characters to keep in mind as we're creating ads and websites.

But stereotypes are clearly dangerous, too. We all know that. In my town, people have been fiercely debating the Fighting Illini mascot, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chief_Illiniwek">Chief Illiniwek</a>, for two decades. Even though the Chief mascot was officially retired in February 2007, I still see students every day wearing Chief sweatshirts, and I drive behind cars (most often gas guzzlers, ahem) brandishing Chief stickers (next to the Bush '04 stickers, of course).

I personally became passionate about the debate four years ago, upon running into my close friends with their sweet new baby at the farmers' market. Their stroller had a "Racial Stereotypes Dehumanize" sticker on it, complete with the Chief logo. The baby—now a bright, articulate preschooler who calls me Auntie Kristin—is African American. The thought of anyone dehumanizing her makes my blood boil. Although I already identified myself as "anti-Chief," I suddenly saw the whole issue in a new light.

Jason and I are committed, both through example and direct conversation, to making sure our three girls understand the world without racial stereotypes. Our community includes friends from a wide variety of backgrounds. When they frequent our home and dinner table, our kids learn something about sameness and difference, even if indirectly. We also actively promote family conversations on the subject. Our kids know why we are against the Chief. They know that many people in our country are vehemently opposed to the idea of a black President. They can converse about these things.

But last night, I came face to face with my own brand of stereotyping. Not the sort I do in my work, but the kind I do in my head and in conversation, without even thinking. The kind I do when I connect Republicans to slick, oversized pickup trucks, to the Chief, to.... You get the picture. Anyway, we were having a conversation with our friend Ahbleza, from church. She's a student at the university, and one of our girls' favorite babysitters—she's kind, smart, generous and fun. She's also a super talented soccer player, and this fall she's been giving S lessons on Monday afternoons. Last night we invited her to stay and eat with us.

Ahbleza was telling the girls she was born in Chicago. "The city?" Jason asked. He was born in the city, and people from Chicago tend to be sensitive about The City versus The Suburbs. Particularly the West Suburbs, where a large percentage of U of I undergraduates are from. I made a joke about how you can spot kids from the West Suburbs a mile away. It's a common joke in town, particularly among our many friends who teach at the university.

Ahbleza didn't laugh, or even smile. Instead, she asked "What do you mean?"

"You know, the upper-middle class privileged kid who loves going to the mall and to chain restaurants. The sorority girls who look like everyone else in the sorority and everyone they went to high school with," I said, trailing off rather lamely. What <em>did</em> I mean? And what would my daughters understand it to mean?

It's true that stereotypes are more harmful when they're directed toward the underprivileged and those who are in some way a minority. But suddenly I saw this clearly: Stereotyping isn't just about <em>who</em> is being profiled, it's about the <em>act</em> of lumping <em>anyone</em> into a group—particularly someone you don't even know.

And I felt pretty stupid that I hadn't thought about it in quite that way before. Everyone is unique, and has the capacity to surprise. Thankfully, each person will somehow step outside of the lines you try to draw around them. And we all have a lot to learn. Thanks, Ahbleza, for the gentle reminder.

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