An Open Letter to the Inventor of Stick Figure Family Car Decals

by Jennifer Scharf
Originally Published: 

Dear Inventor of Stick Figure Family Car Decals,

At any given stoplight, I can be blessed with the knowledge that the moron in front of me summers on Nantucket, loves her Wheaten Terrier, has a son on the honor roll at Beaver Buck Country Day School and (to toot her own horn) married a Harvard alum. Lucky her!

Now, because of your idiotic invention, I have the pleasure of adding these fine details: Her name is Bethany, her husband’s name is Colby II, her son’s name is Colby III, and the dog’s name is Harley. Bethany loves to cook, Colby III plays lacrosse, and Colby II apparently loves to carry his briefcase around. Oh, and look at that—number 2 is on the way and it’s a girl!

Please stop polluting our driving landscape with these asinine stickers. We all know what I am talking about, so instead of discussing proper sticker placement (bottom left of rear window), let’s put an end to this juvenile madness. It has been going on for far too long, and at this point you are just taking advantage of tired moms who have lost all rational decision-making skills.

It’s just plain stupid, not to mention potentially deadly. Yes, I said deadly. This insider information is a sociopath’s wet dream. “Hello crazy man driving behind me! My name is Joan and I’m a single mom who likes to talk on the phone and drink martinis while my daughter Amber plays with her doll. Follow me home and murder us — you won’t have to worry about being attacked by our dog because as you can see from my decals, we only have a pet guinea pig named Lulu!”

This is a reckless business. But I get it: there is a lot of shit out there and you needed to find your niche. You cornered the mom-mobile market — Bravo! I hope you made millions off of this product and are enjoying a good laugh over a tropical cocktail somewhere fabulous, because it would madden me even more to discover that this is just a hobby and all proceeds have been donated to a cat shelter somewhere in Idaho.

A car is supposed to make you feel “adult.” After you get married and push out an army of kids, the last thing you want to do is surrender to the minivan. Don’t you think this is humiliating enough? Do you think women like to be identified by their breeding capacity — or lack thereof — via stick figures? We already know what is inside. A delirious driver in dirty yoga pants who probably hasn’t washed her hair or brushed her teeth in at least two days. Multiple car seats, empty juice boxes, and rotten french fries mashed into the floor; a hideous animated movie screeching on the DVD player. It’s a driving hell machine. Why would you think anybody felt the desire to advertise it?

Getting back to a lot of shit out there, I’m curious to know if you have any affiliation with Truck Nutz? Or Reindeer Ears, Fake Bullet Holes, Antenna Balls, Car Lashes, or Car Teeth? The creators of these atrocities seem like your kind of crowd! And lastly, I would like to know whether you are a man or a woman. If you are a man, is this an inside joke? If you are a woman, are you out of your fucking mind?

So whoever you are, I just wanted to let you know that although I may envy your bank account, I abhor your invention. You have done a terrible disservice to our country; you are right up there with unlimited soda refills and jeggings.

Take your Stick Figures and stick ’em where they belong.


Jennifer Scharf

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