A brand-new picture book celebrates a girl’s delight in finding an outfit that suits her, regardless of gender norms—and offers important models for gender creative kids, their parents, and peer allies.
Molly’s Tuxedo, by Vicki Johnson, illustrated by Gillian Reid (Little Bee), is a delightful, empowering story about a gender creative girl.
Kindergartener Molly is excited about school picture day and getting a brand-new portrait to hang on the wall. There’s only one problem: the dress her mom has picked out for her. It has “a weird, annoying collar,” “fluffy, puffy parts,” and no pockets. More to the point, Molly just doesn’t like dresses. They can be tight, hard to unzip, and require fancy shoes. “Molly wanted to look like she was going on an adventure, not like she was going to a tea party,” we read.
Molly has an idea, however: her brother’s old tuxedo. When she suggests this to her mom, however, her mom insists she’ll look great in the dress. Molly struggles into it, uncomfortable and awkward. Her mom says she can take the tuxedo to show her friends, but that she wants Molly to look her best.
At school, she sees her friends, a boy and two girls, in more traditionally gendered clothes, but seeming comfortable in them. One asks Molly where her tuxedo is, apparently knowing that a dress isn’t Molly’s style. Molly’s mom says goodbye, but has had a change of heart, and tells Molly she’ll let her decide what to wear.
In the bathroom, on the way to the photo session, Molly tries one last time to look good in the dress, but “what she saw in the mirror didn’t look right.” She switches to the tuxedo. Now she can smile her real smile and truly meet her mom’s expectation that she “look her best.” We see a page of images that can best be described as gender euphoria, as Molly revels in the tuxedo’s pants and pockets, and delights in adjusting the tie and buttoning and unbuttoning the jacket.
Her friends are delighted with her, saying she looks like a movie star or a secret agent. One child, however, says, “I didn’t think girls could wear tuxedos.” Molly stops, confused. One of her friends, clad in a pink frilly dress that obviously suits her, says, “Oh, yes we do if we want to!” and Molly feels immediately better.
The school photos are taken. Back home, Molly and her mom look at the digital images of the photos and Molly is delighted. Her mom affirms, “You really look like you.” When the hard copy arrives in the mail, they hang it on the wall with the rest of the family photos.
I love this story, not only because I’ve always been a bit of a Molly myself. Both Molly’s determination to be herself and her friends’ understanding and allyship are wonderful models for young readers. I particularly appreciate that we see another girl, who has made a more traditionally feminine choice for her clothing, nevertheless being vocal in standing up for Molly. That kind of support across difference is what real allyship is about. Molly’s mom, too, although she doesn’t listen to Molly at first, is clearly acting because of parental love and wanting the best for her, and soon sees that this means letting Molly make her own choices about clothing. There’s a lesson here for us parents as well as for kids.
Despite the lessons, though, author Vicki Johnson keeps the book from feeling pedantic, with lively and descriptive text that lets Molly’s words and actions speak for themselves. Illustrator Gillian Reid’s images, with large-headed, cartoon-like characters, are the perfect expressive complement to the words, showing Molly’s discomfort in the dress and utter joy in the tuxedo.
This is a welcome addition to the growing number of books about gender creative girls and highly recommended.
Molly and her family are White; several friends and her teacher are people of color.