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I was paid to dress up in an official Sanrio Hello Kitty suit and parade down Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've loved Sanrio, the Japanese company responsible for not only Hello Kitty, but other cute characters such as Keroppi the frog, Badtz Maru the penguin, and Pachacco the pup, among many others. Said characters appear on thousands of products from stationary and pencils to t-shirts and toiletries. To be hired by the company I've always loved, the creators of the cutest things ever, was a dream come true! I never thought that I would ever work for the actual company, let alone take on the Hello Kitty persona.

As a sales associate at the new Sanrio store in Chicago, I was the most dedicated staff member. I was the employee the most excited to be there, the most knowledgeable about all of the characters, and I loved making little displays with the merchandise and opening the boxes to check in the new merchandise. Like birthday presents year round! I quickly became honorary stock girl since I had this obsession with arranging all of the stuff, though I had few qualms about the fact that they weren't paying me the money a normal stock manager would be getting. I didn't care. Just to caress the new items and smell them and squeal with happiness at their arrival was fine with me.

Because all the other sales associates had claustrophobic complaints about wearing the kitty suit and because I complained the least, it became my job to wear the suit for three hours every Saturday and for special occasions (like the characters' birthdays).

The kitty costume was quite an affair, enough so that the first time a co-worker escorted me around the mall, she announced, "You get your ass kicked in this suit and I'm takin' off."

The head was huge, the size of two window-fitted air conditioners but not nearly as frigerated. It was basically a construction helmet placed around the wearer's head. Attached to the helmet was an elaborate system of foam covered with plastic white fuzz, accessorized with a red bow on the outside. Kitty's nose was a yellow piece of plastic I could just barely see through (without peripheral vision). Kitty's eyes were way above my forehead.

Padding under the rest of the costume gave Kitty a soft, huggable quality. A red blouse fitted under a blue jumper with two large white buttons. The legs were white fur, knee-high, leg warmer-ish socks connected to a clunky pair of red Mary Janes. Finally, there were white fur paw mittens. When confronted with the costumed Hello Kitty, many children hugged these paws to their face and refused to let go.

It was magical. I'd never felt so wanted in my whole life. Children, adults, teens, men, women-- everybody flocked to me to pet me, hug me, kiss me, love me. And that was before I even put on the kitty suit.

When I put the costume on, many children were visibly excited and happy when they met me. They would laugh, smile, giggle, dance, imitate my moves with glee, say "Cute kitty! Hello Kitty! Hello Kitty!" It dawned on me that the name "Hello Kitty," was sheer perfect marketing. When you see a cat, isn't the first thing out of your mouth usually, "Hello Kitty!"? Over and over I was so moved by people's love and excitement that eventually I felt myself crying under the heavy layers.

"I got to be Hello Kitty today," I'd tell my friends. One friend, who in the past had been paid to dress up as a stuffed crab, disbelievingly noted my use of the privileged "got to."

People would react in the funniest ways to kitty. One little girl announced, "Kitty, I have your underwear." I should have replied, "And I have yours." Too bad Kitty can't talk. Incidentally, that's why she has no mouth. The idea is supposed to be that she communicates with her heart. A Japanese-American woman noted that Kitty's lack of mouth was intended to perpetuate the point of women's subservient role in Japanese culture.

Many excited kids wanted a hug from Kitty. But the head being as heavy as it was, I couldn't bend it to look down, so the escort had to announce loudly, "Kitty, you've got a friend who wants a hug!" I'd have to just sort of wait for the kid to throw their arms around my legs, and I'd pet their head.

In spite of the cool parts of this gig, there were lots of troubles. Often people would get overexcited and hug me so hard that they'd accidentally bang into the head. The problem is, inside that head, you're extra sensitive to any touch whatsoever, so even a tap on Kitty's head creates an enormous, earth-shattering bang and quake that strain your neck and back, let alone your eardrums. People would bang on the head to be funny (how it's funny I have no idea) or to see how Kitty would react. People would also do things to me in that costume that they would never take the liberty of doing to a person in street clothes. They'd take off their clothes and rub all over my fur. Haw! No really, what they would do though, is insist on "legging" me during photos, or perhaps ride by on their bicycles and hit my butt or back. Often the "team member" that was in charge of escorting me was too busy flirting with guys or talking to people, so I'd be left unprotected, subject to all sorts of molestation.

As the weeks went by, I became more disenchanted with "doing the kitty." The novelty had worn off. Sometimes Kitty frightened people, especially babies, the head being so big and clownishly scary. The costume was so hot, dark and heavy that I was exhausted after fifteen minutes. Even after wearing the suit for three hours, I still had to continue five more hours of my shift just as a salesperson on the floor. By that point in the day, I always smelled horrible and had bad hair. None of my fellow "team members" would agree to do the kitty, so I began to resent them.

The costume was hot and uncomfortable, especially the head, which emanated heat even after taking it off. Also, it hurt my neck and back. Take a good look at Hello Kitty. Notice how big her head is compared to the rest of her. Now imagine what it feels like to carry something that size on your neck and back. I don't care what people say about Barbie's disproportionate anatomy. No real feline would ever have a head three times as big as its body.

For the grand opening, I convinced my manager to hire professional actors to wear the same suit, but somehow they got paid (get ready for this) seven times as much as I did to do it! Where is Michael Moore? I think he should do a piece on how I got paid $7 an hour with no benefits to prostitute myself in this monkey suit.

Now that I have left the Sanrio work force, you may want to know the pressing question: Has this experience ruined my love for Sanrio products? Well...Yes and no. As a corporate company, I've decided that Sanrio is cheap as all get out and treats its employees like shit. I mean, for as much money as Sanrio makes all over the world (with kiosks and stores all over the planet plus annual marketing specials in collaboration with such huge chains as Target and McDonald's, plus two theme parks in Japan alone), you'd think that the damn corporation could afford to pay me more than what I was making to risk my health.

Also, I had to sign forms agreeing to have my personal belongings searched daily. This company is so paranoid about stealing, there are cameras in the break room! I was given a Sanrio "Gold Card" that looked like a credit card but was really just a card with a phone number to anonymously call and report "incidents" with fellow employees, encouraging me to search out and report anybody doing anything subversive. I never used this hotline but what I really should have reported was the number of times I saw management talking on the phone in the break room or watching TV while non-management part-timers were the ones doing all the work on the floor.

There were so many things I could have called that hotline about. Once I heard the assistant manager complain, "Man, no spices on this pizza! They really Jew-ed us!" What the fuck?! What year is this? People still talk like that? And management?!

Also, in terms of product, I have some problems with the lack of quality. The Hello Kitty toaster that imprints Kitty's head on the toast does so by way of burning the print into the bread. Sure it looks cute, but who wants to eat burnt toast? Numerous Sanrio writing utensils I have purchased have either fallen apart or not worked, including the red portion of my Chococat three-way writer, my silver Angel Kitty metallic pen, and my Japanesque Kitty ballpoint pen, which literally fell apart in my hands the first time I used it. For a company with that much dough that they practically pave the streets of Tokyo with merchandise, you'd think they could make some higher quality products.

On the other hand, there are things about Sanrio products that are so damn cute that I still can't get enough. The first draft of the piece you are reading now was written with a purple Aquarius Hello Kitty pencil, periodically sharpened on a red stitch Kitty hand sharpener. Even as an adult, I still identify with the cute, soft "small gift, big smile" aesthetic, though I don't feel the need to purchase all things Sanrio anymore. That is to say, just because a product is Sanrio doesn't mean that I have to buy it. Quality really is more important than merely having a Hello Kitty stamp on it. By flooding myself with this merchandise, I learned restraint because I could look at the products closer. I figured out that products come in cycles. By that I mean that if I see a shower curtain with Hello Kitty on it, I don't have to buy it merely for the novelty of having a Hello Kitty shower curtain, especially if the design isn't exactly what I want. In just a few months time, no fear, a new Hello Kitty shower curtain will come out with a totally different Hello Kitty design in a different motif and color, one that's more to my liking.

Being able to see through the novelty now, I realize there are some characters I like better than others, and some characters I think are really not all that cute. It's OK to be a bit more discriminating about which characters you like. For example, after surrounding myself with Sanrio stuff all day, I realized that actually, Kerropi the frog is cross-eyed, Pachacco the dog is boring, and Badtz Maru the penguin has really no cute factor and is really just the token male-marketed character because he's supposed to have an "attitude" (as evidenced by such past quotes on Badtz merchandise as: "Who you lookin' at?"). The ones I think that are truly adorable were Hello Kitty, Chococat, Purin the golden retriever, Landry the raccoon, and some of the more sort of obscure characters, ones with names that translate to things like "Sleeping Kitty" or "Everyone Loves Tabo."

I wouldn't say that working for Sanrio ruined my love for the product, but I do think the corporation itself isn't all that great. I should have known. They're corporate, aren't they?

Just because I like the product, it doesn't mean that I have to sell it. In retrospect, surrounding myself with Hello Kitty merchandise at home is one thing, but to literally become Hello Kitty is pretty extreme. I can't help but notice that my adventures in teaching left me with similar reflections: I love reading, I love talking about literature, but that doesn't mean that I enjoy teaching it. After all, having an impassioned and intellectually stimulating conversation with your fellow college students about literature is different than teaching it to sixteen-year-olds. Be careful how far you go with your interests, is what I'm saying.

So the next time you do a career assessment, think twice when a well-intentioned friend counsels you: "Well, what types of things do you like?" Just because you like or even love calculators, it doesn't mean you'd be happy being an accountant...Although at least as an accountant you wouldn't have to wear a big, hot Hello Kitty costume.

This is Liz Saidel's second story for workingfortheman.com. The first story, Thanks A Lot Quentin Tarantino: My Worst Job Interview Ever, can be found here. Liz publishes the zines Caboose and Cul-de-sac. Caboose is $2 per issue. Cul-de-sac is $1 per issue. Ordering address: Liz Saidel, po box 476802, Chicago, IL 60647.

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