"Baby Björn is actually Swedish?" asked a coworker when I mentioned my trip to the Swedish Embassy. He assumed that, like so many other catchy product names, 'Björn' was the result of extensive market testing: "I thought they just used a Swedish name cuz they're all ergonomic and European-looking."
But no, the Baby Björn company is extremely Swedish, named after the father who founded the company in 1961. And so when they wrote to Babble, offering to whisk me from New York to D.C. for lunch at the new Swedish Embassy, how could I refuse? I figured that the food alone would be worth it. So I packed up my crappy camera and dragged myself onto an 8 a.m. train, ready to learn everything I ever wanted to know about Scandinavian baby products.
I don't have a lot of experience with Embassies, but apparently the Swedish Embassy (a.k.a. House of Sweden) is unusual, in that it's largely open to the public. The building, which hugs the Potomac River, is sleek but unassuming, with a stark interior of glass and Canadian maple. I must admit, I was expecting something a bit more regal — doesn't Sweden have a monarchy and whatnot? — but I'd soon learn that extraneous details are simply not the Swedish way.
After meeting the Baby Björn people (most of them approximately twice my height), the first thing on my agenda was lunch. Excellent. We had a yummy but predictable buffet of Swedish meatballs, smoked salmon, lingonberries, potatoes, and something that I swear they called "Pinnochio cake." (Whatever it was, I had seconds.) Joining us for lunch was the Swedish Ambassador to the United States, who I'll bet is pretty sick of meatballs and lingonberries. I wouldn't blame him if he snuck a burger under the table.
Next, the other guests and I were ushered into a lecture hall for a presentation about the wild, scandalous world of Baby Björn. Okay, so it's not so wild. But it's very ergonomic! First up was Lisa Thoren, the granddaughter of founder Björn Jakobson. Once upon a time, Lisa was the messy eater who inspired the Baby Björn bib — that plastic one with the lip that catches food. (Realizing this, I wished I'd watched her more closely during lunch.) "In Sweden," she told us, "everyone uses the plastic bib. But in America, we have a cultural difference where people haven't realized the value and convenience of the plastic bib." She seemed quite exasperated with our American insistence on non-Björn bibs — you'd think it would be enough that every single person in New York has a Baby Björn carrier. Seriously, I'm pretty sure I know childless people who have those things, just in case they need to carry something squirmy on their chests.
Lisa clicked us through a slideshow demonstrating forty years of Baby Björn publicity photos, including the first one to feature a man carrying a baby (France was scandalized!). She also showed us a photo of Ellen Degeneres' "Oscar Björn" from last year's Academy Awards — a one-off visual gag that the Björn people seem to have taken very seriously.
Next up to the podium we had Avroy Fanaroff, a pioneer in the field of parent-infant bonding. His speech was focused on something called "kangaroo care," which (as far as I could discern in those twenty minutes) is the practice of putting a baby on the parent's naked chest in order to facilitate bonding. He showed us lots of charts and even more breastfeeding photos (Avroy would totally get kicked off Facebook). In the end, he tied it all together by saying that Baby Björns facilitate kangaroo care — which seems like a bit of a stretch, considering that there's no skin-to-skin touching or eye contact when a baby is strapped to your clothed chest. But whatever. He has more degrees than me.
Now it was time for the main event: America's Next Top Björn Model! Actually, it was a runway show of Baby Björns through the decades. Instead of Tyra, we had pink-haired Björn creative director Lillemor Jakobson, who was both the oldest and hippest person in the room. As the models slinked down the runway, we watch the Björns turn from '60s denim to '70s corduroy, from '80s pastels to '90s neons, from breathable mesh to expensive satin. It was like seeing my mother's entire life in fabrics.
The day concluded with a tour of the Swedish Embassy, with its big, opulent . . . Ikea showroom. That's right, there's an Ikea showroom permanently housed in the Swedish Embassy. Judging from everything I'd seen that day in the Embassy, the most important contributions to Swedish culturehave been made by Ikea, Pippi Longstocking and Baby Björn (in that order).
On the train ride home, I looked over my press kit — and I had to admit, I'd totally drunk the Kool-Aid on Scandanavian baby stuff. The Baby Björn creators pride themselves on making products that are sleek, functional, and endlessly road-tested. And they put a high premium on safety. They sometimes develop a product for years, only to abandon it because it doesn't quite meet their safety standards. (In contrast to major American manufacturers, who are all, "You know what this baby spoon needs? Some lead paint!") They take children very seriously, those Swedes — as evidenced by this paragraph on "Children's Culture" from a Swedish Embassy pamphlet:
Because few children live idyllic lives, culture for them must dare to touch upon the difficult and the painful. Grief and divorce, unemployment, death, love, eroticism, betrayal and abuse all feature here, just as in culture for adults.
Sheesh. It's like a whole other country.