I am looking forward to seeing the Barbie movie (I haven’t yet), and that is a sentence I never would have anticipated writing ever in my life.
Like many Silver Millennials, my relationship with Barbie is complicated. I played with the dolls, my grandmother had a suitcase of Ginny dolls, and I remember standing in the aisle of the long-gone toy shop in the once-upon-a-time mall, starting at the wall of Barbie stuff in complete awe and overwhelm.
Over time, I absorbed other people’s feelings about Barbie. In elementary school my friend and I did a report on ancient Egypt and planned on turning one of my Barbies into a mummy. Our teacher offered extra credit if we gave her a thicker waist.
So I learned that while we were expected to achieve the ideal, we would also be hated for it.
At one point, I built a gallows out of Contrux and jelly bracelets and hung Barbie for treason (she invaded She-Ra’s village… and I had no idea what treason was, just that you could be hung for it).
My eating disorder (that has sadly shaped most of my life), sprung NOT from a plastic doll, but from all the humans around me and the projections they placed on that doll. But it’s easier to criticize a doll than your mother, so Barbie took the blame.
In college I managed a production that took on Barbie and GI Joe and sexuality, and it was BEAUTIFUL and started to crack me open a bit.
We let the world decide what is and is not feminine, what is and is not acceptable. I rejected all things pink, sparkly, and flowy because the world showed me that being a woman is terrible. Juvenile. Stupid.
We mock Barbie in a way no other toy or franchise receives.
Because it’s easier to blame a doll. It’s tougher to tackle misogyny and capitalism.
When my daughter was born, I didn’t buy her Barbie. Then someone else did. (A Cinderella Barbie). And she loved her. More gifts came– Tiana, Elsa, a pass-along Barbie with chopped hair and a pink streak. I still haven’t bought her a Barbie but it’s no longer a Stance, it’s because she has enough. Two mermaid Barbies joined the team, a Chelsea doll (I *may* have bought that one), and a pink haired, actual-thighed canoeing Barbie. (I almost called her Thick Thighed, but they aren’t really thick, just… normal).
We attacked Barbie instead of the yogurt ads that promoted disordered eating. We attacked Barbie instead of questioning the plot lines written by middle aged men for preteen girls. We attacked Barbie instead of noticing that she was an astronaut, President, and teacher. We rolled our eyes at it.
We attacked Barbie instead of the culture that told us “You must be perfect but you must not look like you’re trying or you care.” We attacked Barbie instead of the double bind that keeps us trapped.
We blamed a DOLL for the problems humans created.
But the doll is not our culture. The doll is a doll.
It’s taken me 40 years to realize that Barbie was never the problem.
And I’m going to see the movie next week. I may need to borrow something pink.
Pretty Good Ugly 