I was a Barbie girl.
I have absolutely no qualms in admitting that.
Now I know that over the years Barbie has taken a beating. Feminists, critics, and child psychiatrists alike, often denounce her as Public Enemy #1. They worry that her body type gives girls unrealistic expectations, that she teaches girls to rely on looks and fashion sense rather than brains, or that she objectifies women.
Well I say hooey on that.
Aside from the fact that she is cursed to spend her life in high heel shoes, I think Barbie is just wonderful.
Now I came of age with what I call the real Barbie. Malibu Barbie circ 1971. She was a simple doll, she came with a bathing suit, a towel, and sunglasses perched upon her head. She was perfectly tan (long before we knew about suntans and skin cancer) blonde, and she didn’t do anything. She didn’t talk, walk, wet herself, read, or any other fancy toy action. She just was. Perfect simplicity.
That’s why Barbie was so great for a girl like me. I had imagination. I liked to talk to myself. I liked to dream. So, I got to control Barbie’s universe. I told Barbie what to do-such as :
Dump Ken
Opt for the Barbie Dream Camper not the pink convertible (though I eventually had both)
Take the job as a reporter and forget the fashion show.
My Barbie had a very interesting life limited only by my imagination. Or, Pam’s. As children my best friend Pam and I spent HOURS playing Barbies. We both accumulated a number of them, along with their various co-horts, Ken, Skipper(one of Barbie’s four sisters), and all the “fake Barbies” given to us by friends and family. Barbie got her hair cut (alas it didn’t grow back), got married and divorced countless times (I think we were influenced by the soap opera viewing of Pam’s mom ), had feuds with her rivals, and traveled everywhere.
We played with Barbie for years, years I’m telling you and guess what-neither of us was scarred for life. We didn’t grow up wanting to be fashionistas with 24 inch waists or have some misguided vision of life as girls. In fact I think we both turned out pretty well-both understanding that there is room in every life for high heel shoes a la Barbie as well as nice comfortable loafers. We both have careers, had happy marriages, and then (like Barbie after 43 years with Ken) divorced. We’ve raised children, been good girlfriend to the other girls in our lives, and have never felt the need to barf after dinner.
So take that all you Barbie fearmongers.
I had hoped for Barbie daughters, but it didn’t turn out that way. They liked Barbie well enough, but she never became the favorite of childhood. The Barbie years were shortlived, with the doll mostly confined to spending life naked in the bathtub. I gave them my Barbies to play with-(yes that classic 1971 Malibu Barbie ended up flotsam) and all her clothes and such. I bought them Barbies, (though here’s my mommy confession: I threw away all shoes and accesories upon purchase. Once you’ve vaccumed up a Barbie shoe you know it has to be done) and I still can’t walk down the toy aisle without looking longingly at Holiday Barbie, Easter Barbie, you-name-it-we-make-it Barbie.
And now it is Barbie’s 50th birthday. FIFTY! The big 5-0.
Barbie doesn’t seem to be having nearly the issues with turning 50 that some of my girlfriends are having.
So I’d like to say Happy Birthday Barbie! While the rest of the world may debate your worth-I say Bravo! Here’s to 50 more years. Because I can’t imagine having grown up without Barbie, or Pam (who is far from 50 herself).
Fun facts I didn’t know from Barbie’s press office:
4 Comments
February 26, 2009 at 7:43 am
I, too, was a huge Barbie girl. I got my first Skipper for my sister’s birthday (I was 3, she was 10) and was so excited to get my first REAL Barbie. It was a Malibu Skipper. I was so glad when my sister bored with the Malibu Barbie, and I got her, too. I think the last Barbie I got was SuperStar Barbie – she had earrings and I didn’t have to pierce her ears with pretty pens from my Grandmother’s Sewing Kit. I played Barbies until (shhhhh) the 6th Grade. My Barbie Games sound a lot like yours did.
Neither of my girls were big into Barbie, either, and I was so disappointed. They liked having them, but never played with them like I did. I ended up with all the same ones: just a bunch of naked Barbies in their rooms. (I have to say, the scariest naked fake-Barbie was the Wicked Witch from Wizard of Oz. Cause she was ALL GREEN.)
February 26, 2009 at 9:05 am
Ah Skipper! Eternally flat chested Skipper. I had her too.
What was scary was how the old Barbies started to turn black with this layer of some sort of crust after years and years. I always wondered if I was giving my girls a nice toxic toy to play around with!
March 20, 2009 at 9:52 am
Barbie still looks pretty fit and trim for a fifty year old
March 31, 2009 at 8:26 pm
goodness, if barbie relied on her looks all the time, she wouldn’t have had 108 inspirational careers now, would she? i mean she’s been an astronaut, a doctor, a vet… everything.
feminists and shrinks barbie fearmongers (thank you for this elegant term!) can just stick it up their a**. they take the world way too seriously.