You! Are! A! Toy!

So yesterday I saw yet another facebook post crapping all over Barbie and I am here to speak on behalf of the defense.  I had Barbies growing up and I played with them all the time.  I still have one of them and my biggest regret is that I didn't save more of her clothes.  I have never looked back and bemoaned her subversion of my self-image.  Not once.  Mainly because she was a toy.  Sure she was designed by a bunch of misogynistic old men who liked big boobs and tiny waists but let us remember those were misogynistic business men and not give them any more credit then they desire.  There was no master plan being spun in that board room.  They needed to bump up the numbers on the next quarterly report.  And the desire for add-on sales ultimately led to the demise of their (non-existent) plans to under mind the girls today. Not following me?  Let me explain....

This is why Barbie rocks:

Barbie owned her own beach house, her own pool house and her own townhouse.  They were hers.  Not Ken's.  HERS.  The name on the big pink box was "Barbie's Dream House!" G.I Joe may have come over to visit, at least until your brother found out but regardless, he was visiting.  She also owned a camper, an Austin-Healy, a Corvette, a Ferrari, a Rolls-Royce, a Thunderbird, hell, I can't even remember all the cars she owned. You know what she didn't own? A fucking minivan and that very thought went through my head when I found myself purchasing a Dodge Caravan. "Well, shit. Barbie always had a convertible." Barbie drove in style. And she always drove.  If he was lucky, Ken could ride in the passenger's seat but it was far more likely that Ken was left behind and Barbie's friend rode shot-gun.  You'd even shove another friend sideways in the back seat. "Ken, we're going to the beach. Can you grill something up for dinner when we get back??" And this was back in the day when a woman's credit card had her husband's name on it. You go, girl!

You know why else Barbie rocks?  Because Barbie was EVERYTHING.  She was a doctor, a nurse, a dentist, a veterinarian, a student, a teacher, an athlete, an artist, a business woman, a life guard, a pilot, a flight attendant, a chef, a nascar driver, a photographer, a hair stylist, a waitress, a news anchor, and on and on and on.  Barbie had 77 different careers.  I counted. Up to and including President of the United States and a Canadian Mountie.  How cool is that?  When I was 7, I wanted to be an astronaut because of Barbie but here's the kicker. I didn't even know if Barbie was an astronaut back then.  But I knew she could be.  And she'd have been the mission commander too.  Not Ken.  Ken couldn't do shit. "Go stand over there, Honey, and look cute in your beach shorts.  I've got work to do." Barbie could be a scientist and wear a pair of go-go boots.  Nobody put Barbie in the corner.

So let's not fall into the very trap we are trying to avoid, and judge her solely on her looks.  And, for the love of god, let's stop saying that a toy has a greater influence on our children then the words and action of the adults surrounding them.  Our children act and speak the way they are taught to act and speak.  It would be lovely to be able to place the blame else where but ultimately it's our responsibility and we need to own it.  I had to do that very thing last week when I found out my kid was acting like a shit at school.  And let me tell you, it fucking sucks. But we told him and the counselor that if he does it again, the school can deal with him in the same way they'd deal with anyone else.  Actions have consequences and he'd best learn that now. And we'd best remind ourselves as well.

And let's face it, the only time I really remember comparing my physical self to Barbie's was when I realized her hair wouldn't grow back after I cut it. Now if the boys at Mattel could fix that little problem, they could really cure some emotional trauma.

Holy shit! She was an astronaut in 1965!
I know what's heading up my Christmas list!