Illustration by Jan A. Igoe
While rambling around a consignment store—my favorite hunting ground—I heard frantic female voices at the register, so I ducked behind the Chico’s rack to eavesdrop.
“You don’t have any hot pink tunic tops left?” a panicked granny-type exclaimed. “What am I supposed to wear to the Barbie movie? Blue jeans?”
The news was tough to swallow: Every single hot pink garment went flying off the racks the moment Hollywood uttered the B-word. No female whose idea of womanhood was altered, affected or afflicted by her first Barbie doll could possibly attend the movie in anything less than her pinkest finery. Like overpriced popcorn, some things are meant to be.
Barbie debuted in 1959, the same year that Alaska and Hawaii became states, monkeys flew into space, Frank Sinatra won several Grammys and impressionable girls spent $3 on their first Barbie doll. Mattel’s Barbie made her debut in a black-and-white strapless bathing suit and black heels (ideal for the beach), flaunting a long blond ponytail that curled perfectly at the bottom. She was also exceptionally curvy, and society wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about that.
Mathematical types pondered Barbie’s proportions. They calculated that she was the equivalent of a 5-foot-9 woman weighing 110 pounds with a 16-inch waist, a giraffe’s neck and perilously low body fat. (Somewhere between Jessica Rabbit and Sofia Vergara.) What if young girls aspire to Barbie’s unachievable figure? Could the plastic doll engender eating disorders and body shame? Would they be better off playing with Mr. Potato Head?
Ruth Handler, Barbie’s creator, didn’t think so. While her son’s toys were helping him envision a future as a firefighter or astronaut, her daughter’s baby dolls were steering girls toward motherhood and caregiving, according to businessinsider.com. There’s nothing wrong with that, but Handler created Barbie to let girls know they could be moms and astronauts, too. (After all, Barbie beat Sally Ride into space by 18 years.) Despite the naysayers, Mattel went on to sell more than 1 billion Barbies.
Now, Barbie is a certified movie star. She’s already been in dozens of animated movies, but this year’s Barbie movie is the first to have a human cast. None of the others caused politicians, podcasters and bloggers—of every social, political and societal stripe—to implode, set Barbie dolls on fire and demand a boycott of the movie. You’d think there must be something more important to worry about than Ken’s mental health and Barbie’s agenda, but maybe not.
So I joined the pink platoon to find out what the fuss was about. Was the movie really raging against men? Is Barbie an evil feminist? Why is Midge still pregnant?
Of course, there’s never been a pinker movie. We can all agree on that. It seemed like every set was drenched in Pepto Bismol. The cast was a mix of Barbies and Kens of every size, height and color singing, dancing and schmoozing. No rocket science, just silly fantasy. Silly, pink fantasy. And the best part? Moviegoers can get up and leave any time they want.
All the noise just helped the movie rake in more bucks. Controversy keeps people curious. On eBay, it also makes dolls in their original boxes worth at least 10 times what sellers were charging before the movie hit theaters.
I have one hope for the critics who argued that Margot Robbie wasn’t pretty enough to play Barbie: Change eye doctors. And stop spending so much time with Mr. Potato Head.
Jan A. Igoe coveted Barbie’s clothes. Maybe that’s why she keeps rummaging through consignment shops to find fashions she can’t live without. Then she remembers that 90% of her time is spent with naked dogs. Write her any time at HumorMe@SCLiving.coop.