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| Photo Credits: Her Uncle, Surya Chaturvedi |
Or like me, you were somewhere in between. I was sorta a doll person but I was an easily distractible child. My interests kept moving from skinny, poker-faced dolls to congenial-looking, fuller puppet dolls and robust superhero figures; basically whatever lent to the tone of my tea party, life-saving quests, tree-climbing escapades and other pastime lures. I didn't really idolize Barbie too much, but I gotta say her glimmering mermaid gowns and lulu skirts were too haute couture to resist. Add to that an unattainable hourglass figure, a smashing boyfriend, a dream shoe closet and knees that bend both ways and you know you want to grow up to be just like her!
Obviously, for those very reasons and her annoying 'come hither' expression, there comes a time in your life when you loathe her with all your might. And poor Barbie still struggles to prove her worth to the world at large, including feminists - that she's not just a pretty face living in a fancy bubble. She took her exact same measurements and doll face across diverse, smart professions. She was a photographer, an astronaut, an US presidential candidate, a rock diva, a doctor and thanks to recent commercials, a professor, a soccer coach, a vet, well everything that you could possibly want her to be. And if parents like me are getting peeved with her empty stares, Hola new Barbie! The Hello Barbie series is programmed to have intelligent, politically-correct conversations with children belonging to various ethnicities, recording their responses and leading with new questions. Of course, the immediate concern with that one is won't her engagement come in the way of her role-playing ability in child neverland?
When I look back at the journey of Barbie, I feel a bit sad for her. I wouldn't say she's necessarily a bad role model. In fact, I'm even tempted to go ahead and say that the reason Barbie is trying so hard to please everyone is because of her to-die-for figure and her beautiful face. Had she been a little hard on the eyes, or carrying a bit of holiday weight every now and then, or sporting some occasional acne like us lesser mortals, she wouldn't have to try this hard to prove her worth. She wouldn't go on to fight against phrases such "You're such a Barbie" to imply insipidity, narcissism, an all-hair-but-no-brain existence and above all, a woman who's perennially a damsel in distress. Maybe it's her trademark commitment to flawlessness and anorexic waistline that make us feel threatened. We fear that our little girls would in some way internalize that perfect, skinny ideal and not appreciate any other shape as acceptable. Barbie, frozen in her utopian bliss, could potentially be tipping little girls over to the real world of body shaming, low self-esteem and food abuse.
Nevertheless, I feel for her, for as far as I can recall as a little girl, she was super-fun. And yet, when I see my three-year old girl slowly edging towards the 'Barbie world', only to linger on with her for hours, I am a bit wary. Cos now I'm an over-analytical, paranoid parent who believes that little children draw lessons from everything around them. So if I watch her play with a tad too many pink princesses, I fight back temptation to throw in a scientist doll. I try to bring in a bit of diversity in the hairstyles and dresses she sports and when Peaches fusses over her hair, I emphasize that she doesn't mind frizzed-out hair once in a while.
And then I think to myself, "What the f*** is wrong with me? She's a plastic doll. Peaches plays with her the same way I did. She's mesmerized by her tiny bags and shoes and little pets. Her body proportions and appearance make for a cute playmate but they don't really matter to her that much. Barbie in an emerald mermaid gown is dragged into a diaper-change situation or a hill-climbing adventure in much the same way as she's cordially invited to a tea party with bunnies in tuxedos. Sometimes, Peaches insists she wears her baby tees cos she thinks her dress is not too comfy. Sometimes, little Barbie falls sick, even though she couldn't look less airbrushed to perfection, and she's administered orange juice in a dropper. And while trying to slide on a pair of jeans on her that Peaches has washed for her benefit , I realize that even poor Barbie has 'real' moments when her jeans are too tight to go over her hips.
And it occurs to me that all the Barbie-bashing and stereotyping actually happens in my mind as an adult. The real problem is not Barbie's fake eyelashes and unrealistic body image. The problem is that I read too much into it. Cos as parents, we either probe something too much to the point of irrationality or we just stare at it blank-faced in incomprehension; right before falling into an awkward slumber, exhausted from thinking, manipulating and pointing cautionary fingers.
The truth for now is that my little girl is discovering a world of her own, alongside Barbie - a world where everything goes. Where a head-turner doll in high heels and short skirts could very well be a palaeontologist if she wants to. And a world where Barbie doesn't get her way just 'cos she's pretty and she'll still have to wait for her turn to go on the slide next to pudgy piggies and slow turtles.
So, quite contrary to my beliefs earlier about not wanting Peaches to get swayed by dolls and runway dresses, I've decided I'm gonna let her keep her Barbies and dollhouses. I'm going to let her pretend-wear my lipstick once in a while and watch herself in the mirror, etching her grown-up diva self in her reflection. I'm gonna let her get caught up in designing her own wardrobe (well in her case, it's going to be the shoes that come first) and every candyfloss reality that she cares for. For, as long as I can remember, girls have had a vision of an enchanted life in which all eyes are on them. I read the classics as a little girl and imagined myself in one of those lacey, lilac, tight-corsetted Victorian gowns, even if it meant getting nebulized in them later. I imagined how it would have been to go to one of those ball dances and be the center of everyone's attention and then sneak out to have my own after-party with a select fraternity later. Girls need their excuses to dress up and have everyone swooning after them and their magical existence.
However, I am going to keep a watchful eye on the saturation level. And maybe direct her penchant for fantasy and attention-seeking to dance, music and theatre. And if she gets a little too involved in her appearance, so beat it. It doesn't mean she can't have other interests, such as animals, food and the world around her. Maybe, there'll come a time when she'll echo the beauty and popularity ideal dictated by the instagram of the fashion brigade. As being the turf of those who fit the Barbie image of being slender and tall and goddess-like. She'll probably even paint their reality as idyllic with their days filled with rosy escapades of shopping, fine dining, fitness routines and high-flying parties with tiny, vibrant-looking canapes and selfie props. Of course then, I'll have to try harder to ensure that this obsession of superficial gloss of it doesn't stay with her for long and she can move on to more constructive things in life.
But aside from this grim, adult vantage point of her fake charmed life, let's not forget that Barbie, to a little girl, remains a dedicated playmate who is true to her self and is venturing out on her own into a world of possibilities. So she does it with extra sparkle but that couldn't hurt anyone.
Thus I vow to not give Barbie any more flack for her itsy-bitsy waistline and bunion-giving shoes. Sure her choice of make-up and footwear seem a bit impractical, especially in a lab coat. But she wasn't really meant to mimic real life and I'll let Peaches call her bluff by herself. Whenever she's ready.
But sure as hell, I'm going to be a total grinch and say no to Barbie-themed parties, oreo cookies for Barbie, Barbie bathroom sets and pink furry pencils with lil Barbie mascots.
That's where I draw the line on the Barbie infiltration...
Obviously, for those very reasons and her annoying 'come hither' expression, there comes a time in your life when you loathe her with all your might. And poor Barbie still struggles to prove her worth to the world at large, including feminists - that she's not just a pretty face living in a fancy bubble. She took her exact same measurements and doll face across diverse, smart professions. She was a photographer, an astronaut, an US presidential candidate, a rock diva, a doctor and thanks to recent commercials, a professor, a soccer coach, a vet, well everything that you could possibly want her to be. And if parents like me are getting peeved with her empty stares, Hola new Barbie! The Hello Barbie series is programmed to have intelligent, politically-correct conversations with children belonging to various ethnicities, recording their responses and leading with new questions. Of course, the immediate concern with that one is won't her engagement come in the way of her role-playing ability in child neverland?
When I look back at the journey of Barbie, I feel a bit sad for her. I wouldn't say she's necessarily a bad role model. In fact, I'm even tempted to go ahead and say that the reason Barbie is trying so hard to please everyone is because of her to-die-for figure and her beautiful face. Had she been a little hard on the eyes, or carrying a bit of holiday weight every now and then, or sporting some occasional acne like us lesser mortals, she wouldn't have to try this hard to prove her worth. She wouldn't go on to fight against phrases such "You're such a Barbie" to imply insipidity, narcissism, an all-hair-but-no-brain existence and above all, a woman who's perennially a damsel in distress. Maybe it's her trademark commitment to flawlessness and anorexic waistline that make us feel threatened. We fear that our little girls would in some way internalize that perfect, skinny ideal and not appreciate any other shape as acceptable. Barbie, frozen in her utopian bliss, could potentially be tipping little girls over to the real world of body shaming, low self-esteem and food abuse.
Nevertheless, I feel for her, for as far as I can recall as a little girl, she was super-fun. And yet, when I see my three-year old girl slowly edging towards the 'Barbie world', only to linger on with her for hours, I am a bit wary. Cos now I'm an over-analytical, paranoid parent who believes that little children draw lessons from everything around them. So if I watch her play with a tad too many pink princesses, I fight back temptation to throw in a scientist doll. I try to bring in a bit of diversity in the hairstyles and dresses she sports and when Peaches fusses over her hair, I emphasize that she doesn't mind frizzed-out hair once in a while.
And then I think to myself, "What the f*** is wrong with me? She's a plastic doll. Peaches plays with her the same way I did. She's mesmerized by her tiny bags and shoes and little pets. Her body proportions and appearance make for a cute playmate but they don't really matter to her that much. Barbie in an emerald mermaid gown is dragged into a diaper-change situation or a hill-climbing adventure in much the same way as she's cordially invited to a tea party with bunnies in tuxedos. Sometimes, Peaches insists she wears her baby tees cos she thinks her dress is not too comfy. Sometimes, little Barbie falls sick, even though she couldn't look less airbrushed to perfection, and she's administered orange juice in a dropper. And while trying to slide on a pair of jeans on her that Peaches has washed for her benefit , I realize that even poor Barbie has 'real' moments when her jeans are too tight to go over her hips.
And it occurs to me that all the Barbie-bashing and stereotyping actually happens in my mind as an adult. The real problem is not Barbie's fake eyelashes and unrealistic body image. The problem is that I read too much into it. Cos as parents, we either probe something too much to the point of irrationality or we just stare at it blank-faced in incomprehension; right before falling into an awkward slumber, exhausted from thinking, manipulating and pointing cautionary fingers.
The truth for now is that my little girl is discovering a world of her own, alongside Barbie - a world where everything goes. Where a head-turner doll in high heels and short skirts could very well be a palaeontologist if she wants to. And a world where Barbie doesn't get her way just 'cos she's pretty and she'll still have to wait for her turn to go on the slide next to pudgy piggies and slow turtles.
So, quite contrary to my beliefs earlier about not wanting Peaches to get swayed by dolls and runway dresses, I've decided I'm gonna let her keep her Barbies and dollhouses. I'm going to let her pretend-wear my lipstick once in a while and watch herself in the mirror, etching her grown-up diva self in her reflection. I'm gonna let her get caught up in designing her own wardrobe (well in her case, it's going to be the shoes that come first) and every candyfloss reality that she cares for. For, as long as I can remember, girls have had a vision of an enchanted life in which all eyes are on them. I read the classics as a little girl and imagined myself in one of those lacey, lilac, tight-corsetted Victorian gowns, even if it meant getting nebulized in them later. I imagined how it would have been to go to one of those ball dances and be the center of everyone's attention and then sneak out to have my own after-party with a select fraternity later. Girls need their excuses to dress up and have everyone swooning after them and their magical existence.
However, I am going to keep a watchful eye on the saturation level. And maybe direct her penchant for fantasy and attention-seeking to dance, music and theatre. And if she gets a little too involved in her appearance, so beat it. It doesn't mean she can't have other interests, such as animals, food and the world around her. Maybe, there'll come a time when she'll echo the beauty and popularity ideal dictated by the instagram of the fashion brigade. As being the turf of those who fit the Barbie image of being slender and tall and goddess-like. She'll probably even paint their reality as idyllic with their days filled with rosy escapades of shopping, fine dining, fitness routines and high-flying parties with tiny, vibrant-looking canapes and selfie props. Of course then, I'll have to try harder to ensure that this obsession of superficial gloss of it doesn't stay with her for long and she can move on to more constructive things in life.
But aside from this grim, adult vantage point of her fake charmed life, let's not forget that Barbie, to a little girl, remains a dedicated playmate who is true to her self and is venturing out on her own into a world of possibilities. So she does it with extra sparkle but that couldn't hurt anyone.
Thus I vow to not give Barbie any more flack for her itsy-bitsy waistline and bunion-giving shoes. Sure her choice of make-up and footwear seem a bit impractical, especially in a lab coat. But she wasn't really meant to mimic real life and I'll let Peaches call her bluff by herself. Whenever she's ready.
But sure as hell, I'm going to be a total grinch and say no to Barbie-themed parties, oreo cookies for Barbie, Barbie bathroom sets and pink furry pencils with lil Barbie mascots.
That's where I draw the line on the Barbie infiltration...
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