Once upon a time, an imaginative little girl in a small town was at home with her family, opening presents. It was her birthday, and she was turning six years old. Her little bob haircut swished back and forth as she turned to pick up the next one, neatly wrapped in a square box. She tore apart the wrapping paper and gasped: a Barbie Polaroid! It was dreamily perfect: pink and green and purple–all of her favorite colors, of course–and with it came colorful flower stickers, which she promptly stuck all over it. She loved stickers. She loved taking photos with her new camera, which printed instant pictures with gusto, the subjects of each photo framed in Barbie-themed pink and white patterns. And tomboyish as she was–preferring to play soccer with the boys at recess and catch frogs and bugs in her backyard–still, this little girl loved Barbie.

In fact, her camera would now match the pink and white Barbie Jeep parked in her parents’ garage, which she drove joyously up and down the driveway, squealing with delight. In a child’s world of pretend, imagination, and magic, Barbie was cast as a leading role, and made frequent appearances in her make believe play with her friends. 

Little did this six-year-old know that when she grew up, Barbie would come back into her life–and the lives of many others–in a major way.

**NOTE: this post contains Barbie movie spoilers.**

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Who is Barbie to You?

For nearly all of us, Barbie was as much interwoven into our culture as she was in our formative years as children. “[Barbie] may have just started as a girl in a bathing suit,” purrs narrator Helen Mirren early in the movie, “but she became so much more.” (Can she narrate my life, too?) My own mother used to say with pride, “Barbie and I share the same birthday.” Well, the same birthday month (March), and only two years apart. But still.

Given her longevity, reach, success, and continuous evolution (rebranding), everyone around the world knows Barbie. Curiously, I started asking those around me their own take on Barbie. Did you play with her growing up? Why or why not? The answers I got varied widely, fascinating me all the more. 

My next door neighbor, a Duke professor in her sixties who describes herself as a second-wave feminist, told me her strict Irish mother–perturbed by the doll’s busty figure and seductive appearance–forbade Barbie from their household. She did, however, allow the Barbie-adjacent Skipper Roberts, Barbie’s brunette babysitting younger sister, and Midge, the pregnant doll apparently marketed as Barbie’s BFF (who oddly never stops being a punch line in the movie. I’d welcome readers’ thoughts on this.)

A college friend raised by a single mother in Southeast Asia described to me the moment her erstwhile absent father reappeared in her life, seeking a relationship, when she was six. So, she struck a deal with him, with one simple request: buy her Barbies, of course. So, he did. The Barbies didn’t fix everything, but it did open the door to an improving relationship. The family circumstances notwithstanding, I couldn’t help but find amusing the thought of my friend, perhaps with the same little-girl bob cut I had at six, looking up at her father solemnly, shaking his hand in agreement, utterly baffled by such a simple but mandatory request from his daughter. Business savvy even then.

And for a kind friend, a gay man who grew up with three brothers, Barbies weren’t exactly abundantly available in his family home. But he recalls with a spark in his eye the massive trunk full of Barbies that his grandma kept at her house, which he and his cousin would always play with together to their heart’s content, each time they’d visit. He smiles fondly at the memory. Then followed a tragedy: his aunt–the mother of that close cousin–committed suicide. He admits that they were both too little to understand very much of what was going on, including, no doubt, the trauma that would linger for his cousin as she grew up. But looking back, he recognizes his grandma’s collection of Barbies as a salve, a welcome escape for each of them in the ways they both needed one, and into the world of a child’s imagination–even if only temporarily.

Conversely, there have also been little girls who did not see Barbie as that beacon of hope for a bright future as a woman. When she looks nothing like you, how much can you share in common? How much can she inspire you if she may also be instilling not-so-inspirational feelings? 

Those replies also varied. For instance, friend and fellow writer Lauren, in her own wellness-angled essay on Barbie, shared that she, “at aged five, loved nothing more than playing with her half a dozen or so Barbies,” but admits the complicated body image issues left in her wake. A cousin replied to my Instagram poll that she only took an interest in Barbie when they released their Spice Girls edition. And who could blame that? A friend shared openly that she simply did not feel pretty playing with dolls that did not look like her. So, instead of Barbie, she sought and found comfort in Bratz dolls, who appealed more to her not only with their darker skin and hair.

In fact, a character in the Barbie movie speaks directly to this. “I hated dolls with hair,” said the middle school girl to Barbie. The second time seeing it, this line struck me. Said by a person of color, at that moment, I wondered whether because most toy dolls in the past have had silky, shiny, long blonde hair, that meant that little girls with textured or Black hair were left without options for dolls that resembled hair like their own. In short: for a long time, Barbie’s hair was everything this girl’s own hair was not.

To Mattel’s credit, it’s more challenging to apply this criticism today. Mattel has expanded Barbie to have 9 body types, 35 skin tones, and 97 hairstyles. Barbie’s careers also span beyond 200 different kinds, from ballerina to astronaut to yoga teacher to president. While the movie definitely highlight’s Mattel’s move to evolve Barbie to resemble more types of women, it does so while still addressing the regressive effects the doll has had on consumers over the arc of its history.

How Gerwig’s Barbie Engages in Today’s Culture

So, how is Barbie’s image faring post-movie release? If the film’s multiple broken records and box office sales are any indication, let’s say she could be doing a lot worse. Not only has Barbie grossed over $1.2 billion at the Worldwide Box Office, its earnings have also made it the biggest box office debut of 2023 (dethroning Super Mario Bros in the process). This is now Warner Bros’ second-highest grossing film, closing the gap with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part Two, which earned $1.34 billion. It’s also now the biggest ever female solo directed film (surpassing 2017’s Wonder Woman). By the time I went to see it (my friend picked me up and greeted me with a cheery, “Hey, Barbie!”), I’d only seen one headline, which the BBC had tweeted, which called it “deeply bizarre and anti-man”. Though this intrigued me, I’d diligently avoided reading anything on the movie, wanting a fresh mind to develop my own perspective (no small feat, after months of hype).

But develop one, I certainly have. While I expected the movie to be entertaining, at minimum, I had not anticipated how well the film would accomplish both making me laugh and also render me pensive. Barbie poignantly grapples with a range of complex subject material: making you think and feel, while also making you laugh, much like the people in my life I love most.

The arc of the story follows Barbie and begins in her home in Barbie Land, where she enjoys a perfect life in plastic. But then a series of misfortunes unfold that clearly have no place in Barbie Land. These include a cold shower, burnt toast, expired milk, and, hilariously, her once perfectly pointed feet thudding suddenly and clumsily into awkward and–gasp–flat feet, garnering plenty of gagging from several fellow Barbies and one eavesdropping Ken. Oh, and thoughts of death.

Desperate to restore her life back to perfection, our Stereotypical Barbie (Margot Robbie) is instructed by Weird Barbie (Kate McKinnon…brilliant) to venture into the real world to address the root cause. Weird Barbie explains that Barbie’s human playmate’s “humanness” has begun to interfere with Barbie’s “dollness,” adding that ideally, “never the twain shall cross” (if this is a nod to Rudyard Kipling’s “and never the twain shall meet,” I love her for it even more). That, or leave things to progress (or rather regress), including the–gulp–cellulite spreading on her thighs. It is this first touchpoint the movie creates that points to humanness, and its glaringly imperfect nature (realism) that flies in the face of Barbie Land’s utopia (idealism).

Imposter Syndrome? Not for This Barbie

Right away, Barbie Land is painted as a dreamy fantasy of what a perfect world for women could look like. Everything is bright, clean, windowless, wall-less, communal, seamless, functional, and of course, pretty. This, of course, is in part to the movie’s highly visual nature (Barbie’s bedroom alone is giving me a major itch for an entire makeover of my own. Pink lucite?? In what world??). But beyond the aesthetic are the Barbies’ standards of ambition and achievement—perhaps more poignantly, the standards they seem to set for themselves, not those that are established for (and expected of) them. As a result, they have zero qualms enjoying their own successes and indeed even celebrating them, just as much for themselves as for one another. In fact, what may have been the most captivating part of this matriarchal fairytale world (for me, anyway) was the cheeky manner the filmmakers directly addressed imposter syndrome, which affects everyone in one way or another, but especially women. “I work very hard, so I deserve it,” said one Barbie while receiving a Nobel Prize. Such a statement would be, of course, unusual at minimum, likelier unheard of, even today.

But that same Barbie continues, grinning widely as she speaks, “I have no difficulty holding both emotion and logic at the same time, and that does not diminish my power, it expands it.” This, for obvious reasons, garnered hearty laughs from the theater audience, including my friend and me. That statement (a truth–or rather, what we wish were true) and its delivery (straightforwardly, cheerily, unapologetically) directly contradicts a woman’s reality in the real world. No woman would ever say that, we’re all thinking, but if only we could.

Men in Power

No sooner does Barbie leaves Barbie Land does the film commence thematic exploration of power, and Barbie learns the truth about women’s day-to-day experience. It’s not quite until the in-your-face and openly expressed masculinity and patriarchal entitlement in the real world (“Men, men, MEN!” they all seem to chant) that the viewer starts to realize that power also exists in Barbie Land, albeit in an entirely different manifestation. The Barbies are who hold the power - so subordinate are the Kens, that one joke points out that none of them know where the Kens go to sleep at night. Funny. But also…dare I say quietly cruel? (We will break this down further.) But because everyone appears to be smiling and giggling and successful and happy and getting along, our understanding of the word power and what that connotes likely does not resemble a sparkly pink paradise, and is therefore made to seem less extreme or less of a big deal, at least in the beginning.

Much has been said about Ryan Gosling’s Ken, whose character serves as the vehicle for a sizable swath of concepts to wrestle with: from toxic masculinity, fragile male egos, and patriarchy, to overzealous musician bros who have zero qualms singing at a poor girl who just wants to have a normal date. (There is no singing to a woman…there is only singing at her: a tale as old as time that’s also encapsulated so well here.) In real life, Mattel unveiled the Ken doll as a companion to Barbie in 1961, two years after her own debut. He has been marketed as her boyfriend, and later as a close friend. Bizarrely, in 2004 Mattel made like Reese Witherspoon and Jim Toth and announced Barbie and Ken’s separation, citing that their “romance had come to an end,” but that they would “remain friends”…huh? If they are also famous, not even dolls, evidently, are exempt from celebrity relationship drama.

The moment Ken’s eyes are open to the metaphorical “forbidden fruit”–that is, patriarchy, and all of its alleged awesomeness for men–his pupils practically dilate, a wide grin spreads across his face, and he all but skips off gleefully to inform Barbie that “men rule the world!” The scene is hilarious–filled with U.S. presidents (all men), Sylvester Stallone in his floor-length fur coat era, and though horses seem an outdated symbol for masculinity, they really are “men extenders,” as Ken calls them. Three parts amusing, one part disturbing, given how truly it rings.

After some thought, though, I found myself thinking how the average woman would react if the roles were reversed. What would I do if I were to wash ashore on the island of Themyscira, and found myself surrounded by glowing and strong Amazonians, led by Queen Hippolyta and Princess Diana on horseback? (Horses can be women-extenders, too.) No men to be found? What would discovering such a mythical matriarchal utopia feel like? There is no doubt my sense of awe, wonder, and joy would overwhelm me, the likes of which I’ve surely never known, and I wouldn’t be able to rush home fast enough to tell every woman I know that such a world does, in fact, exist.

The movie does not shy away from the fact that the men who thrive the most–whether willfully, or unknowingly–in the patriarchy are not held accountable to be the kind of man women need most. The subliminal message is that this, in reality, is to their own downfall, not their victory. Instead, they tend to behave controllingly (“Get in the box…and everything will be as it was”), childishly (Will Ferrell insisting to a full elevator that he get to push the button), condescendly (“Not now, Margaret”), and coddled well into adulthood (“You’ve gotta be like a mommy, but you can’t remind them of their mommy.” Oof…say that one again for the Kens in the back.)

Indeed, the intertwined themes of gender and power are explored in both directions, as power is wrested back and forth between men and women throughout the movie. There is Barbie Land, where the Barbies are both unabashedly beautiful and with full agency, intelligence, and ambition, and then there is the real world, where, well...Unironically, the character representing the corporate cog machine, aptly named Aaron Dinkins (“Sex Education”’s Connor Swindells), says plainly, “I’m a man with no power…does that make me a woman?” It’s definitely an ouch moment…primarily because, he’s sort of has a point. But when Ken eagerly brings back the philosophy of patriarchy back to the rest of the Kens, it is they who seize control of Barbie Land, now free to flex, grow goatees, pick the movie for once (The Godfather gets a shoutout), and fill their brewski-bearing mini fridges to their hearts’ content.

Also irrevocably clear is the message that women relinquish their power the moment they relinquish their agency [agency (in women): the capacity of women and girls to take purposeful action and pursue goals, free from the threat of violence or retribution]. When the worst fate is realized in Barbie Land and their matriarchal paradise crumbles under the invasion of patriarchy, one by one, each of the Barbies are degraded to little more than arm candy for each Ken, speaking vacuously so as not to outshine their male companions. “I like not having to make any decisions,” says Physicist Barbie (“Sex Education”’s Emma Mackey) ditzily. “It’s like a spa day for my brain!” If he hearken back earlier in the film, Ken shows surprising intolerance toward Barbie when she pauses to use her brain as “Smart Barbie” would. “I hate it when people think,” he sulks, stomping his foot. “It gets so boring!” In this little hint, we see a nod to the tension of challenging male-centric norms: thinking, educating, questioning, and challenging. All of which involve women using their brains.

One of the movie’s final messages is that patriarchy isn’t only harmful to women—it harms everyone. When a bitterly emasculated Ken meanly kicks Barbie out of her house, arrogantly allows her the privilege of being his “long-term, long-distance, low commitment casual girlfriend” (a blessed G-rated version of other terms we have for that), and recruits the Kens to incite an insurrection of Barbie Land, he turns to her and asks how it feels, makes his motive very clear: revenge. If only emasculated men manifested in absurdly funny ways like floor-length-fur-coat-wearing Sylvester Stallone wannabes. Real-life examples of this are often much darker, damaging, and sometimes violent. But the idea still rings loud and clear: whenever society favors one group, it will always remain broken. Much like misandry is not the answer to misogyny, a matriarchal society is not the answer to a patriarchal one. There may be an answer to a harmful system, but the film reminds us that this does not justify swinging to the opposite extreme. We need each other to bring balance and create a space where everyone can thrive.

American Ferrera’s Speech

By now you may have heard about a powerful monologue that America Ferrera’s character, Gloria, delivers near the end of the movie. So impactful was her message that the speech was actually published in the LA Times, in addition to other major publications. I won’t repeat it all here, because seeing it delivered by Ferrera herself is obviously ideal. The fact that this scene was reshot several times and they landed on this take in particular somehow makes it that much better. And, beyond making women feel very much seen, it’s also had quite an effect on men as well.

Barbie = Feminist = Anti Man

This is a rhetorical fallacy as old as time itself. Those who call this movie anti-man, certainly, are likely to be the same folks who cry “anti-white” when a film is simply being pro-Black. Or pro-justice, or pro-equity. Being pro-woman and pro-equaltiy does. not. a man. hater. make. This has long been a swift way to shut down opposing thoughts that challenge status quo and force people to take accountability for their roles in perpetuating harmful norms.

In Barbie, jokes are doled out heartily at the expense of pretty much everyone, including women’s, and not just men’s: from poking fun at the absurdity that ensues when men in leadership claim to understand the female consumers to whom they are marketing (“When you think of sparkle, you think of female agency,” insists Will Ferrel’s character, fictional CEO of Mattel), to teasing elder Millennials and their unusual penchant for the BBC’s rendition of “Pride and Prejudice”.

The movie has, without a doubt, touched a nerve within the subgroup of Barbie critics that dismiss it as too “woke.” Amusingly, or perhaps dishearteningly, the louder corners of the right seems to have dusted off this term to demean concepts they disagree with, are made uncomfortable by, or do not care to engage with (read: feminism, patriarchy, racism, critical race theory, “Me, too,”).

Take Aways from Rebranded Barbie

Nothing comes without its critics. Those aside, what can we learn from this new era of Barbie?

1. Balance is crucial. Perhaps my favorite underlying point from Barbie is that extremes serve no one, be they in favor of men, or in favor of women. Misogyny is not the answer, but neither is misandry.

2. You are not alone. You aren’t. It’s not okay to feel unsafe at work, because your married boss doesn’t respect boundaries. Enduring mansplaining feels icky for a reason. And it’s downright muggy that women feel very real fear of speaking up against harassers largely because that can and often does risk their safety. “You should have spoken up” is often unhelpful advice.

3. Women can find encouragement in each other (see #2). Having played team sports, rushed a sorority, and played the unofficial ringleader of women gatherings throughout my adult life, strength in numbers is powerful among supportive women. Seek them, gather them, vote for them, be them.

4. None of us has the answer - including Barbie. The film’s final note? We don’t really have the answer. It’s complicated. Life, humans, the world, there is nothing straightforward about any of it. If there were, you think I’d be spending weeks pondering the meaning, timing, and placement of a feminist / anti-feminist voluptuous doll from my childhood within our contradictory and confusing culture?

5. Wear more pink. Seriously. In my giddiness leading up to and in the wake of seeing the movie, I’ve been reaching for all the pink in my closet - which is, to say, not much. A pink workout set, a fuzzy pink halter top, and a flowy pink tank top comprise all of my Barbie-core. What made me shy away from wearing pink, or other feminine colors for that matter? Why have I absorbed the message that being perceived as overly feminine is a negative thing? (Then again, the other extreme–not being feminine enough–is a swift criticism, too.) Among my other pink clothes is a pair of hot pink leggings that I love. The last time I wore them, though, I was on my way to pilates when a group of–not joking–construction workers across the street, cat-called me. It was six in the morning. There were so many of them. Was this really still a thing? I thought as I hurried inside. I haven’t worn them since. This makes me both stressed, and sad. When I thought about it, I realized that part of the reason may be to avoid either drawing attention to myself or soliciting derogatory or lascivious remarks.

6. Women need real men. Men also need real women. True feminists see full potential not only in women, but also in men. They recognize that men are not evil, but they, too, are affected by patriarchy, which Glennon Doyle calls “a poison in the air, that we’re all breathing.”

7. To be human–the good, bad, and ugly–is the ultimate gift. Finally, a leading theme, and perhaps my favorite one, is the gift of being human. The concept of Barbie was designed for a purpose: inspire little girls, exude glamor, evoke imagination. But what Barbie lacks as a mere idea is sentience, and the more time she spends in the real world, the more she realizes this: however fantastic, there are obvious limits to life in plastic. Human Barbie, however, experiences it all: what it feels like to cry (“achy…but good”), feel anxiety (“sadness without an object”), and squirm under unwanted attention (“with an undertone of violence”). 

But Barbie also learns the better parts of being human. The scene where she looks around a public park, reacting to very human interactions (a furrowed brow at a fighting couple, a smile at a pair of friends sharing a laugh). She also learns how it feels to recognize the quiet beauty in the elderly woman seated next to you at the bus stop. One touchpoint at a time, we watch Barbie dip her toes in a new sensation: empathy.

When it seems as though it is in fact, Ruth Handler stands before Barbie, evidently ready (/able?) to grant her her wish of being real, she gently warns her that “being a human can be pretty uncomfortable.” Throughout most of the movie, Barbie knows this, and wants desperately for things to just go back to the way they were, insisting, “I’ve never wanted anything to change.” 

Eventually, her feelings shift to apprehension. “The real world isn’t what I thought it would be,” Barbie tells Ruth. “It never is,” says Ruth, “but isn’t that marvelous!”

Finally, though Barbie understands that the real world is far from the perfect one she’s always known, she still decides she wants the full package that comes with being alive: “I wanna be a part of the people that make meaning, not the thing that’s made.” To watch Barbie give up perfection for humanity reminds us that our realness is what makes life such a gift—even if, or rather, because—we are not meant to last forever.

To end, this opinion piece made me laugh. (Spoiler: it’s satire.)

xoxo,

Taylor