The Original Role Model

I was shocked to hear on NPR this morning that Barbie, the original fashionista, was turning 50 today. Who knew that skinny bitch was older than I was?

In all seriousness, I'm not about to dis Barbie. I've always been a big fan of this fabulous little doll. I was first introduced to a raven haired Barbie when I was very little. My cousin Barbara (who we always called Bobbie) had a large and enviable collection of Barbie clothing. Bobbie was a very maternal type and she allowed me to play with her Barbie. The Barbie was OK--I remember I was not crazy about the harsh auburn poodle hairstyle--but the clothes...I was enthralled. Barbie had a black sequined mermaid gown and a faux mink stole and little Christian Dior "new look" dresses. Barbie had gloves and chic clutch purses and sleek plastic pumps. And her make-up was practically drag. I loved her.

I acquired my own Barbie a few years later. My Barbie was a 60s style blond. She was a hippie version with a fringe leather vest, tie dyed peasant blouse, headband, fringed purse, boots and oversized sunglasses. I much preferred the Parisian chic Barbie, but I soon began buying Barbie outfits that suited my version of what Barbie should be. Forget the hippie--I went for mod Mary Quant type shifts and Carnaby Street hipster chic. My Barbie was happening.

Despite later protestations from advocates who suggested that Barbie stunted young girls' expectations of feminine ideals, I never felt inadequate with the image Barbie was projecting. I must have intuitively known that a woman with a 18 inch waist, a 38 inch bust line, no hips, no public hair and Mattel stamped on her ass was not a realistic standard for any one person.

As I got older, I acquired a plethora of Barbie clothes and lotsa plastic shoes and accessories. I acquired a friend for Barbie, a diminutive blond named PJ. I acquired a Ken doll (and was soundly disappointed to discover he had no genitalia). My Ken doll had stick on facial hair so one day he'd wear a van dyke beard or very long sideburns or a porn-stache. Yeah, my 70s Ken was a bad ass. He really should have had genitalia.

Then came the additional accoutrements. I received a curious item called the Barbie Carousel Kitchen, which featured six compartments with a dishwasher, a washing machine, an oven, a stove, etc. It lit up and made noise, undoubtedly highlighting the benefits of household chores. MaryCatherinFullofGrace was obsessed with the Carousel Kitchen. If I can ever find one on eBay, I will be sending it to McFOG.

Then I got Barbie's swinging apartment (Barbie's Dream House) with groovy plastic furniture and accessories. Barbie gave it up to Ken in that apartment. I remember I stripped them both, put the porn-stache on Ken, piled him on top of Barbie in her plastic single bed, draped a Kleenex over them (for modesty) and left them alone for 15 minutes. I came back and was slightly disappointed they were still in the same position, smiling cheerfully. I was so not fooled.

Around this time, my brother acquired a G.I. Joe. Now even a nubile innocent like me could see that Joe was far more macho than that milquetoast Ken with his fake stick on hair. Joe was sexy and dangerous. If Barbie was anything like me, she'd dump boring Ken and go for mad sex with Joe. I stole Joe from Marv and put him into the plastic bed with Barbie. No Kleenex required. I knew Joe had an advantage which could be captured in three simple words--Kung Fu Grip. When I returned, Barbie was definitely looking sated.

My final Barbie purchase was an early forerunner of an RV. It wasn't the party bus that current Barbie owners enjoy (their version has a hot tub)but it did allow Barbie to take to the open road and embrace her inner "Thelma & Louise." By then my Barbie (the sleek and blond "Malibu" Barbie) used Joe only for sex, browbeat Ken but kept him on her arm for appearances and wore even more fantastic fashion. I blew most of my weekly allowance on Saturday movie matinees with McFOG and new cool fashion for Barbie.

We all grow up and in time, I gave all my Barbies (and their fabulous wardrobes) to younger girls. As I ventured into adolescence, I wanted men of my own without stick-on facial hair. But dontcha know, my experience with Joe made me hope there were men exercising their own version of the Kung-Fu-Grip. I met a few of them.

I like to think Barbie was one of my pivotal choices in forging self-esteem. Barbie was an independent woman not afraid of making bold fashion choices. Barbie defined herself without subjugating her own self worth for her man. She was a pilot, a nurse, a doctor, a professor, a liberated woman before Betty Friedan came on the scene. Barbie said it was okay to be feminine while still being independent and strong. I don't get the school of thought who suggest she was a poor role model. She was actually a great role model.

So happy birthday, you fabulous old broad. You still look 20. I like to think that for the occasion you treated yourself to a double dose of Botox and perhaps, an indiscreet procedure. You're still setting the precedent.