A Lesson from Barbie World

When I was born, my mom vowed to never let me play with Barbie dolls. She didn't want me to grow up with a distorted image of female beauty. Of course, not all girls' moms were ex-Catholics like mine, who felt the need to instill a confidence in me that she and her mother lacked, the latter having given birth to 10 children (contraception=sin) and the former growing up in a household where boys did the "real" work.

And so, these other mothers thwarted my mom's plan. Barbies are hard to avoid at friends' houses, and they're the go-to gift for girls under the age of 10. Fortunately, I never found their orange-tinted skin and unnatural hair color particularly appealing. (Some girls clearly idolize her look though, judging by the large population of fake-baked bottle blondes.) Plus, I cut Barbie's hair instead of my own, which had to be a relief to my mom. (As a side note, she did allow me to get a bowl cut one year, at an actual hair cuttery. The pictures, needless to say, are painful.)

Today when I was babysitting, I watched as these two girls played with their own dolls, one Barbie doll and one Bratz doll, commenting on how pretty they were. And man, I thought Barbie was bad, but Bratz take it a step further. The next generation of girls is going to be demanding eye and head enlargement surgeries in addition to breast enhancement and liposuction. Actually, I'm fairly certain that doll manufacturers and plastic surgeons have made some sort of arrangement.

But as I was sitting there, fearing for the future, the two dolls suddenly became interested in seeking boyfriends. In this case, the prospective boy toys were actually lotion and body wash bottles. (More practical than the real thing.) And surprisingly enough, these dolls were incredibly selective. NONE of the options were decent kissers or proper gentlemen. Thus, they were thrown over my legs and into "the ocean."

Despite my concerns, I think these girls know how to handle a guy. And I thought I had learned the same lesson during my Barbie years and beyond. But I held onto a boy even less tangible than theirs for far longer. I realized that my choice to throw him into the ocean was better late than never. After all, there are plenty of other fish, lotions and body washes in the sea.