Barbie

When I was a little girl, Barbie was the biggest deal in the world. I loved her. Nothing was more exciting on Christmas morning than unwrapping a corner of a present and being greeted by a bright pink corner of a Barbie box. I could never have enough. There was even a transition period in my life when my friends had all outgrown Barbie and I still played with her in secret. I had a walk-in closet in my bedroom that served as a Barbie fort: lined with Barbie dream homes, outfits, and, of course, Barbies in the flesh… err… plastic. I was literally a closeted Barbie lover. I could only play in the closet, but still my love of Barbie flourished, and her numbers grew. By the time I actually "outgrew" Barbie, I had a formidable army of tiny, busty, fashionable, blonde power women at my disposal.

I was considerably older when I first started hearing some of the accusations that were raised against Barbie. She was deemed unrealistic and therefore an inappropriate role model for little girls. This scandalized me. Aside from the obvious "No fricking duh, she is a doll" retort I hold at the ready for these Barbie haters, I also can't help but feel judged. I, after all, am a blue-eyed blonde girl with boobs unproportionatly large for her frame. I know that sounds like a punchline, but it isn't. I never considered Barbie and my common ground to be rooted in sex appeal. It was always nice to see a successful Doctor-Vet-Horse Back Rider-Mermaid-Fairie-Princess-Model-Librarian-Pink Car Enthusiast who looked like me. Furthermore, regardless of how she looks, it is important for little girls to see a woman who can be anything!

It was with these loving thoughts that this Christmas I was happy to give my niece her very first Barbie. I went a little nuts with her stack of presents. She had to have a Barbie, a Theresa (Barbie's friend who looks like my niece), an assortment of career women outfits, and the traditional Auntie-Becky-is-a-square-who-gives-kids-books Book.

By the time I went shopping, the only individual Barbies left were Beach Barbie. I confess, I passed some judgment on Beach Barbie. Sure, she was fine for paling in the pool, but for my niece's first Barbie? No way! She needed to see Barbie in her element, dripping in success.

It was with that hope in my heart that I carefully extricated Beach Barbie, put some clothes on her and re-packaged her. My niece recently informed me of her ambition to become an "Animal Rescuer" so her first Barbie was carefully clad in kaki and holding a baby tiger she presumably rescued. Welcome to the Barbie club, Kid. Chicks Rule!