Barbara Millicent Roberts Lived Here Before She Bought Her First Dreamhouse
Barbie and me.
Walter Cronkite didn’t talk about her on the CBS Evening News. But I had to have her. I wish I could recall what social influencers there were back then that made me want her so badly. My mother thought she was ugly and a ridiculous toy for her 6 year-old. But. There. She. Was.
Wedged into that blue vinyl suitcase in high-heeled open-backed sandals, sunglasses, boobs staring straight at me, eyes coquettishly focused elsewhere. That knock out striped black-and-white swimsuit. Complete with a booklet full of luxury resort wear I was going to buy her with my parent’s money.
She also came with a stand so I could adore her free from her travel case and dream about the fur-trimmed evening jacket and ski clothes she was going to wear over the holidays.
She might get cold waiting for those ski clothes. So I knitted her a sweater. A pink sweater. The first thing I ever knitted. It didn’t take long because Barbie was skinny. But making that opening for sleeves was tricky. Needed my mother for that too.
I saw the Barbie movie last week and, as you might imagine, everyone has something to say about this campy, clever film with the adorably gorgeous Robbie and Gosling.
Ok, I know Mattel is all about making money. Lots of it. Forever. With generation after generation of young girls not content with one doll. Or one house. Then there’s 'I’m Kenough' Ken and Allan and pregnant Midge and Skipper and that dog that poops. And a pink convertible. And clothes for all her careers.
So is Barbie good for us or bad for us? I don’t really care. She's part of the family.