So, I have this dear friend (the kind you could never stop being friends with because they know way too much dirt on you) that likes to give me Barbie titles (you know- like the sets the sell in stores, Veterinarian Barbie, Nurse Barbie, Equestrian Barbie, so on) because of all the different and short lived job (and life) titles I’ve held. At times, she gave me more than one. For example, for a period of time, I was both Divorcée Barbie as well as Nordstrom Barbie. First is obvious, second because of a brief stint where I wrongly thought “I can be a salesperson!” In some very Barbie-ish honesty, it wasn’t because I thought I was a “go-getter”, it was because I wanted to dress up in pretty clothes and act charming while making money… the thing I needed to do because of the role of Divorcée Barbie.
There were plenty of others titles. Real Estate Barbie (lasted a hot minute- again, NOT a salesperson. I loved looking at the houses, though.) Bartender Barbie ( Stop for a moment. Just picture real (ha ha, I mean real plastic Mattel Barbie) slinging brewskis behind a bar. Her little plastic preformed hand trying to hold the glass… So. Wrong.) oh, oh, and there was also Broadcaster Barbie. Hey, listen. I finished the school, even got on the radio a couple times! But, like the rest..pffffft. If they made a Jack of All Trades (but master of none) Barbie, that’d be perfect. I won’t even get into PTO Barbie, Stepford Wife Barbie, or So Damn Drunk Barbie. Oh, I bet you want to hear about that one 😉 maybe later. I may or may not have looked like this:
*Disclaimer before we go on: the closest thing I have going on in the way of physical attributes that could remotely resemble Barbie is the blonde hair. No big bozooms, no teeny tiny waistline, hell, no more heels anymore for that matter. I’m, at best, a poor man’s Barbie.
There are three Barbie titles given to me by me comedic friend that I wear proudly, consistently, and happily: Mommy Barbie, Gardening Barbie, and Writer Barbie. I’m hoping she’ll bestow “Furniture Restoring” Barbie to the list, and I think when she reads this, she’ll grudgingly agree, even though she didn’t come up with the name first.
Before I close out this random vignette, I’ll allow for a moment less cheeky, and more somber-y. Though it could be interpreted as snarky, those titles have be given with great humor, abundant good cheer, over bottles and bottles of wine, and comfort food. They’ve stopped some teary moments, turned a bad moment into an hysterically funny moment, and reminded me that all my imperfections are ok, I don’t have to try and be perfect. There was such a long period of time where I tried so hard to do everything “right” – look, act, do…be. It is beyond liberating to shelf that destructive mind set, and not only allow for the faults and flaws, but to embrace them.
Lastly, and this may piss off the ultra feminists in the crowd, but I freaking love Barbie. Sure, she’s proportionally impossible. Yes, she may set an unrealistic standard for what is perceived as beautiful. But we are not mindless drones here, ladies. Tell your daughters… Better yet, show your daughters what true beauty is. If we are disparaging someone (whether a plastic or real someone) for their beauty, or their achievements, we are no better or kinder than the ones mocking the overweight/unattractive girl. I adore this quote, “You can always tell who the strong women are. They’re the ones building others up, instead of tearing them down.” -unknown.