Barbie Wins

So, the thing is... I think Barbie won this round.

My three-(almost four)-year-old, Ana, has a new friend. A new friend who actually LIVES ON OUR STREET --this is just a bonanza for us. Someone we don't have to DRIVE to go see, which seems to require the alignment of the moon and stars and Jane's naptime. Ana's new friend is named Morgan and she's a year older than Ana. In fact, she just turned five and invited Ana to her birthday party. Which meant I had to go gift shopping.

Why is that noteworthy? Well, Morgan is a girly-girl. Well, actually, Morgan is sort of rough and tumble kind of girl. She looks like a little porcelain doll and her room is about as pink as one little girl's room can be but she's not prissy at all. In fact, she's a lot like I picture Jane (my youngest daughter, who is 15 months) will be at age five --still fearless, still not really paying much heed to the cautionary voices of the adults around her.

Now, you know how I've droned on and on (and on) about gender-specific toys and how I feel they harm the self-images of my little girls, right? Morgan came for her first play-date at our house carrying a large paper sack filled with Barbies. She has just about every Barbie ever made. She is INTO Barbie.

Ana is NOT into Barbies. More specifically, her MOTHER is not into Barbies. In fact, not only am I not INTO Barbies, I'm pretty vehemently opposed to ANY doll whose feet are permanently molded into the high-heel shape. (She could never run from a mugger! What kind of message is that?)

I don't know why I dislike Barbie so much. I mean, Ana has many other types of dolls that do not in the slightest resemble the human body, so why does all my wrath come down on Barbie? Maybe it's because her name is a derivative of MY name, and periodically, people try to call me Barbie when they first meet me. And then, you know, they always ask where Ken is --like I haven't heard THAT line before. (I usually mutter something about "Oh, I left him cross-dressing at home, thanks." and go on about my business.)

Maybe I detest Barbie because between the yacht, the dream house, the convertible, the horse, the dogs, the various careers, the airplane, and the fabulous fountain pool, she apparently has more on the ball than I do. Of course, she's still in a relationship with a man who can't commit but she is, apparently, a self-made woman. Who really needs a guy around who needs that much of a clothing allowance, anyway?

Maybe I hate Barbie because I just don't think a doll who looks like a stripper is a particularly wholesome toy for a child. Maybe I'm afraid my husband's inevitable mid-life crisis will include a Barbie look-alike of his own. I don't know.

So, anyway, I went shopping for Morgan's birthday present and I knew I'd be looking for something Barbie-esque. I don't know Morgan well-enough yet to know what other interests she has and because I am so jazzed that Ana might actually have found a nice girl on this street to play with, I really wanted our present to Morgan to be something she really liked.

So, I tried to arrange all the elements so that I would have the greatest chance of success. I waited to go to the toy store until I'd already been to the gym and my body was coursing with endorphins. I went to one of those toy superstores --you know the one that can't spell its own name correctly? I figured they might have the largest selection of Barbie paraphernalia. I listened to a motivational CD on my way. I was prepared. I was prepared. I was prepared.

NOTHING could have prepared me.

It was like an ACRE of pink, an OCEAN of pink --I went pink BLIND! I kept having to wheel my cart around to the Lego section so I could regain my vision. I considered leaving the store to get a cold coke but knew this would just prolong the agony. So, I began to cull through the offerings.

Barbie has changed a lot since the days when *I* played with them. For one thing, she has a lot more vehicles. AND, Barbie now has a little sister named Kelly. Kelly, of course, has an entire line of houses, vehicles, friends and accessories that belong to HER. Still no parents, although it is interesting to speculate who the parents of Barbie and Kelly might be.

And the clothes --oh my GOSH, the clothes!! At least a fourth of an acre was devoted to fashion for Babs and her cronies. I was relieved to see that there were actually some Skipper clothing items --remember Skipper? Barbie's more athletic cousin? I knew they were her clothes because there were absolutely NO bikinis and nothing pink and frilly. It was all plaid and rugged for Skipper. But there weren't any Skipper dolls in sight --must have all been at the Indigo Girls concert. I was bummed because I thought Skipper might actually be a doll that a kid could play with without getting the wrong idea about what glamorous and successful womanhood really is.

Anyway, I stood there and I tried to regain some semblance of my equilibrium. But I was just so stunned --I mean there was the Happy Holiday Barbie Doll and the INTERNATIONAL Happy Holidays Barbie Doll. The Dream House and the Beach House and the Treehouse. You can buy Barbie HEADS for hair styling. There's the Barbie Pizza Hut Playset, the Barbie Chic Shoe Store Playset, the Barbie Magic Jewel Princess Playset. The Barbie Jam 'n Glam Tour Bus, the Barbie Grand Hotel. There are sewing patterns for Barbie clothes, there are cameras with Barbie's face on them, cosmetics, diaries, books, stickers, bedding, furniture --it is MIND BOGGLING. I ended up getting Morgan a set of pink Barbie walkie-talkies.

I was sweating by this time and some nice young high-school clerk asked me if I'd like to sit down. I just stared at him, unable to speak. He left, presumably to call security, and I... well, I had a complete breakdown of all my parenting standards. I can't explain it. It was like some kind of Pink Dementia. I don't know what came over me.

I bought Ana a Barbie.

I did, I really did. Barbie as a Pediatrician. The set even came with a Kelly doll. I, who have spent most of my life avoiding pink and frilly and girly as perpetuating a sexist stereotype, bought my daughter a Barbie.

I just felt so powerless in the face of the unparalleled and relentless marketing of Barbie --she's like Madonna times about a zillion --and I guess I thought that maybe we could beat them BY joining them. Like maybe it's inevitable that Ana play with Barbies and I better try to at least guide her interest in them to something worthy of her aspirations.

So, I called my husband shakily on the way home and asked him to meet me outside so I could run a present for Ana by him. Obviously, he knows my stance on Barbie. He looked at me, astonished, as I showed him what I'd bought.

"Barb," he said gently. "Did Ana ASK for a Barbie?"

"Um. Well. No."

"Well, then I'd say let's not PUSH her to play with Barbies. Maybe we should cross that bridge when she asks for one."

He went back inside the house and I put Dr. Barbie back in the trunk. I had to recognize that the ghosts from my own childhood sometimes make it too important to ME that Ana have everything the other girls have. Even when I don't necessarily think it's good for her. Even when she doesn't ask for it.

I blinked back a few tears at my hubris of thinking that I was a match for that marketing machine. But you know what? I bet ANA will be a much tougher foe for that blonde bimbo.

To subscribe or unsubscribe to this free e-mail newsletter, send e-mail to barb@sothethingis.com. (Your address will not be used for any other purpose.) If you would like to forward this column on, please do so in its entirety. Feedback welcome. Back issues can be found at http://www.sothethingis.com

Barbara Cooper is the mother of Ana (3.75) and Jane (15 months). She lives in Austin, Texas and thinking of founding a support group for other Toys-R-US shoppers.