“What happens when girls are free to imagine they can be anything?” runs a recently released ad of Mattel, which is part of its often-lauded rebranding campaign for the Barbie doll. The answer to the question is, apparently, a lot. The ad takes us through a charming two minutes of little girls playing the roles of college professor, veterinarian, soccer coach and businesswoman, to the amusement of adults around them. The ad ends with the inspirational words directed to girls everywhere: You can be anything.
But can they?
Known as the first “Teen-age Fashion Doll,” Barbie has repeatedly come under fire for her influence on the body image and self-concept of little girls worldwide. While there is little solid research to hold up the assertion that Barbie has deleterious effects on girls’ job preferences or self-esteem, it isn’t much of a stretch to imagine that Barbie is guilty of a number of crimes.
Obviously, there is the perpetuation of an unhealthy body image (there’s a famous anecdote about Barbie’s dimensions making it impossible for her to menstruate), and who can forget Barbie’s guidebook on “How to lose weight”? Who can forget that Barbie once came with a weighing scale permanently set to 110 pounds (underweight for Barbie’s theoretically 5-foot-9-inch frame)? Then there is the so-called overemphasis on traditionally feminine roles and appearance; apart from propagating the stereotype of women as shopping fanatics, Barbie stories have also reinforced the idea of girls as dunces when it comes to “harder” subjects like math and computer programming.
Barbie hasn’t always been in the wrong; very occasionally, Mattel did get it right.
Growing up in the 1990s, I saw Barbie go through the norms of a traditional heterosexual adolescence and adulthood—proms, high school, weddings—but also saw her become president, an astronaut and a doctor. Now, as a woman engaged in math, science and technology, I can’t say Barbie ever made me feel like getting my medical degree was in any way impossible or undesirable. Then there are smaller victories, like “Share a Smile, Becky”—one of Barbie’s friends who was sold in a pink wheelchair and who had enough of a backstory to become the school photographer and a paralympic. There’s also “Totally Tattoos Barbie,” who thumbed her nose at the idea of tattoos as unprofessional, undesirable, or taboo. There is, above all, the fact that, for all of the criticism leveled at her, Barbie has provided girls (and possibly boys) everywhere a venue through which to tell their own stories. My own most compelling story was one where my Egyptian Princess Barbie had a forbidden romance with my brother’s Alien action figure. Maybe, one might argue, the possibilities are endless.
That’s until you undress a Barbie doll and look in the mirror.
We have never had a fat Barbie. We have seen some of Barbie’s friends and relatives be less adult and less sexualized: The shorter, less heavily bosomed, flat-footed Skipper doll comes to mind. We have had Barbies sold in a different skin color; things have come a long way from the first Colored Francie doll sold by Mattel, as this year’s new Fashionistas line has released dolls in eight different skin tones. All of this is good news, but it still fails to justify the fact that Barbie’s proportions are remarkably similar to how they were half a century ago. It doesn’t make up for the fact that, for the different skin colors available, Barbie still has predominantly Caucasian features. It doesn’t change the fact that we have yet to see a Barbie that has the thick hair of her African American sisters, or that Barbie still only comes in one size and one body type.
Maybe it’s a reflection of how standards of beauty themselves haven’t changed much; light skin, a tiny waistline and long legs are just as desirable now as they were when Bild Lilli first made it to shop windows. But if, indeed, three Barbie dolls are sold every minute (as the manufacturer once claimed), doesn’t a company of this size and influence have a responsibility to struggle for more representation? This isn’t a bid for more realism among Barbie dolls to the point of arguing for nippled torsos or demarcated genitalia. That’s the province of another discussion. But if the new rebranded Barbie is out to tell girls that they can be anything, shouldn’t that list include fat, or short, or heavy, or small-breasted?
If there’s anything that contemporary media have told us, it’s that representation is important. We argue for more diversity in TV shows and movies; we argue to see a society reflected in media that isn’t whitewashed, or heterosexual, or fully able, or hopelessly middle-class. While Barbie has made some steps to get closer to that point, it should take more than some doll accessories and outfits from traditionally male-dominated professions for us to sit back and laud Mattel for finally “getting it right.”
Barbie still perpetuates the idea that, yes, maybe little girls can be anything, except comfortable with their own beauty. As a fat Filipino child, I certainly never blamed Barbie for my own insecurities or my (admittedly Western) concept of beauty, but, although I was able to tell stories through her, my own appearance was so removed from the Mattel image that I was never able to identify with or aspire to be her. I looked at her purple eyes, blond hair and hobbled feet and thought, Nope, I’m never going to be like that, and that was that—I did my best by making narratives through her without involving myself as a character.
But maybe children of the new century deserve better; maybe they should be reminded that maybe little girls can’t quite be anything—but maybe they shouldn’t want to be. Maybe there should be a little less of girls trying to be like Barbie, and more of Barbie trying to be like girls everywhere.
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