A couple months ago a friend invited me to see the Barbie movie. I appreciated the invite but wasn’t remotely excited about going.
Why torture myself? Feminist me at a Barbie movie? Never. (My response after I saw the movie)
Until I read the massive buzz and learned that my daughter (25), the last person I expected to see it, wanted to go.
We chatted about the movie’s premise and I told her as a feminist and a Devil’s Advocate, I’d just read that conservatives thought Barbie was over the top, excessive male bashing, a radical feminist roar.
So I asked her to let me know what she thought.
The following morning she texted:
“It was great, super whimsical, a satirical world contrasted with the complicated reality of womanhood. I think you might find the story over the top, but it conveys some very important messages every woman can relate to.”
When Taylor was little for the most part she ignored the few Barbies I gave her, the character versions like Cinderella and Belle.
My feminist values justified that Disney Barbies were merely cute merch from iconic family films, and that my daughter was too young to internalize the impossible beauty standards Barbie projected.
Which of course isn’t true.
