Listen, I am a recovering mess right now. This year has been personally hard; it began near the New Year with my husband being laid off, then my father passed away, then my father-in-law, and my bestie is moving, and between grief and being stressed about money, it’s been rough.
But there is hope in pink.
I didn’t have to talk my husband into seeing the Barbie movie, he went gladly. His only hesitation was we’re still cautious and worried about COVID-19 and going to a movie theatre.
Yes, I played with Barbies as a kid. My Barbies, mostly Weird Barbies after my little ADHD hands got a hold of them, had amazing lives. My mom didn’t want me to have Barbies because many feminist moms in the 1970s didn’t want their daughters to have Barbies. She relinquished, and my Barbie days are things of family legend.
I’m beginning to think the Barbie movie is a litmus test for those who understand patriarchy: one side understands it and how it harms us all, and limits our potential. The other side, usually those who refuse to see it, think patriarchy is something that “happens to other women,” or in the case of a close relative of mine, thinks #smashingthepatriarchy means hurting her son. I guess, literally? Mkay.
The movie made me cry– not sure I could pinpoint why at the time; just the vague, unease and disquiet, for dreams of equality unrealized. And when I watched it the second time, I cried, too. I saw it with my mom, and she asked me why — and the more I’ve thought about it, the more deeply disappointed and depressing the idea of being alive almost sixty years and nothing really has changed. In fact, it’s gotten worse. Mojo-dojo-case-house is a cute way of easing into the dystopian hellscapes Olivia Butler and Margaret Atwood warned us about.
I have written before or at least shared in other spaces about my experience as a new mom in the 1990s, at least regarding no maternity leave. Families still have to plan to bring new humans into the world with so much fear of a financial burden, at least in the United States. I bet Midge wouldn’t have to beg for maternity leave. The cognitive dissonance in our nation is enough to make anyone cry. I guess things are “better,” but right now, they’re not. “Barbie” was like watching one of Quintin Tarantino’s ‘wish fulfillment’ movies — ‘Inglorious Basterds,’ ‘Django Unchained,’ and ‘Once Upon a Time in Hollywood’ are examples. Movies that give us the ending we wish had happened. If Tarantino directed “Barbie” (let’s not talk about the foot issue), would it have had a different ending? “Barbie” gave us the blueprint for how much better we can be.
I’d like to don a pink jumpsuit and de-program several patriarchal cult members right now.
