Friday, February 26, 2010


Okay, let me start by saying that growing up, I was a Barbie kind of girl (at least until Sailor Moon came out but that's neither here nor there).
You could cut her hair (well, once anyway), endlessly change her clothes, and when you got tired of what she came with, you could clothe Barbie (or as I called her, (Voluptua, Duchess of Awesome )in your own sensational designs utilizing such avant-garde upcycled (that's what the cool kids are calling it now, right?) materials like toilet paper and wads of tulle harvested from your mom's old bridesmaid dresses. After all, fashion is what Barbie is all about.

But let us not pidgeonhole the lady; she might have done a lot of modelling, but it's not how she defined herself. In the eighties and nineties, Barbie was all over the workforce. I like to think it's due to a staggering intellect and hunger for new experiences that she changed jobs so often. It could be that she was well-connected but incompetent, but honestly, anyone who rocks an outfit like this

Image sourced from

(in space, no less!) has to be some kind of maniacal genius.

Lately though, I've been worrying about the woman. Maybe she bought into that demented Hollywood mindset that sees all but a few women vanish from the screen after 35. Maybe the threat posed to her toy-aisle empire by Ghettofab Bratz dolls unhinged her. Whatever the cause, she seems to have regressed into a six year old Beauty Queen.

Now don't get me wrong, there's absolutely nothing wrong with spending an otherwise uneventful weekend making your own wings by stretching kitchen garbage bags over wire hanger armatures and smearing yourself with with your roommate's Raspberry Irridescent Dream Body Glitter in order to prance around the apartment waving a pink jelly Mermaid vibrator like a magical wand. It can be a lot of fun, especially if your roommate returns home unexpectedly and catches you mid-piroette trying to enchant the cat.

No, even the most hard-boiled broad has a little Ballarina in her soul and I don't think less of Barbie for breaking out the tutu now and then. What has me concerned is the frequency of these episodes- it seems that it's all she does these days. BARBIE WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR DREAMS OF BEING A VETERANARIAN ASTRONAUT?!

"I am a Space Kitten and I am not vaccinated against Space Rabies... Whatever Shall I Do?"


Whenever you see Barbie these days, it is most likely that she will be either a mermaid, fairy, or princess. Mermaid, fairy, princess. Mermaid, fairy, princess. Mermaid, fairy, princess. mermaidfairyprincess. Rabbitrabbitrabbit!
I was starting to get used to this, thinking that perhaps it was just a cute quirky phase like when Britney was pretending to be a virgin. But then....
Then, at my niece's birthday party, I had a moment of clarity when I saw her unwrap

What?! The fins turn into wings? But that-



It doesn't even make sense! Fairies live in the air, Mermaids, the sea. This unnatural hybrid creature is about as likely as a deep sea parrot, or a soaring air whale!


It's pink, glittering, Mariah Carey flavoured maddness, that's what it is.

With a heart of lead, I realized that day that Barbie was beyond redemption. Something vital had snapped, sending her mind to that enchanted kingdom from which there is no return.

Then I started thinking, "She's been spending an awful lot of time with my niece, and with other little girls. What must they be thinking?"

Panic-stricken, I grabbed the aformentioned child by the shoulders and shock her while screaming, "Quickly, what do you want to be when you grow up? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE?!"
When she finally stopped crying (Kids! Jesus!) She said that she wanted to be a princess.


"B-but why?" I stuttered, on the verge of tears. The afflicted child appeared lucid, but I braced myself for a full-blown fit of the crazies. After a moment of thought, she answered, "They wear pretty dresses and get rescued."
"But they don't do anything!"

The situation was far worst than anticipated. Not only had Barbie's frilly maddness infected the children with visions of Ballarinafairyhamburgers or whatever, but it was also making them lazy. Because of this, I wept tears of inconsolable sorrow for the inevitable future generations of barefootpregnantpolygamistchildbrides.

But then, a glorious ray of sunshine broke through the clouds.

"It's gotta be a fluke," I sighed. "No two little girls could possibly be this awesome."

I was wrong.

There is the possability that her parents are just dressing her up in tribute to their favorite childhood cartoon, but I don't think so. Look at the kid's face. She's badass and knows it.

You know what? As long as this keeps up, the kids are gonna be alright. I gotta go make my niece a Samus Aran Suit now.

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