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Olimpia Benito, daughter of photographer David Benito, plays in her room styling and dressing her Barbies dolls on July 19, 2023k in Madrid, Spain, as demand for the doll has increased by 17% among Spanish consumers.
Because the new film validates potential criticisms, audiences are expected to embrace it as feminist-themed entertainment, but Barbie is still a problem.
When I was a little girl, my parents bought me a Barbie—a blonde, blue-eyed doll who I played with for years before I ever met a blond, blue-eyed person. My doll set the standard for beauty—one that was out of reach of a brown-skinned, dark-haired kid whose body type was chubby in contrast to my Barbie, but typical for my age.
Eventually, I hated everything the doll stood for: dangerously unattainable beauty standards, the deliberate vapidity of feminism, the centering of whiteness. So, I was surprised when my two sons, aged 10 and 15, recently said they were eager to see the new Barbie film.
The film’s clever marketing has people of all demographics excited: “If you love Barbie, this movie is for you. If you hate Barbie, this movie is for you,” proclaimed the trailer. But ultimately the film is a commercial for an outdated toy.
Handler wanted to market an “adult” doll to girls because the contemporary dolls ones were either baby dolls or had, in her words, “flat chests, big bellies, and squatty legs—they were built like overweight 6- or 8-year-olds.”
Launched in 1959 and conceived by Ruth Handler, Barbie was modeled on a German doll named Bild Lilli, an adult men’s gag gift. Brennan Kilbane wrote in Allure that, “Bild Lilli was a single-panel comic character in a German tabloid—a sweet, ditzy, curvy figment of the male imagination, frequently losing her clothes and enjoying the company of men.”
Handler wanted to market an “adult” doll to girls because the contemporary dolls ones were either baby dolls or had, in her words, “flat chests, big bellies, and squatty legs—they were built like overweight 6- or 8-year-olds.”
The doll has always been tone-deaf. Soon after Barbie was launched, just as second-wave feminism emerged, Mattel released Slumber Party Barbie. This Barbie, Devika Sunand wrote, “came with pink pajamas, a pink scale set at 110 lbs, and a diet book on how to lose weight, with only one instruction: DON’T EAT!”
But because the new film validates such criticisms, audiences are expected to embrace it as feminist-themed entertainment.
They’re invited to wear the doll’s signature Pepto-Bismol pink to theaters—the same color associated with gender stereotyping of girls. A social media fashion trend called #Barbiecore on TikTok is garnering hundreds of millions of views for posts created by young influencers heavily made up to look like the doll.
Barbie has also popularized the horrific-sounding “bimbo feminism.”
“Instead of abandoning femininity to succeed in a patriarchal society, bimbo feminism embraces femininity while supporting women’s advancement,” wrote Harriet Fletcher in The Conversation. In other words, women are supposed to attain career success while appealing to men.
There persists a belief that Barbie is a feminist icon in spite of Mattel steering clear of the f-word. Robbie Brenner, head of Mattel Films, says the film is “the ultimate female-empowerment movie.” While America Ferrera’s character, struggling with the pressures of patriarchy, is the film’s most relatable protagonist, she remains a supporting actor.
Even the right-wing backlash to the film as “anti-man” is being touted as a measure of its feminism. If it’s angering the misogynist incels, surely it’s on the feminist track, claim the film’s defenders. “It’s not a Barbie doll that threatens women’s rights, opportunities, and safety—it’s the patriarchy,” wrote Fletcher. But both are true, to different extents.
Defenders of the film point to its diverse casting. But as Kilbane explained in Allure: “The Barbieverse distinguishes between two Barbies. There’s Barbie ‘the icon,’ or ‘brand,’ who can be blonde and short, or Black and svelte, or Frida Kahlo and white. There’s Barbie ‘the character,’ who is exactly who you’re thinking of, and will be played by Margot Robbie.”
Ultimately the film is a $145 million ad campaign for a toy that should have faded away years ago.
Dear Common Dreams reader, It’s been nearly 30 years since I co-founded Common Dreams with my late wife, Lina Newhouser. We had the radical notion that journalism should serve the public good, not corporate profits. It was clear to us from the outset what it would take to build such a project. No paid advertisements. No corporate sponsors. No millionaire publisher telling us what to think or do. Many people said we wouldn't last a year, but we proved those doubters wrong. Together with a tremendous team of journalists and dedicated staff, we built an independent media outlet free from the constraints of profits and corporate control. Our mission has always been simple: To inform. To inspire. To ignite change for the common good. Building Common Dreams was not easy. Our survival was never guaranteed. When you take on the most powerful forces—Wall Street greed, fossil fuel industry destruction, Big Tech lobbyists, and uber-rich oligarchs who have spent billions upon billions rigging the economy and democracy in their favor—the only bulwark you have is supporters who believe in your work. But here’s the urgent message from me today. It's never been this bad out there. And it's never been this hard to keep us going. At the very moment Common Dreams is most needed, the threats we face are intensifying. We need your support now more than ever. We don't accept corporate advertising and never will. We don't have a paywall because we don't think people should be blocked from critical news based on their ability to pay. Everything we do is funded by the donations of readers like you. When everyone does the little they can afford, we are strong. But if that support retreats or dries up, so do we. Will you donate now to make sure Common Dreams not only survives but thrives? —Craig Brown, Co-founder |
When I was a little girl, my parents bought me a Barbie—a blonde, blue-eyed doll who I played with for years before I ever met a blond, blue-eyed person. My doll set the standard for beauty—one that was out of reach of a brown-skinned, dark-haired kid whose body type was chubby in contrast to my Barbie, but typical for my age.
Eventually, I hated everything the doll stood for: dangerously unattainable beauty standards, the deliberate vapidity of feminism, the centering of whiteness. So, I was surprised when my two sons, aged 10 and 15, recently said they were eager to see the new Barbie film.
The film’s clever marketing has people of all demographics excited: “If you love Barbie, this movie is for you. If you hate Barbie, this movie is for you,” proclaimed the trailer. But ultimately the film is a commercial for an outdated toy.
Handler wanted to market an “adult” doll to girls because the contemporary dolls ones were either baby dolls or had, in her words, “flat chests, big bellies, and squatty legs—they were built like overweight 6- or 8-year-olds.”
Launched in 1959 and conceived by Ruth Handler, Barbie was modeled on a German doll named Bild Lilli, an adult men’s gag gift. Brennan Kilbane wrote in Allure that, “Bild Lilli was a single-panel comic character in a German tabloid—a sweet, ditzy, curvy figment of the male imagination, frequently losing her clothes and enjoying the company of men.”
Handler wanted to market an “adult” doll to girls because the contemporary dolls ones were either baby dolls or had, in her words, “flat chests, big bellies, and squatty legs—they were built like overweight 6- or 8-year-olds.”
The doll has always been tone-deaf. Soon after Barbie was launched, just as second-wave feminism emerged, Mattel released Slumber Party Barbie. This Barbie, Devika Sunand wrote, “came with pink pajamas, a pink scale set at 110 lbs, and a diet book on how to lose weight, with only one instruction: DON’T EAT!”
But because the new film validates such criticisms, audiences are expected to embrace it as feminist-themed entertainment.
They’re invited to wear the doll’s signature Pepto-Bismol pink to theaters—the same color associated with gender stereotyping of girls. A social media fashion trend called #Barbiecore on TikTok is garnering hundreds of millions of views for posts created by young influencers heavily made up to look like the doll.
Barbie has also popularized the horrific-sounding “bimbo feminism.”
“Instead of abandoning femininity to succeed in a patriarchal society, bimbo feminism embraces femininity while supporting women’s advancement,” wrote Harriet Fletcher in The Conversation. In other words, women are supposed to attain career success while appealing to men.
There persists a belief that Barbie is a feminist icon in spite of Mattel steering clear of the f-word. Robbie Brenner, head of Mattel Films, says the film is “the ultimate female-empowerment movie.” While America Ferrera’s character, struggling with the pressures of patriarchy, is the film’s most relatable protagonist, she remains a supporting actor.
Even the right-wing backlash to the film as “anti-man” is being touted as a measure of its feminism. If it’s angering the misogynist incels, surely it’s on the feminist track, claim the film’s defenders. “It’s not a Barbie doll that threatens women’s rights, opportunities, and safety—it’s the patriarchy,” wrote Fletcher. But both are true, to different extents.
Defenders of the film point to its diverse casting. But as Kilbane explained in Allure: “The Barbieverse distinguishes between two Barbies. There’s Barbie ‘the icon,’ or ‘brand,’ who can be blonde and short, or Black and svelte, or Frida Kahlo and white. There’s Barbie ‘the character,’ who is exactly who you’re thinking of, and will be played by Margot Robbie.”
Ultimately the film is a $145 million ad campaign for a toy that should have faded away years ago.
When I was a little girl, my parents bought me a Barbie—a blonde, blue-eyed doll who I played with for years before I ever met a blond, blue-eyed person. My doll set the standard for beauty—one that was out of reach of a brown-skinned, dark-haired kid whose body type was chubby in contrast to my Barbie, but typical for my age.
Eventually, I hated everything the doll stood for: dangerously unattainable beauty standards, the deliberate vapidity of feminism, the centering of whiteness. So, I was surprised when my two sons, aged 10 and 15, recently said they were eager to see the new Barbie film.
The film’s clever marketing has people of all demographics excited: “If you love Barbie, this movie is for you. If you hate Barbie, this movie is for you,” proclaimed the trailer. But ultimately the film is a commercial for an outdated toy.
Handler wanted to market an “adult” doll to girls because the contemporary dolls ones were either baby dolls or had, in her words, “flat chests, big bellies, and squatty legs—they were built like overweight 6- or 8-year-olds.”
Launched in 1959 and conceived by Ruth Handler, Barbie was modeled on a German doll named Bild Lilli, an adult men’s gag gift. Brennan Kilbane wrote in Allure that, “Bild Lilli was a single-panel comic character in a German tabloid—a sweet, ditzy, curvy figment of the male imagination, frequently losing her clothes and enjoying the company of men.”
Handler wanted to market an “adult” doll to girls because the contemporary dolls ones were either baby dolls or had, in her words, “flat chests, big bellies, and squatty legs—they were built like overweight 6- or 8-year-olds.”
The doll has always been tone-deaf. Soon after Barbie was launched, just as second-wave feminism emerged, Mattel released Slumber Party Barbie. This Barbie, Devika Sunand wrote, “came with pink pajamas, a pink scale set at 110 lbs, and a diet book on how to lose weight, with only one instruction: DON’T EAT!”
But because the new film validates such criticisms, audiences are expected to embrace it as feminist-themed entertainment.
They’re invited to wear the doll’s signature Pepto-Bismol pink to theaters—the same color associated with gender stereotyping of girls. A social media fashion trend called #Barbiecore on TikTok is garnering hundreds of millions of views for posts created by young influencers heavily made up to look like the doll.
Barbie has also popularized the horrific-sounding “bimbo feminism.”
“Instead of abandoning femininity to succeed in a patriarchal society, bimbo feminism embraces femininity while supporting women’s advancement,” wrote Harriet Fletcher in The Conversation. In other words, women are supposed to attain career success while appealing to men.
There persists a belief that Barbie is a feminist icon in spite of Mattel steering clear of the f-word. Robbie Brenner, head of Mattel Films, says the film is “the ultimate female-empowerment movie.” While America Ferrera’s character, struggling with the pressures of patriarchy, is the film’s most relatable protagonist, she remains a supporting actor.
Even the right-wing backlash to the film as “anti-man” is being touted as a measure of its feminism. If it’s angering the misogynist incels, surely it’s on the feminist track, claim the film’s defenders. “It’s not a Barbie doll that threatens women’s rights, opportunities, and safety—it’s the patriarchy,” wrote Fletcher. But both are true, to different extents.
Defenders of the film point to its diverse casting. But as Kilbane explained in Allure: “The Barbieverse distinguishes between two Barbies. There’s Barbie ‘the icon,’ or ‘brand,’ who can be blonde and short, or Black and svelte, or Frida Kahlo and white. There’s Barbie ‘the character,’ who is exactly who you’re thinking of, and will be played by Margot Robbie.”
Ultimately the film is a $145 million ad campaign for a toy that should have faded away years ago.