My first Barbie was a hand-me-down, an original manufactured in 1959, just like me. I got it when we were six. She had few clothes, and her striped bathing suit looked dated even then, so my mother set about making her a wardrobe, starting with a black satin, strapless gown that The Supremes might covet. Soon Barbie had ruffled crop tops, pleated pedal pushers, and calico sundresses, all stitched from my mother’s imagination and scrap bag. The more she created, the more her imagination took hold, until soon Barbie had a wardrobe of museum pieces.
I can still picture her chuckling over Red Skelton’s comedy hour, pinching a tape measure around Barbie’s tiny waist and muttering past the crochet hook in her mouth as she pinned the diminutive ecru dress in her lap. 3 ¼ inches here, pin, two fewer stitches here, pin, to flare out here, pin. She then ripped out several rows before reinserting the hook to fashion a fuller skirt for the wedding gown she envisioned with its fitted bodice, square neckline, and three-quarter length sleeves. Like Coco Chanel, she was exacting in her vision, as the wedding dress is the highlight of every designer’s show. This collection, which occupied an entire week while my father worked nights, included a red and black knit Flamenco dress with a lacy shawl; a Hungarian folk costume with floral apron; a white knit sheath with a gold lame bolero suitable for the Oscars; and my personal favorite, a bustled Victorian number in wintergreen with an evergreen jacket, bonnet, and bloomers.
The concept of a fashion doll, before the Barbie brand and marketing became nauseatingly pink and juvenile, was one that my mother admired for its sophistication. She saw Barbie’s glamor as giving me something to aspire to beyond the domesticity of the era. Small wonder that when she broke out of the mold to pursue a college degree in the early Seventies, she studied to become a Home Economics teacher, and fashion design was her favorite class. As traditional as that may sound today, she was a ground-breaker among her generation, and I was immensely proud.
As you’ve no doubt guessed, I’ve just come from seeing the Barbie movie, and I must report that this pink farce is thoroughly delightful for the manner in which it steps back from Mattel’s ultimate corruption of the original premise. To summarize without excessive spoilers, Barbie and Ken leave Barbieland for Los Angeles in search of answers to her sudden and disturbing awakening to mortality, only to find that the real world is not the matriarchy they inhabit. Empowered by the possibilities of Kenland. he returns to upend the status quo, with her mincing in his wake to deprogram her sisterhood under the new regime.
Margot Robbie [Barbie] and Ryan Gosling [Ken] are spot-on as the long-term, chaste couple who must learn their value as individuals rather than stereotypes. Kate McKinnon is hilarious as the broken but wiser “Weird Barbie” who commands the quest. America Ferrera and Ariana Greenblatt are achingly suited as the Mattel exec and her disenchanted daughter who caused Barbie’s existential crisis and must help her resolve it. The costumes and props are to die for, with song and dance spectacles featuring a cast of hundreds. The energy and imaginative touches made me feel like a kid again and kept me laughing for the whole two hours. This is not a kid’s flick; it’s sophisticated, like the original Barbie herself.
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