
The day I watched “Barbie,” I was alone. But I also wasn’t. Groups of friends were dressed up in pink cowboy hats and feather boas; moms and daughters came in matching sparkly outfits. The man sitting beside me laughed at all the Ken/patriarchy punchlines — incel behavior — but he did come in pink with his girlfriend beside him. I had to ask myself, when was the last time people dressed up for a movie that wasn’t a humongous franchise?
Two weeks after it premiered, “Barbie” is now one of the highest grossing films of all time — earning $800 million as of early August, and is on track to earn a billion dollars globally. Gerwig joins a small group of female directors who have managed to achieve this feat. Ever since photos of leads Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling in roller skating outfits first leaked, the film has become part of our collective consciousness. The tagline “She’s everything, he’s just Ken” inspired memes all over, and the Mark Ronson-produced soundtrack featured prominent artists like Nicki Minaj (whose fans are called “barbz”), Dua Lipa (who plays Mermaid Barbie in the film), and even K-pop group Fifty Fifty (whose song “Cupid” was the TikTok audio of the summer). The added hype of Christopher Nolan’s biopic “Oppenheimer” coming out the same weekend also compounded excitement by way of “Barbenheimer,” as though it’s the first time ever that two films came out at the same time.
By the time the movie premiered, “Barbie” fever was at its peak, and I certainly wasn’t immune. As soon as the opening scene came on (a parody of Stanley Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey”), my expectations were cranked up. Cinema! I thought to myself. I was about to get an emotional kick in the ass, my heart on the chopping board as director Greta Gerwig (“Lady Bird,” “Little Women”) wielded a pink, sparkly cleaver in the form of a monologue that would tear me up once again. Forget J. Robert Oppenheimer. “Barbie” is the real destroyer here.
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My investment was such because I was one of millions of young girls who grew up with Barbie the doll since she first came out in 1959. The Mattel-made toy became such a hit because she was the first doll that wasn’t a baby, just an incredibly beautiful, stylish white woman who wasn’t concerned with housekeeping or child-rearing. In fact, the first Barbie Dreamhouse was a cardboard fold-out home in 1962 that featured a single bed, university pennant flags on the walls, and no kitchen.
Throughout the years, Barbie would branch out of modeling and would eventually take on various careers throughout her life. In the 1994 book “Barbie: What a Doll,” a chapter called “Career Moves” chronicles Barbie’ s jobs throughout the years. The iconic “Solo in the Spotlight” Barbie from 1960 featured a black strapless sheath gown that Robbie wore to the Los Angeles premiere of the film. Four years after that, Barbie would become a candy striper, then in 1986 donned a glittery pink space suit — very Cold War appropriate. In the ‘90s, she held the job of teacher (1995) and a businesswoman in a houndstooth power suit (1992).
Even as a young Filipino girl, I saw Barbie as a model to aspire for — at first, for her statuesque figure and blonde hair that were very far from my own features, but eventually because her “life” offered an alternative to the nuclear family unit that I had come to know. I owned Barbies growing up because it would distinguish me from the boys in the family who had cars, Legos, and sports to enjoy. They wore blue, I wore pink. The women I grew up with were working girls like Barbie is, but they were primarily oriented towards matrimony and motherhood. It was a life that for a very long time, I wanted for myself too.
“I didn’t quite find the heart-wrenching aria that would make me tear up. Like the Barbie girl I was, I also dressed in pink with all the right accessories: waterproof mascara and a pack of tissues that remained unused. I guess emotional truth bombs were sold separately.”
But as I grew up, my Barbie dolls long forgotten, my dreams began to change too. I unknowingly tread a path very much similar to my favorite doll. Like Barbie, I’m a daughter, sister, friend, and professional. Men and Kens are nice to look at, but offer little beyond the occasional friendship and banter. As I moved from one Dreamhouse to the next, I found fulfillment in things beyond romantic companionship: family, sisterhood, and the love of pets. I found myself as preoccupied with changing outfits as I was trying out new hobbies. My ideal form of a night out is a pajama party with the girlies. And just like in the movie, my own high heels/Birkenstock dilemma came in the form of a question: did I want to work towards the dreams made for me, or did I dare pursue a life that doesn’t quite fit the mold of the woman I was meant to be?














