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C'mon Barbie, Let's Go Party
The future of feminism is child's play
. . . by Dawn Terry

It’s women’s history month again, 31 days set aside for reflection on the state of the uterus past and present. Looking at the big picture, things seem pretty depressing: real wages for women in comparison to men have actually dropped since 1995, and working women, especially women of color, continue to feel the brunt of socioeconomic inequalities. Reproductive rights are under a stealthy, steady assault in Washington, and media-spawned expectations are not getting any more realistic.

But what about the women of the future, otherwise known as girls? I recently had the chance to step briefly into their world during my first visit to FAO Schwartz. The smallness a Midwesterner feels on the New York City streets is only intensified upon entering the Land of Toys, where everything is scaled to facilitate Mommy and Daddy’s identification with their greed-head progeny. After rolling around in the mountains of delightful stuffed animals (Hippos! Cuttlefish! Really cuddly teddy bears!) I went upstairs to the second floor, where the true herding began.

Pretty in Pink
After some appreciative glances at the displays of Simpsons merch and gummy candy, I was guided as if by tractor beam into a brightly lit pink corridor. There, posed rigidly in glass cases, were the dolls. There were life-sized German children of with glassy blue eyes, and tiny, weird-looking newborns in adorable little hats.

Most of the shelf-space was taken up by infants and children, but there were also some fake plastic adults. The most expensive and best-dressed dolls were part of a series modeled after fictional screen stars of the golden age. Emme, the ubiquitous plus-sized fashion model and self-esteem spokesperson, has her own doll, her attractively curvy figure sadly undercut by the apparent cheapness of her evening gown.
While the three Emme dolls on display represent a step forward, the true apotheosis of American girlhood lay just beyond them. There, smiling their sweetly unblinking smiles, were the Barbies.

Since she was spawned in 1959, Barbie has had more than one billion outfits and 75 careers, including astronaut, surgical nurse, Marine, presidential candidate. Walking through the sections devoted to her, however, it seemed that she had retrogressed. There were two Barbies occupied with hair, Salon Surprise and Cut’n’Style, whose luxurious growable tresses would have spared me many a childhood scolding. Other Barbies’ lives revolved around their leisure time. Cool Skating Barbie came with skates, for skating with Ken on a “skate date.” Chair Flair Barbie came with her own butterfly chair—presumably for sitting.

Real jobs open to the Barbies currently on display included Pop Sensation, train conductor/hostess, and night-mission specialist on the “Mystery Squad.” Two of the dolls came with children (Art Teacher and Treat Makin’), and two came with dogs (Stylin’ Pup and Spot Style). Where were the astronauts? The Supreme Court Justices? The WNBA players? Certainly not in the collectible Barbie room, which featured models, actresses and multiple princesses as well as a lone cowgirl.

In the wings off the Barbie rooms there were all sorts of other girly toys. The most disturbing of these was a Barbie-affiliated series of small plush cats and dogs with abnormally long legs and human lifestyles. The kitties got married and danced ballet, and the puppies went shopping and lay on the beach. Slightly less disturbing were the Mary-Kate and Ashley Dolls (“Real dolls for real girls”), and the legions of Polly Pocket and her myriad compact living environments. As I browsed, the synthetic pop of the Barbie theme song washed over me in cotton candy waves.

Boys will be boys, with action figures
This was a far cry from the jagged pseudo-grunge of the grey and red little boys’ section. There, the Legos and other, more high-tech building toys were separated by a G.I. Joe lined hallway from a room full of action heroes. There was not a butterfly chair in sight, and roller skates were few and far between, but it seemed as if every type of weapon imaginable was represented.

One hundred years ago, women’s options were far more limited: the desire to put some damn shoes on and get out of the kitchen was difficult to assuage without resorting to convent life or shutting yourself in, Emily Dickens-style. Times have changed though, and a career is now almost as expected as a kid.

But in the land of toys, the difference between boys and girls is spelled out in space, sound and color. Mattel might have shrunk Barbie’s boobs and made her waist-hip ratio more realistic, but she still dreams in pink. The days of gender-neutral jacks and Lincoln Logs are clearly over, and the women of tomorrow are busy browsing the aisles of a toy store near you.

Dawn Terry B’03 dreams of late April.

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