I loved Barbie. I left 18 of them at my father’s place 8 years ago and forgot about it until I finally saw them again yesterday, in a 2 hours long movie, with a completely different idea of their entities. It reminds me how lustrous her world was and the fact that I still love those bimbo girls the same even now.
I was so happy to see The Barbieland. It is an exact depiction of women’s ideal world, at least in my sweetest dream. Some might say the movie is anti-men, but, nah, it’s just contented women living their lives to the fullest every day. I think Ken’s position in Barbie’s life is convenient, though. No oppression, no subjugation, he’s just existing and standing there because Barbie just doesn’t care. Coming from a feminism-shaped family constructed by the abuse of patriarchy made it so natural for me to understand that male characters aren’t really needed in my story. I neither had a dad figure nor a reliable brother, not even a caring boyfriend with a functional brain (idk why they’re all ridiculous, so embarrassing). But, if anything, I don’t hate men at all, I appreciate their presence and hard work, I like it when they’re polite and gentle, it’s enough if they could make a joke without turning female into something sexual. But then I woke up and wondered; are most of men indeed built that sexist or the real world is just too patriarchist?
I was three when I got my first Barbie and I was twenty when I started to realize this grave obsession with beauty and being pretty. Barbie taught me it’s okay to flaunt my red lipstick and pink boots, it’s okay to express myself using lavish things just because I thought it was cute. But, I grew up under my grandmother’s disgusted eyes whenever she saw me dolled up with my best outfit. “Wipe out that lipstick, change your clothes. I don’t raise a whore like that,” and ever since, I learned that the concept of femininity and debauchery isn’t really different in society.
The most ironic problem I’ve encountered is most females still unconsciously degraded themselves as an object that served satisfaction to men’s appetence. They measure self-worth and values solely based on their sex appeal to attract the other gender. “Either you’re brainwashed, or you’re ugly and weird. There is no in-between,” this dialogue implied that in a place where a male-centered system has been rooted, even women themselves would think the purpose of being pretty is to be a decoration for powerful men. It’s either that or you’re just plain weird and ugly. As if just living up to our identity makes us slaves to patriarchy, as if we enjoy being a disdain to our own dignity.
I used to think beauty privilege is the ultimate weapon in life, you could have your own red carpet and that’s all thanks to your pretty face. It ain’t wrong, but if Cleopatra were real and alive, she wouldn’t entirely agree. In my thought, the reine’s chronicle was a precise antilogy portrayal of women’s existence until today. If The Queen of Egypt were embedded in the front of her crown, then the title of Seductress would make a way to its top like The Magnificent Cullinan Diamond. People can’t seem to stand the sight of women in power, there must always be an appendage that makes her seen as inferior compared to other leaders. History tends to set aside her intelligence and enchanting diplomacy or forget the fact that she saved her nation from bankruptcy, all because a renowned Roman Emperor fell in love with her beauty. It’s funny to me how women’s pulchritude is always associated with men, lust, and seduction. As if pretty faces shouldn’t coexist with power, as if their graces are meant to invite lecherous behavior.
I just cannot comprehend all of that. Why are my pink lipstick and long lashes always defined as an attempt to lure male gazes, what is it in my fitted skirt that made me get labeled as a filthy flirt, and is it still my fault if they objectified me as sexual fantasy just because I am pretty? Does embracing my womanhood has the same meaning as admitting that I am a slut?
I don’t think it’s wrong to put on pastel colors while keeping record of my dollars, to figure out Machiavelli’s thoughts while checking out newest collection of Vogue, or to be an expert in doing my makeup yet also stand on equal footing with the higher-ups. I want the world to realize that gloss and heels have nothing to do with my goals and skills. I want the world to stop assuming it is weird that empowerment movie revolved around a brainless Barbie. Sure, they’re just fun objects for people to play, but, come on, isn’t our society reputed pretty girls the same way? Maybe even without any plot, it’s already clear what Barbie’s existence wanted to say.
As long as more new ideas emerged whilst feminism marches along, maybe society will come to learn that beauty and authority can reside next to each other. Maybe someday men will finally learn that it’s unnecessary to call every girl they found attractive a hoe, and women will also stop thinking the only way to achieve something is by sucking up some men’s overflowing ego. It’s heartbreaking to see women humiliate each other, comparing and insulting just because their boyfriends have prurient eyes that couldn’t stop wandering (I cannot interfere, it’s a canon event, lol).
If I were about to bring up a most relatable quote in the movie, then maybe it would be Sasha’s hostility. Maybe she is correct, maybe the only thing we all agree on right now is that women hate women and men also hate women. Everybody hates women and it’s our fault for being born a woman. Especially if you’re wearing pink, because then you are a coquettish girl, there is no way you could be a leader. Maybe that’s why we don’t see Cleopatra in pink or glitters and pearl because even without it, she’s got enough slutshame to handle.
