Maybe Barbie Is a Feminist After All

Barbie is the Hillary of doll land.

Most American women of my generation have opinions about Mattel's most famous female. We adore her or revile her, and we all have our lists of reasons.

Barbie bears the turbulence of our emotions with the stoicism of a woman who knows that our reactions to her reveal far more about us than about her.

It must be so annoying to be a woman on the brink of 50 and on the receiving end of so much public sniping about her impossibly pert breasts.

Then again, maybe not.

After all, 50 is not the new 40, no matter how many women's magazines swear we never have looked better. Spare us the magical thinking. There are plenty of women at 50 who already are feeling the hands of time poke them in the ribs. It happens every time we ask, "Am I the only one who's hot in here?"

So maybe it's not so bad if the worst thing about you at 50 is that you and your bosom are still miraculously upright. People say that about Barbie all the time, but she doesn't even bat an eye.

Her delicate face is forever frozen in a smile of secrets, which is probably a smart strategy on her part. She tried talking once, but that "math class is tough" line really backfired in 1992. These days, she stands tall and silent, the repository for female ambition and womanly angst in equal measure.

I was going to let Barbie's March 9 birthday pass without a whisper on my end, but then I listened to a voice message from Jill Robertson Toledo, a 49-year-old mother on Cleveland's west side. Toledo recently gave an oral report about the doll to her daughter's Girl Scout troop, and she wanted me to know that Barbie is one misunderstood woman.

"I know Barbie gets a lot of flak from feminists for her body, but she was invented by a woman, Ruth Handler, and at a time when not many women were in business for themselves. And think of Barbie's theme song. 'We girls can do anything with Barbie.' They could do so much more with Barbie than a baby doll, which you could only change and feed."

Toledo, an avowed feminist herself, was on a roll.

Toledo got me thinking about my own Barbie collection and how many hours I spent with my sister Leslie weaving tales of woe and conquest with the 11.5-inch dolls. I never looked at Barbie's body as something to emulate. As far as I was concerned, I had it all over Barbie. I could close my eyes, bend my knees and wear flip-flops. She was a dry-eyed, stiff-legged chick in stilettos, even at bedtime. What's to envy?

When I called Toledo, I reminded her that Barbie was modeled after a German sex toy. A plastic prostitute, if you will.

Toledo made no apologies. "We all have our skeletons, Connie."

Her daughter's troop loved the chance to learn about Barbie and sew clothes for the dolls with Toledo's mother, Judy. It brought back memories, too, and all of them good.

"I'm not saying girls became doctors because of Barbie," Toledo said, "but playing with Dr. Barbie just might have planted the seed."

For the record, her Barbies were always teachers. Mine were always mouthy women who organized workers and beat up men. OK, not really, but I'm giggling at the thought of those who just read that and said, "I knew it."

Barbie and I? We've got no issues. I'm glad to have known her and grateful for all the memories of my own little girl playing with Barbies of every career and color. Her favorite Barbie was the one whose hand was chewed off in a battle with a beagle.

"She's beautiful on the inside," my daughter always said.

Thanks, Barbie. And happy birthday.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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