when i was little, i played with Barbie. nay, i looooved playing with Barbie. I liked the blonde ones with blue eyes, because i was blonde with blue eyes. (shock? not really.) my family encouraged it. my mom and i spent countless hours combing their hair and dressing them up and chasing down the pokey high heels from the cat that kept stealing them. or the vacuum. hell, my brother, who is eleven years older than i am, spent countless hours playing with me and my Barbies. my aunties bought them for me. i had a big plastic tub full of naked little not-so-proportinate little women with perfectly perky boobs and unimaginably long legs. and i loved it. i still have some of them somewhere, but gave a bunch away to nieces and younger cousins and whoever felt they needed several dozen barbies with 9 shoes.
now (crazy feminists again) are all, like, 'no, no, Barbie is a bad role model! shes too skinny! her legs are too long! she loves ken too much!' youre kidding, right? (i still appreciate feminisim to an extent- thank you for letting me serve in the military, work, vote, and own my own car.) by the way, Barbie owned her own house and Corvette. it wasnt Ken and Barbie's dream house. and she had, like, 7 horses? those arent cheap. she took care of her little sister and her little sisters friends singlehandedly! she was also a bride, a vet, a lawyer, an artist, a rodeo cowgirl, a russian dancer, military personnel, stewardess, pilot, doctor.
yall are dumb. my kids can play with barbie. and she can love ken if she wants. or gi joe. and my husband and i can teach our kids to focus on what our bodies can do, not how they look.
(btw, my kids will never play with bratz. theyre like, 11, and have vulger makeup and skanky clothes. barbie is like, 25, with tasteful makeup.) (and fairy wings if she so chooses.) (or a princess. because every girl is a princess.) (didnt your dad tell you that?)