Why We Need Average

So maybe you’ve heard about the new “average barbie.” Maybe you’ve heard about the surprisingly vehement backlash against it. Maybe you don’t care. I didn’t.

It's weird that so many people think this is weird.

I gave up on dolls a long time ago. They’re good toys for storytelling and imaginative play, but the dolls you see in any given Wal-Mart encourage stories about hair salons, princesses, and baking. I played princess games. There’s nothing wrong with pretending to be a princess, and dressing up for a ball, and marrying a prince, then forcing the evil witch to wear hot iron shoes while dancing at your wedding. Like I said, I love a good princess story, but your life is narrow if it’s the only story you have.

I love these movies, still waiting for the hot-iron shoes though.

I preferred to make lego houses with little lego dragons and their dragon dynasties and dragon wars over star-crossed dragon lovers. Without a specific script like “Barbie goes to the beach” I had a lot more room for imaginative play. With that in mind I planned on giving my future kids stuffed animals and letting them do their storytelling games with those.

Ok, remember that because we’re moving on to the present day now.

Last week I was in Costa Rica (details on that next week.) I was at the pool having a fabulous time after a long, cold winter. Finally I could be outside without a million layers, it was just me and the water. I laughed and swam a few laps.

A few clusters of women took their stations by the beach chairs and laid out in the sun. I didn’t notice them until I got out of the pool. There was nothing strange about them, but my reaction to them startled me.

They look like me.

They’re shaped the same way I am.

I had forgotten what women actually look like.

After a winter without seeing another woman’s body except on television or advertisements I had subconsciously bought the lie. On some level I believed that the photoshopped pictures were real and that I was the only female on earth with a belly that curves out instead of in. Without realizing it I allowed the media to tell me a story: This is what women look like. You don't look like that. There's something wrong with you. Go buy something to fix it.

I have no idea what's happening here, but it's going to turn into either a threesome or a bloody-knuckled fistfight.

Toys tell stories too. 

Disney princess movies are fun. Barbie dolls do not herald the coming of the apocalypse. Yet in a society where girls think they're fat at age 9 (or much younger in many cases,) it's foolish to believe that these icons don't influence kids.  What will they believe about their bodies if their human-shaped toys are shaped like an even sexier hollister model?

My future kids will need dolls the same way a lion cub needs insects to stalk and pounce on. Dolls encourage kids to develop the scripts that they’ll use in school, at work, during courtship, and with their families. It’s one of the most powerful forms of storytelling.

Stories are often stronger than truth. Sometimes we forget to look at real people. Don’t let their only stories be tales about impossibly skinny, white, princesses.