It’s not usual that “I can’t even”.
I hate the phrase and I can’t stand to see intelligent women forgo our vast vocabulary in place of nothing. But today, I was lost. Not for lack of words but for the explosion of protests that filled my head in a split second that I literally couldn’t even.
Gifted a Coles/Myer voucher for Christmas by my Granny I decided to see if there was an item for $25 or less that would benefit me. After 30 impatient minutes I decided there wasn’t and peaced outta that place.
I rarely visit shopping centers. They give me head spins, anxiety and gas. There is so much stimulus pumping through the space that humans don’t know which fucking way to look so they look everywhere at all times, their desperate eyes darting from human to shop front to LABEL in lights to displays to cafes to what people are eating and what they’re wearing to checking their reflection in the windows and mirrors fucking everywhere to remind you how much you need that new something with 15% off.
I keep my eyes on the floor in front of me as I beeline for the closest exit. A bright pink pair of French doors caught my eye to the left. I look up, and tenderly admire Peter Alexander. An Australian brand with a killer reputation and most adorable fit-out imaginable, matched with sweet prints and cuts.
I stopped in my well defined tracks.
One mannequin was sporting a Barbie t-shirt. I look to its right. There is a life sized cutout of Ken, Barbie’s partner, surrounded by three teenage girls getting their fix of narcissism with a good ol’ fashioned selfie.
Peter Alexander’s new limited edition line is Barbie. He uses the hashtags #vintage #dreamdate #originalhunk #perfectman.
A caption of “Always dreamt of being Barbie? Now you can with our new collection!”
What the fucking FUCK.
Please don’t make the source of life-long self-esteem-damage nostalgic.
My days are filled with subtle attempts to resolve idealistic body images implanted into the young minds of women, who are now grown and still scuffling for this unrealistic/unhealthy image of womanhood. Indeed, an enlightened lady might try and achieve this herself, not without a great deal of effort.
Peter Alexander is not responsible for this trend of discontent.
A brand’s success relies on its marketing, of which Peter’s is pandering to the pre-pubescent ideals of women and obviously working wonders.
However, this pyjama range is still polarising. It still presents this demographic of the perfect man and perfect woman.
I started to give Peter the benefit of the doubt – perhaps labeling bed shirts with the word Barbie would imply its wearer, regardless of demographic, would result in a more inclusive and vast narrative of what “perfect” looks like. hopeful face
Nerrrrp. That bitch’s face was plastered all over the place.
Now, Barbie gave me a few lessons in life. First, it was through my airy fairy imitation of Barbie voice that first led me to explore different ways to make sounds with my voice, and progressively to singing. She gave me a good idea of what was ‘too flexible’ when I broke her legs by doing the splits too aggressively and that inanimate objects don’t grow hair when you cut it like humans.
But what she didn’t give me was pride of my physical being. My ambition instead of submission. Focus on my mental capacity instead of my wardrobe capacity.
Pursuing unique goals and not them mass produced for millions of girls and boy throughout the world.
Barbie wasn’t good for women 66 years ago when she was marketed as a “teenage fashion model”.
Like teenage girls need another thing to struggle with during the decade of discovery.
In an age where we are beginning to question society’s twisted obsession with weight and beauty, Barbie does not belong.