Barbie can do anything

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 22/08/2023 (799 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I really want to see the Barbie movie. Is it wrong to want to bury my head in childhood nostalgia during an unprecedented summer of insomnia-inducing forest fires, dismantled homeless encampments and the unwelcome arrival of the EG.5 Omicron variant? Barbie is the cotton candy of summer cinema and I’m desperately craving a few hours of distraction.

Since my partner wants to see Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, Barbie is a tough cinema sell in our household. Thankfully for me, Dr. Jones tanked at the box office and has already come and gone. Oppenheimer, the high-brow blockbuster, would be the grown-up choice. But my inner child really wants to see Barbie.

Last week, we headed to Saskatoon for some summer entertainment. Winnipeg rockers Harlequin were scheduled to perform at the Kicking Horse Saloon (a temporary venue tied to the Saskatoon Ex.) As the clouds circled, I kept hoping it would rain so my partner and I could revert to Plan B: a screening of Barbie. Instead, I rocked along to Innocence and plotted our next outing to the city.

Like many girls born in the 1960s, I was fixated on Barbie dolls, which were first introduced on March 9, 1959. My collection included regular Barbie and French-speaking Barbie since we lived on Montréal’s West Island. My Barbie collector’s appetite was unending.

When I was six, my preoccupied father took me along one afternoon to a corner store to buy a carton of 2% milk. That’s when I spied a Barbie encased in her tall plastic box, located conveniently at eye level.

“Please, Dad, may I have this Barbie doll?” I implored, hugging my prize like a long-lost friend. “Whatever you want, Pussy Cat,” Dad replied, then opened his wallet.

We arrived home to a stern lecture from Mum. “John, do you know that she already has two Barbies?”

“I did not,” Dad confessed.

“How many can she play with at one time?” Mum pragmatically declared. But she didn’t make us return it to the convenience store.

I wanted to add yet another solider to my Barbie Army. I headed downstairs to the playroom to introduce this new Barbie to the others.

I opened my white pleather playbox to find the perfect inaugural outfit. The selection was vast, since my mother had commissioned a neighbourhood seamstress to create an haute couture wardrobe for my first two Barbies. I reached for a favourite: a fashionable turquoise and black casual corduroy pantsuit.

The wardrobe was a good investment. I logged many happy hours dressing and undressing my Barbies in a meditative silence that permitted my mother to “get some things done around here” while sportswriter Dad was on the road with the Montréal Expos. Tim, my younger brother, would play catch with the Cook boys and leave me in peace.

When I enrolled in grade three French Immersion, French Barbie was favoured over the others since this anglophone Winnipeg girl had successfully adapted to Quebecois culture.

“If you move to Quebec, you’ll turn into a frog,” warned my grouchy Grandpa Brough. “You can’t say that anymore, Dad,” Mum replied.

When my Winnipeg grandparents visited us in Montréal, French Barbie was consigned to my toybox. I didn’t want to set off an incident.

Like many girls, I eventually outgrew Barbie. I was 10 when we moved from Montréal to the Laurentians. My mother retired my precious Barbie Army — five Barbies, two Kens, one Midge, one Skipper, one Tressy and one Allan — plus their custom wardrobe, to the expansive toy cupboard under the basement stairs.

In 1977, at age 14, when we relocated back to our Winnipeg hometown, the Barbie Army remained sheltered under the stairs. Mum chose to leave them behind and I had long forgotten them.

So my Barbie and my childish dreams stayed tucked under the stairs and in my memory — until director Greta Gerwig cleverly tapped into my nostalgia.

I’m not alone. Barbie the movie’s first three weeks earned one billion at the box office. Greta Gerwig has now crashed the exclusive club of billion-dollar male directors.

In 2024, Mattel Adventure Park opens in Glendale, Arizona. Visitors can explore Barbie’s Beach House with its Dream Closet Experience and close off their visit with pink drinks at the rooftop bar.

The summer of Barbie is almost over and I need to join in on the frothy fun. I may have to use up all my movie choices for a few months but she’s worth it. My childhood crush continues on the timeless doll whose upbeat mantra is “girls can do anything.”

Patricia Dawn Robertson’s memoir, Media Brat, launches in Winnipeg this fall.