The first gift I was ever given was a vintage Midge “Barbie” doll. My grandmother gave it to me as a newborn in the hospital — ruddy skin, chubby cheeks, and all. To many, Barbie was simply a smooth piece of plastic with a painted-on smile, but to me, growing up with Barbie was everything.
I looked forward to my mother’s weekly thrift shop visits because they gave me the chance to peer into the shining glass cabinets where the “valuable” items were displayed. Sometimes, a Barbie would be there waiting for me, all pink and perfect.
At this point in my life, my mom was a single mother raising three kids while living on the poverty line. Thrifted Barbies were all we could afford. I didn’t mind, though. In fact, I loved collecting the older dolls. Their hair was always the biggest and their dresses were always the brightest.
As a kid, I never fully understood what was so bad about being “poor.” I remember the judging glances of other moms in the grocery store as mine used food stamps and coupons. At school, I was bullied for wearing secondhand clothing instead of brand-new outfits from H&M and Old Navy.
It’s funny now to see thrifting labeled as “trendy” when, back then, it was just how my family survived.
Through all the judgment, Barbie was a constant. She was cool and beautiful, and I could dress her however I wanted or style her hair any way I pleased without fear of what anyone might think. I would spend hours in my room admiring her golden-blonde hair, her sparkly blue eyeshadow, and her impossibly narrow figure — not because I wanted to be her, but because I saw myself in her. In my mind, Barbie and I were the same: two girls who could accomplish anything we dreamed of if we worked hard enough.
As I’ve grown older, I have stopped playing with my Barbie dolls. The ones that aren’t sitting in boxes underneath my bed gather dust on the shelves in my room. However, that doesn’t mean that Barbie’s influence on my life is gone. You can still see her in the ways that I present myself: in my permed bangs, my colorful makeup, and my unapologetically unique style.
The release of the “Barbie” movie in 2023 reminded the world what I had always known: Barbie is more than just a doll. She’s an icon of equality, feminism and empowerment.
Barbie taught me there’s power in embracing who you are, even when sometimes you feel out of place. She showed me beauty isn’t about perfection, but rather about confidence, creativity and believing in your own worth. And though I no longer spend hours combing her hair or changing her outfits, I still carry her lessons with me every day.
Because loving Barbie was never really about loving her. It was about learning to love me.
