The Barbie Movie: A Celebration of Complementarity and Authentic Ordinariness

“When God created human beings, he made them in the likeness of God; he created them male and female. When they were created, he blessed them and named them humankind” (Genesis 5:1-2).

Barbie creator and Mattel co-founder Ruth Handler

Warning: Spoilers ahead!

In 10th grade civics and economics class, we had to write a report about an entrepreneur. I did some research to find a female entrepreneur (sadly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, none came to mind). To my delight, I discovered that the creator of Barbie and Mattel, the company that makes her, was a woman: Ruth Handler. I wrote my report about her and gleefully used pink on my title page, figuring that, unlike Elle Woods (who was one of my film heroines), I’d never get away with doing so again.

I loved Barbie growing up. My sister and I spent hours creating characters and stories and playing them out with our dolls. Because I have a younger sister, I played with Barbie dolls for quite a bit longer than most girls, and while I never would have admitted it to my friends, I enjoyed it longer than most girls, too.

Still, I was not on board with the idea of a live action “Barbie” movie for a while. It seemed like a silly attempt to make a quick buck. The more I heard about it, though, the more it intrigued me. Barbie, after all, is more than a product; she’s a cultural icon. As a student at a women’s college in the late 2000s, I participated in many classroom debates about whether she was good or bad for women. What would this film—directed by Greta Gerwig, who’d made such an interesting adaptation of “Little Women” (my favorite childhood book)—have to add to the discussion?

A Fun Movie for Millennial Moms

Based on the marketing campaign (which was epic), I’d guessed the movie was aimed at millennial moms, and I think I was right. Our generation of women seems to have a complicated relationship with Barbie—is it OK that we loved playing with her? Did she hurt our self-image?—and a movie that was nostalgic but critical seems right up our alley. The movie also tugs at the heartstrings of mothers, particularly those of us with a daughter(s).

At the very least, getting dressed in pink and going to the theater (I went to Alamo Drafthouse and got their special Barbie pink mocktail, which was delicious) with your girlfriends will give you a fun night out. The movie is hilarious and full of what felt like inside jokes for women who grew up with Barbie, perhaps especially in the ‘80s and ‘90s.

A Cry for Complementarity

My sister and I only had one Ken doll, and his head fell off every time we played with him. We never asked for a new one, though; Ken was always tangentially related to our play. We always needed a husband for a Barbie, and when we needed more than one, the Tin Man from my “Wizard of Oz” Barbie set came in clutch.

I think this was probably true for most girls; after all, the point of Barbie is to imagine your grownup life, and as a little girl, you may imagine your future husband, but only as he relates to yourself.

Which is why, in Barbie Land, the Ken dolls are side characters. They don’t have their own role; they live only to provide a male sidekick for Barbie. They don’t have their own dream houses, and Ryan Gosling’s Ken doesn’t have a job—he’s just “Beach Ken.”

The Kens are caricatures of masculinity, so when Beach Ken returns from the real world and tells them about “Patriarchy,” they’re quick to fall into stereotypes of men who live only for women, beer, and (inexplicably but hilariously) horses.

I’ve heard a lot of criticisms of this portrayal of masculinity, but I have two counterpoints. Firstly, in the context of the Barbie universe, Ken is just not that important. It’s not our world. My second counterpart is that in the end, the Barbies do realize that to a certain extent, they created their own monster. They took Ken for granted; when Beach Ken went to the real world and realized that men were respected there, of course he wanted to bring that dignity back to Barbie Land. “Patriarchy” was a shortcut to try to find it.

I did hope, after Margot Robbie’s “Stereotypical Barbie” apologized to Beach Ken for how she’d treated him, that Barbie Land would henceforth be a more equitable society, with Barbies and Kens working together at all levels of leadership. Alas, they were only granted lower-level leadership roles, and the narrator told us that maybe someday, Kens would have “as much power and influence in Barbie Land as women have in the real world.” Women have had to deal with that patronizing promise for a long time, so maybe the point is well taken.

“Maybe it’s Barbie and it’s Ken,” Stereotypical Barbie tells Beach Ken, finally recognizing his dignity as his own person (doll). Just as woman was not an afterthought when God created man, Barbie tells Ken that he is not an afterthought, either. I would have liked to have seen more equality in the end between the Barbies and the Kens, and I would have liked a more explicit mutual reliance rather than this implied total independence. Still, it was more than I expected.

The Ordinary Is Beautiful

I realized recently while talking to a friend that my favorite saints are not the Joans of Arc or the Catherines of Siena—the larger-than-life figures whose lives were full of grand deeds. They’re St. Thérèse of Lisieux (of whom someone said when she did, “What will we be able to say in her obituary?”), St. Joseph (a carpenter, husband, and father of whose speech we have no record), St. Zélie Martin (a mother and small business owner), and St. Teresa of Kolkata (granted, a Nobel Peace Prize winner, but one whose focus was not on building up her organization but on serving each person she encountered in small, loving ways).

It’s interesting to me that these seemingly small, ordinary saints are the ones I feel most drawn to. I’ve always struggled with pride and with dreams of doing great things. It seems that these saints are the ones God knew I needed the most.

Which is why, in the end, my favorite moments of Barbie were not the scenes with President Barbie or Supreme Court Justice Barbies. My favorite character was America Ferrera’s character, Gloria, a wife, mother of an angsty preteen, and assistant to the CEO of Mattel. At the end of the movie, she suggests to her boss that Mattel create “Ordinary Barbie”—a doll who’s “just a mom,” maybe with a “flattering top,” or maybe a mom who also happens to be president.

Being “just a mom” is wonderful, Gloria says—and it seems that Gerwig agrees, because in the end, despite the fact that a lot of fun is made of the all-male leadership team, Gloria appears to still be “just an assistant.” I hope, of course, that their foray into Barbie Land inspires the fictional Mattel team to hire some women. But, Gloria is awesome and talented as a mom and an assistant.

Barbie is empowered to be who she was created to be (and the ghost of Ruth Handler, played wonderfully by Rhea Perlman, points out that just because she has a creator doesn’t mean she doesn’t have free will). So is Gloria—and so are each of us.

Are the male caricatures over the top? Yes. But, ultimately, the message “Barbie” sends is a simple one and, I believe, a Christian one: You, as a woman, are made good. Embrace your gifts, however ordinary they might seem. Honor the women who came before you. And, celebrate your femininity and your motherhood (literal and/or spiritual).

It’s a message that is desperately needed, and one I welcome and enjoyed.

Taryn DeLong is a Catholic wife and mother in North Carolina who serves as co-president and editor-in-chief of Catholic Women in Business. Her writing has appeared in publications such as FemCatholic, Natural Womanhood, CatholicMom.com, Radiant Magazine, and Live Today Well Co. She enjoys curling up with a cup of Earl Grey and a good novel, playing the piano, and taking walks in the sunshine with her family.

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