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In case you hadn't heard, this is the month of the 50th birthday of the longest-standing winner of the crown of Most Ambiguous Idol of Women's Power - BARBIE! And, it's also Women's History Month (Irony? Or Not? You decide.)
Quoted below is a (very) little piece on the Plastic Priestess I write for my book Sexy Witch (Llewellyn, self-help/nonfiction, 2005), for chapter two - that chapter in which I addresses self-esteem.
In honor of the gran dame's 50th, I thought I'd post it, slightly updated.
Then, of course, I got carried away, and had to add a bunch of commentary, as a recognition and celebration of our (read my) changing feminist values and views.
In Defense of the Doll: The Barbie Revolution
Barbie has gone from being a vapid example of how women are "supposed to be," to being the most successful female in America. Barbie has had 95+ careers, has been created in 45 different nationalities. And, has busted through the glass ceiling on many frontiers. Launched in 2004: White House Barbie!
With any luck, we mortals will soon catch up with this versatile plasticine character.
Sexy Witch
Flashback to the late '80s, and My Long, Long Journey Towards Respecting Barbie:
With a spotty family history (I'll spare you the drama), and the fervor of Take Back the Night, I stepped into adulthood at the tail-end of the 2nd Wave, and a chip on my shoulder the size of...well, the size of womanhood itself, and the ills heaped upon it (or, us), I guess.
At 18 I started body building, and learned self-defense techniques that made it possible for me to kill a man with my bare hands.
At 19, I shaved my head, wore boy-clothes, and started walking, talking, and f*cking like a man. Anything HE could do, I could do better - f8ck the "high heels and backwards" part! I wore combat boots. (Didn't we all?)
At 21, I worked as the only female employee in a moving company of 130+, and became one of the guys. Worked twice as hard for half the respect, yada yada yada.
Yeah. A lot of men were ass3s. And yes, gender was bu77sh1t. And yes, shaving my head, the confidence of knowing how to kill "a perp," and the strength to lift a washing machine single-handed made it possible for me to pass as a guy with confidence, and do all sorts of stuff that girl's (yep, even most "riot grrrls") couldn't, or wouldn't do.
And as a red head, shaving your hair off is a sure-fire way to find out who's been objectifying you! At least, that's how I felt when men talked to me eye to eye instead of eye to breast. Then there were the friends who bailed - I figured to he77 with 'em, if they can't take the "real" me.
Result: I hated men more, loved myself less...and slowly, overtime, found a long and winding path towards my own healing, from the inside out.
First, I made gender my own.
Then I started the process of making peace with my body and its female vulnerabilities.
Then, I began the (still-challenging) work of making peace with men, and the fact that they truly COULDN'T (and can't) understand what it was like to be a woman.
Not their fault. Not always a comfortable truth, but a truth all the same
Just like the fact that I can't understand what it's like to be a woman from Chiapas. I can empathize. I can listen to her life stories. I can do what I can to put myself in her shoes. But I cannot know what it is like to BE her.
I learned, and as I learned I taught. I taught workshops. I taught classes. I had debates - formal and informal. I wrote articles. As a matter of fact, all of this lead to writing Sexy Witch.
In the midst of it all, I became a mom.
As a strong, some might even say extremist, feminist, what changed my mind about Baribie?
My daughter was a Daughter. A Daughter, with a capital "D". Delicate, pale shell of an inviolable (please god, please - prayer whispered again and again) holy of holies. Alabaster skin, tiny ankle, long, fine fingers.
It was
