Why Barbie Is An Accurate Barometer For Women's Equality

Since our beloved Barbara first made her appearance in the American toy market in 1959, she has been quite the ambitious and successful young lady. Once only an avid shopper, Barbie quickly learned that all that shopping would require a steady income. Perhaps for a few years, she would be willing to let Kenneth pay the rent and handle her finances, but she only caught the tail end of the fifties, and so that wouldn't fly for long. Here, we saw the first indications of what the corporate toy industry thought of women, or at least what it thought the public thought women should be.

Barbie's first jobs, in keeping with traditional gender roles, included stewardess, school teacher, and nurse. It would take another two and a half decades for someone to look at Stewardess, Teacher, and Nurse Barbie, and think that perhaps the blonde was capable of working the higher-paid gigs in the corresponding male-dominated fields: Doctor Barbie hit store shelves in 1988, Pilot Barbie followed two years after, and eventually throughout the nineties, Barbie explored more specific areas of study such as art, dance, sign language, and Spanish, presumably in order to find her calling.

While it does me old heart good to see my childhood friend succeeding and pursuing no small measure of personal and professional excellence, it is worthwhile to note that Barbie, being the international consumable that she has come to be, was (and is) primarily designed and distributed to generate as much money as she possibly can. As such, she must reflect what the market expects her to be. When the market of the 1960s expected her to be in a traditional female role, so she was. When the 70s and 80s brought about radical change for women's equality, Barbie began to assert her competency in many male-oriented professions. But much about Barbie has not changed.

Take a look at UNICEF Diplomat Barbie:

Beauty queen, maybe. Diplomat, probably not. Late eighties though, so what about modern Barbie? Like Pediatrician Barbie?

Hmm... That's quite a bit of lip gloss for a day on the job there, Barb.

I don't know if you see what I'm get at here, but what I want, what I really wanted as a child... I wanted Barbie to look like me. I wanted Barbie to be really real, and really be someone I could look up to and envision myself being one day. And that just wasn't Barbie. When was Barbie going to be flat-chested? Have frizzy hair? Be a little pudgy? Come to work without her mascara? Perhaps Barbie's creators have focused for two long on the wrong thing: maybe little girls never wanted Barbie to be like a man, never wanted her to break out of her traditional roles. Not specifically anyway (what do kids know of tradition and roles?). Maybe what girls really wanted was to see someone like them do the things they wanted to do, whether it was being a mommy or flying an aircraft.

But Barbie has to be pretty, you say. After all, she has to be appealing to consumers, they expect Barbie to look like Barbie.

Exactly. Because no matter how far women have come, no matter how many professions we've excelled at or obstacles we've conquered, we are still expected to look attractive in everything that we do. That's where we are. Miles we've crossed toward equality, yes, with better pay, better choices, better prospects.... But still the single thing that is most expected of us is to be beautiful. Barbie isn't allowed to be normal-looking. And neither are we.

Is It Safe To Come Out Now?

Have you ever seen that movie Gremlins? Epitomized 90s cheese, to be sure, but feed them after midnight, and the sweet and fuzzy friends that you know and love suddenly turn ugly, turn into mean and vicious creatures that'll rip your throat out as soon as look as you.



Eh, I don't know what made me think of that, whatever.

Well, as it has been a solid two weeks since the election, I figure it's right bout time us moderates could come out of hibernation, poke our heads into the air, and fear not for our lives and limbs being pulled from Left to Right. Happily, I can say that the next three years at least will be much as they have been. People will make snide comments about the establishment, will argue fruitlessly about marijuana and religion and marriage and the economy, but none of it will particularly matter because it exists on Facebook and the odd street corner, and everybody but the truly extreme will revert back to the fuzzy friends of yore, the sane and lovable people that made us confirm their friend request in the first place when the political climate was less corrosive.

But then, it was election season. The Obamas and the Romneys took up arms (the Romney camp having already toiled their merry way through a chocolate box of assorted nuts), and the race was on. And their followers slowly came out of the woodwork. People you didn't even know were residents of the woodwork were posting and sharing, shouting and lying, picketing and boycotting, and altogether spewing such insanity that those of us without a Party to call home could only duck for cover.

On THAT side, we heard never-ending tales of revelation. We heard self-righteous prayers for the unborn from people who hadn't been to church since the 90s, and lectures on the sanctity of marriage from men who couldn't remember which mistress they were supposed to be publicly calling a liar. It was lovely being called a moral failure on a daily basis simply for feeling like all the yelling wasn't worth it. And hey, look at that. It wasn't.

On the OTHER side (don't think you're getting out of this just because you won), we heard just as much self-indulgent douchebaggery as anywhere. You lot were just as much the culprits of skewed data and unproductive dialogue, with pseudo-intelligent one-liners that deliberately misunderstood your opponent.

Now the both of you, sit down, shut up, and I don't want to hear from either of you until the next voting cycle. The weather is moderate again.

"The Invisible War"

Today, I was fortunate enough to catch the online viewing of a new documentary called "The Invisible War" hosted by the director, producers, and a few interviewees of the film. If you haven't heard of it, I wouldn't be surprised. Here's the trailer.

I first heard of this film a couple of months ago when I was browsing rottentomatoes.com for a film to stalk as my inner movie geek is bound to do, and I saw that there was actually a film with many reviews that was sitting at 100%, hardly heard of. And a documentary no less! I did some googling, watched the trailer, and knew I had to see it. But there was a problem: it wasn't showing anywhere within two hundred miles of my north Texas city. What in the--? Why was Sundance-winner with such a high critical rating struggling so much with distribution?

The answer, it would seem, matches the theme of the film: denial. Cover-up. For those of you who haven't heard of this brilliant film, "The Invisible War" chronicles the journeys of several survivors of Military Sexual Trauma (MST) in their brave searches for justice. US Government statistics estimate that 1 in 5 military women have been raped while serving this country. There is no police for them to report to when the perpetrator is their police, their commanding officer. Attempts to prosecute are met with hostility, humiliation, resistance, even death threats. The film touches on the scandals at Tailhook in the early nineties, and in DC in 2003, but months before the film's release, the nation was shocked again by a similar scandal at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio.

The real shock in each of these scandals wasn't even the crimes being committed; it was the blatant cover-up. The protection of the assailants and the blaming and counter-persecution of the victims. What in the hell has been going on with our military?

As a moderate, I can see this being one of those issues that gets swept under the rug. One side has bigger things to focus on, and the other will never say anything bad about the military. And before anyone gets any ideas, I am not now, nor have I ever been, anti-military. I am grateful and regretful for the lives that have been taken in the service of this country. However, can we not see how a profession that grants its members a gun and no small amount of power over other human beings would hold a certain attraction for less-than-admirable people as well? There is something inherently broken about a system that refers to sexual assault as an "occupational hazard" of serving this country, as it was officially ruled in 2011, as if it is to be accepted, as if it is unpreventable, as if it isn't a despicable crime against humanity that should never be tolerated.

What many are failing to realize is that standing behind these women, prosecuting their assailants, and making rape a strictly untolerated crime IS supporting the troops. These women are the troops, too. They deserve justice. They deserve a system that protects them, not their rapist.

Is this an issue we can all get behind? Can we put aside some party lines and blind worship for the military aside for half a second to solve a real issue that, surely, we must all be against? An issue this important should not be struggling to be talked about. Be outraged. Demand justice. Speak out.

To vote to bring "The Invisible War" to your city, and for other resources and ways to get involved and spread the word, click here.

Birth Control.

Today, I purchased my second-ever round of birth control. Today I also had a rousing bout of what my beloved physician referred to as "dysmenhorrea," or what I like to refer to as the Cramps of Doom. For those of you fortunate enough to possess either regular and not-hateful menstruation or else not a uterus, the Cramps of Doom cause me to be unable to stand, sit, lie down, move, breathe, think, or do pretty much anything for four to five hours at a time. Imagine someone lighting your internal organs on fire. (I'm completely serious, there's really no way to exaggerate this kind of pain.) This might happen once at the beginning of my "time o' the month" as my body's way of letting me know it is indeed my girly time, or else at the very end, just in case I thought for a second that I was going to get out of it this month. Sometimes I get lucky and it'll happen twice in the same week. When I was twelve, people told me this would go away as I got older. People lied. Lied lied lied.

So finally I go to the doctor last month and she tells me she knows of only one thing that will cure it and sends me to see Deb the Wal Mart pharmacist with a prescription for birth control pills. I called her again after the Cramps of Doom released me from their clutches and returned to the Underworld, to ask what gives. She said it would take a few rounds to start seeing improvement, which just about figures.

Let it be known! I'm not ashamed of my lack of a social life and my complete disinterest in the rigamarole of dating. I am not now, nor do I plan on engaging in romantic escapades of any sort, least of which those that would result in a child.

Am I perfectly able to pay for my birth control? Well, yes. Is nine dollars a month prohibitively expensive for a college student like myself? Not really.

And yet. I was confused as to why my birth control being covered by insurance is even a controversial subject. People acted like it was a tragic loss of freedom and the American way when it was proposed to be covered with the rest of necessary healthcare. My six-dollar antibiotics for strep throat last January were covered by insurance. My mother's asthma meds, my step dad's pain medication, my little brother's x-rays, all have several things in common with my little birth control pill. Some of them are preventative and guard against health threats, or else treat/assist in the treatment of health threats. My pill does both. So am I perfectly able to pay for my pills? Yes. Does it make sense to me why I might ever not be able to, when I need them to be able to function like a normal human being and not miss a day of class and work like I did today? Not particularly. But I like being on friendly terms with my uterus more than I like my nine dollars.

But then I'm forced to consider what I'd do if I couldn't afford these pills. What if I didn't have financial aid to make ends meet? What if I had four kids already? What if my hypothetical spouse passed away and left me with some hefty bills? I'm just saying, worst-case scenario. (And make no mistake, someone somewhere is living your worst-case scenario right this very second.) Why could we then still give me antibiotics for my cough, but not birth control for my monthly agony?

What if I didn't need to prevent one of the many, many medical conditions such as endometriosis or ovarian cysts that can be treated with the pill, and was instead trying to prevent having another child that I couldn't afford? Wouldn't a poverty-stricken mother be the very last person we should be trying to keep from birth control? (Married women can be poverty-stricken too. Or just, y'know, practicing a little responsible family planning.)

If you answered that question with some variant of "Weeell, if she has that many children and no way to raise them, perhaps she should not be having sex at all." Here, we really get into it. So then, the real problem with expanding access to birth control via tax dollars is the belief that there should be no such thing as consequence-less sex. Perhaps you feel that only unmarried women are poor enough to be unable to afford birth control. Even if I were to pretend that were true, it still doesn't explain away why we as a society are okay with allowing a poor, uneducated, unmarried woman to birth a child as some kind of lesson to her about having premarital sex. Why wouldn't we be doing everything we could to prevent one more unwanted baby?

Is that something you could give nine dollars to? It's something I could give nine dollars to.