Barbie V’s Strawberry

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Margot Robbie in the 2023 feature film Barbie (image grabbed from the Irish Sun), and Strawberry Siren (Me) photographed by Kitty Lane, coincidentally, the morning before I went to see the film. I am wearing a gown by Catherine D’Lish (edited to shield your eyes from my female nipples) and heels by Jeremy Scott for Melissa.

The opening scene to Barbie was like a childhood flashback for me. Just like the young girls in the scene, I enjoyed playing “mum” with my dolls, it was my favourite role.

I would hold my dolls to my chest, wrap them in cloth to nurse them to sleep, and change their imaginarily dirty nappies.

One of the first things I remember wanting to be when I grew up was a mum.

I recently joined the hoards at the cinema to see the film, and I thought the humour, themes, style and characters show Greta Gerwig’s skill, artistry and sophistication as a director, and it triggered many memories of growing up in the 1980’s.

Except, I didn’t have a close relationship with Barbie as a child, and I wasn’t overly drawn to the whole Barbie enterprise. That’s because my mother focused a lot of energy on making sure that I wasn’t.

My mother may have been young — she was born the same year Barbie (the doll) was released — but her focus in life was purely on giving her children the best human experience possible. She thought outside the box when it came to gender stereotypes for children and the kind of ideas that we should be exposed to.

But my mother did not like the idea of me having a Barbie.

She would refuse to buy me one when I asked. She even refused one as a gift to me from a family friend, right in front of me. She didn’t like the hyper-feminine image Barbie portrayed and she didn’t want me idolising such an adult character.

The first doll I ever remember loving and caring for was a Cabbage Patch doll. I was around four years old when I got it. The dolls had colourful glass eyes, button noses and rosy cheeks. Mine had curly red hair, blue eyes, and was female-gendered. A baby doll version of myself.

Me, circa 1986 with my Cabbage Patch Doll and Strawberry Shortcake bed-spread.

My younger brother always wanted whatever toys I had, and my mother didn’t conform to the idea of boys not being able to have “girls” toys, so she got him a matching Cabbage Patch doll so he could play alongside me. His was male-gendered and had brown hair and blue eyes, just like him.

I insisted on having a pram for my dolls so that I could push them around the house and down the street when we went out. So, naturally, my mother had to get a toy pram for my brother as well.

I have fond memories of my brother and I walking with our mother to the shops, with our matching dolls in toy prams. I remember my brother getting teased for strolling around with his dolls, I remember it because of the confusion I felt. Why was he getting teased by other kids and adults and I wasn’t?

Why was it ok for me to play with dolls and not him? Do young boys not grow to be dads?

It’s intriguing that for most children their first role play character is of a parent — the role furthest away from their current reality. It takes years of development before they start to imagine being doctors, dancers, superheroes or veterinarians.

I guess this makes sense — humans have been parents for much longer than they’ve been anything else. But it doesn’t make sense that young boys shouldn’t also get to live out their fantasies of being parents, before growing up and dreaming of other things.

It’s fine for kids to dream of being parents if that’s what comes naturally to them. But it’s not fine to tell one kid not to dream of being that while telling another not to dream of being anything but that.

Like Barbie, we can be a lot things in life, and we dream of being each of them at different times.

Once I grew past the tunnel vision of imagining my role as a mother, I dreamed of being a ballerina or a pop star.

At the time, I guess my mother wanted me to dream of being more than just a Barbie, so, to distract me from Barbie’s allure, she introduced me to Strawberry Shortcake, who had a very childlike demeanour and a more attainable figure. She was slightly plump with rosy cheeks, curly red hair and adorable outfits — definitely a doll I could relate to or aspire to be.

I became obsessed with the whole Strawberry Shortcake enterprise, and my mother over-compensated for her withholding of Barbie by buying me every piece of Strawberry Shortcake merchandise.

I had all the dolls, bags, purses, pencil cases, bed spreads, curtains, story books, videos, stationary, colouring books and jewellery. It was insane. My mother even got me a doll house with all the Strawberry Shortcake furniture.

Me, circa 1984–1988. Above: On the beach with my Strawberry Shortcake Doll in the background. Left: Off to school with my Strawberry Shortcake back pack. Right: My collection of small Strawberry Shortcake dolls and pillow case.

I think this behaviour awoke a type of addictive “brand loyalty” in me. Ever since my childhood, I have gone through phases of being obsessed with particular brands. I would only buy their clothing or goods, and everything had to match.

In the 90’s it was Sportsgirl. In the 2000’s it was Playboy and Pin-Up’s. In the 2020’s (because now I can finally afford it) it’s Vivienne Westwood.

Just recently I went into Peter Alexander (another brand I’m loyal to) shopping for pyjamas and discovered the Strawberry Shortcake collection they had released as part of their “vintage” range.

I screamed in the store when I saw all the paraphernalia. Beautiful pinks, whites, and kitsch patterns with the original design from the 80’s (not the awful re-design released in the early 2000's). The shop attendant came running over to see if I was ok after hearing my scream and I quickly told her that Strawberry Shortcake was my favourite character as a child, that I had owned every doll and had even named myself after her when I became a performer — Strawberry Siren.

She understood that my scream came from a place of joy and happily helped me decide which set of pyjamas I was going to purchase. It was such a memorable experience that she now remembers me by name whenever I go into that store.

When I got home, I sent pictures of my new purchase to the family chat, with my over-excited face and many exclamation marks.

My mother was the first to respond and she wrote “Who is that?”

The little girl in me broke down and cried.

This was the first moment since my Mum had returned home from hospital that her memory loss really hurt me. I had been managing to cope quite well with the changes her brain injury caused to her memory and personality, until that moment — until I was unable to share the joy of my childhood memories with my mum.

I had to explain to her who Strawberry Shortcake was and what she meant to me as a child. Relaying these memories to her helped spark some of her own, but the details and associated emotions have definitely been lost, along with the hope that it was the right distraction from Barbie.

It had been a distraction; I had loved every moment of playing in Strawberry Shortcake’s world. I immersed myself in all the different characters and acted out the stories from the cartoons and books.

But it wasn’t a distraction for ever. Although I loved her and all her friends, I never imagined myself being Strawberry Shortcake. And as much as my mum might have wanted me to dream of being anything but Barbie, dreaming of being Strawberry Shortcake wasn’t it.

Left: Me with my Strawberry Shortcake 4th birthday cake, made by my mother in 1986. Centre: Significant birthday cake toppers that I still display in my home (Strawberry Shortcake, The Little Mermaid, Operetta). Right: The “Strawberry Siren” 30th Birthday cake my sister made for me in 2012, using the closest doll to my image and appearance: A Monster High Doll.

In 1986 Mattel released Barbie and the Rockers, and when I first saw this wild-haired, singing, dancing, rock’n’roll-styled Barbie, I was hooked.

I discovered her via the television cartoon that was released in 1987, I used to watch the show and sing along to the songs, using my hairbrush as a microphone.

I feel like this particular Barbie awoke the performer in me — it’s my first real memory of imagining myself on stage, performing in front of a crowd.

On my sixth birthday, my mother finally caved and bought me the one and only Barbie I would ever own: Barbie and the Rockers. I was thrilled. I loved everything about her: her clothing, style, body shape and hair. This was a doll I wanted to be. Which was exactly what my mother had tried to avoid.

Me, circa 1988 with my Barbie and the Rockers Doll and Strawberry Shortcake bag.

I appreciate my mum having my best interests at heart, but my heart had its own interests.

I believe it’s important to expose children to healthy characters and ideas about life, but at the end of the day we are each our own being and we will lean towards the things that excite us, whatever they may be.

It’s highly likely that if you tell a child that they’re not allowed to do or have something, they’ll go out of their way to get it later in life. I did.

When I was about 15 years old, I was talking about a potential tattoo idea I had, and my father abruptly said “If you ever get a tattoo, I’ll kick you out of home”. Given the shaky relationship that my father and I had, this statement didn’t deter me in any way, it just fired a rebellious and defiant flame within me to show him that he wouldn’t be able to control my life forever. I was instantly obsessed with tattoos and couldn’t wait until I could move out of home and get one. I got my first tattoo at 21 and have gotten one basically every year since. One of my arms is covered in tattoos of influential female characters from throughout my life, one of them being Strawberry Shortcake.

Parents might fear the influence on their children of various characters or artists or lifestyles, but we’re only susceptible to influence when it’s relatable, when it embodies what we want to be or what we’ve been told we can’t be.

Despite the influence my mother feared Barbie would have on me, what I liked most about Barbie was that she’s independent and never appears to need any support from anyone.

That can be seen as a positive or negative character trait, and might influence us to stubbornly refuse help when we need it, but I think it would still do less damage than the idea that a woman needs a husband or children to be happy or complete.

Which is perhaps the influence my mother feared Barbie would have on me — to be (or to want to be) nothing more than plain-old, perfect, plastic Barbie, destined to just be a mother and wife, unable to make her own choices and with no hopes or dreams beyond a big pink house and a wardrobe full of fancy clothes.

But that’s just what my mum saw her as. You can love or hate Barbie, but that will be because of what you project onto her, not because of what she is — she can be anything, that’s why she’s so influential.

It was Barbie’s independence that I related to because independence is what I wanted. And I related to Barbie and the Rockers because that’s the Barbie I wanted to be.

One of the most relatable moments in the movie for me was when Barbie stepped out of her kitten heels and her feet stayed in the lifted position. I burst into laughter and felt an immediate bond with her.

I own many pairs of those plastic kitten heels.

In 2010, I negotiated a sponsorship from the Brazilian shoemakers Melissa. Their shoes are made from vegan, recyclable PVC and include designs and collections from internationally renowned fashion designers such as Vivienne Westwood, Jeremy Scott, Jean Paul Gaultier and Karl Lagerfeld.

Me, performing in my heels by Jean Paul Gaultier for Melissa, 2013 Vancouver.

For the majority of my 20’s and 30’s, I was obsessed with wearing my Melissa heels. The designs were always kitsch and colourful and fitted my “brand” perfectly. I loved putting together “looks” that complimented my heels.

I wore them for work, on stage, and in my free time. I spent so much time in heels that when I tried to wear flat shoes, I would get aches and pains in my back and down my legs. The balls of my feet were constantly numb, but the line of my leg looked so satisfying to my eye that I ignored the pain.

My mantras in those days were “beauty is pain” and “I suffer for my fashion”.

Growing up, I’ve gone through different phases and experimented with various interests and styles, but ultimately, I grew up to be an “alternative Pin-Up” with a polished style, look, and way of life. I’ve got long red hair, long acrylic nails, fake boobs, Botox, I’m covered in tattoos, and I work hard on my figure and image.

Me, 2018 photographed by Wild Child Photography.

I pretty much grew up to be my own ideal Barbie Doll.

But that’s my “Public Barbie” — the public persona and branding I have created for myself — and it’s slightly different to my “Private Barbie”.

The private one is definitely closer to Barbie and the Rockers — I listen to heavy music, I dress all in black with band T-shirts, my hair is tousled and I hang out in dive bars and watch live bands. I’ve always had multiple jobs at once, and I’ve worked in several industries — in hospitality, retail, entertainment, administration, fitness and the sex industry.

So it makes sense to me that there are so many different Barbies and that she has different styles, aspirations, careers and personalities, because that’s how I feel.

Sometimes I feel like Barbie because my personality and style can change depending on how I’m feeling or what I’ve got going on on any particular day. Some days I feel like Sports Barbie, other days it’s President Barbie, Mermaid Barbie, Writer Barbie or Malibu Barbie.

I enjoy exploring these different sides of my personality and embracing different personas, I get to be the Barbies that I didn’t get to play with, and I can hold on to my “inner child” and fantasise about being and wanting more from my reality.

Because reality could do with some reimagining.

Me, in my natural state, 2018 at a QOTSA concert after party in Adelaide.

When Barbie steps out of the female-dominated alternate reality of “Barbie Land” and into the real world, the imbalance between the sexes and its effect on the world is frightening. But it’s also the reality in which we currently live.

Getting a glimpse into Barbie’s alternate reality was equal parts inspiring and heartbreaking, because it will most likely never come true.

My years of working in heavily male-dominated environments like the sex industry has definitely affected the lens I have seen my image through, and altered my relationship with men.

I spent a decade working as a stripper and curating my look on a daily basis to please the male gaze. I had to adopt a personality that was pleasing to the type of man standing in front of me at the time.

But we are not made of plastic, and we’re not dolls — it’s exhausting and soul-destroying to always have to bend and adapt to whomever wants to play with you.

In my personal life, the attention I got from men was in neither healthy nor high doses. I always felt like I was attracting opposites with my professional and personal personas. If I was being treated well in my personal life, I would be getting trodden on by customers at the club, and if my partner was treating me badly, the customers would be singing my praises and treating me like a goddess.

It felt like I could never please or attract the right kind of man. Apparently the “image” I give off to men, is of the cool chick you have a non-committal fling with after you leave the love of your life and just want to have a bit of fun.

I always seemed to be attracted towards men who kept me at arm’s length, which is definitely connected to my relationship (or lack thereof) with my father. He never gave me the love or attention I so desperately desired, so not being a priority to my partners felt like a familiar place to be.

I have never experienced the Ken that was portrayed in the film — I have never experienced that level of adoration or devotion from a straight man. I mean, does that man even exist? There have been gay men in my life who have appreciated all that I am and put me on a pedestal, but obviously making me their wife isn’t on the table.

I’ve tried to be this Barbie and that Barbie, and I’ve tried to attract the right Ken, but it’s frustrating if not impossible to be the right Barbie at the right time for the right Ken while also just being me.

While in the cinema, I had a physical reaction to the monologue delivered to Barbie by the human character, Gloria. I thought I was about to have a panic attack. It felt like someone was expressing my own thoughts and insecurities back at me. I felt like I was being punched in the face, but at the same time, that I had never felt more “seen”.

Whether you’ve seen the film or not, the monologue is worth repeating here:

“It is literally impossible to be a woman.

You are so beautiful, and so smart, and it kills me that you don’t think you’re good enough.

Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but, somehow, we’re always doing it wrong.

You have to be thin, but not too thin.

And you can never say you want to be thin; you have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin.

You have to have money, but you can’t ask for money because that’s crass.

You have to be a boss, but you can’t be mean.

You have to lead, but you can’t squash other people’s ideas.

You’re supposed to love being a mother, but don’t talk about your kids all the damn time.

You have to be a career woman but also always be looking out for other people.

You have to answer for men’s bad behaviour, which is insane, but if you point that out, you’re accused of complaining.

You’re supposed to stay pretty for men but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood.

But always stand out and always be grateful, but never forget that the system is rigged.

So find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful.

You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line.

It’s too hard!

It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you!

And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.

I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us.

And if all of that is also true for a doll just representing women, then I don’t even know.”

These days I feel like I most relate to “Weird Barbie” from the film. I give less f*ck$ about my public image or appearance, I’m noticing big differences in the things I value in life and the standards that I have for myself and those around me.

I like being “different”. I don’t like to conform to what anyone expects of me, or the societal ideas about where I should be in my life.

But it’s really hard to be a 40-year-old woman that has no children and has never been married. Not because I’m fighting what is expected of me, but because I’m fighting for what I want.

I’ve had an amazing career, but the pandemic stomped on all my hard work and left me scrambling for a back-up plan.

For most of my 30’s, I had gone off the idea of having children, but in 2020 I entered into a relationship with a man who had a child and it re-ignited my childhood fantasies of becoming a mother.

It looked like 2023 would be the year that that dream would become a reality for me. But in late 2022, my partner left me abruptly and now I’m single at 40 and not sure if I’ll be able to turn that dream into a reality.

My mother never wanted me to have a Barbie, perhaps because she was afraid that I might turn into one and not dream of being anything more, and perhaps because it would distract me from what I naturally wanted to be.

I’ve spent my life being all the Barbies I wanted to be, wearing different outfits and playing different roles. But the first thing I remember wanting to be when I grew up was a mum. It was my favourite role to play. And there is a big part of me that still wants that, and a part that has started to mourn the loss of ever being able to — to be a mum, to hold them to my chest, wrap them in cloth to nurse them to sleep, and change their actually dirty nappies.

Me, 2023, wearing kitten heels, heavily tattooed, Vivienne Westwood bag in tow, drinking… and not giving a f*ck. Shot by David Lunchtime in Melbourne.

Co-Written by Strawberry Siren and Kiall Hildred.

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The Strawberry Siren - Diaries of a Showgirl
The Strawberry Siren - Diaries of a Showgirl

Written by The Strawberry Siren - Diaries of a Showgirl

Former Miss Burlesque Australia & World, Miss Firm Australia, and Professor from Pussy Play Masterclass! https://www.buymeacoffee.com/strawberrysiren

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