Barbie and Reading the WSJ

I was reading a paper copy of a daily newspaper, the Wall Street Journal, to be exact, at a popular brick and mortar, b&m, coffee establishment. The room was buzzing with activity; entrepreneurs and students were scattered throughout, nursing drinks like: two pump light sugar, whole milk, ten shot, double, hold the whip, caramel and sprinkles, super strength, holiday mochas, paired with lightly toasted, cinnamon crisp, sugar balanced bagels, slathered in raw honey and fruit loop cream cheese, purchased with a flick of the credit card induced wrist

The time was late afternoon, and this would be one of three holiday trips to this particular b&m coffee establishment, located in an upscale suburb of St. Louis, across the street from Trader Joe’s, and a cornacopia of brilliant shopping opportunities.

This was a peaceful moment for me, dreaming of my blogging career, by researching subject matter. I was actually tearing out articles, for future reference, keeping a copy on the coffee table next to me, as I sat alone in the corner, on a plush, brown chair, waiting to do a non-Uber related pick up from the airport.

Suddenly, two middle age professionals, a man and a woman, mentally created a psychic splash of pee on my designated spot in question. I had taken a seat in their territory! Pshaw! As they made themselves comfortable, on tbe long couch, kitty corner from my plush, brown seat, I could see, from behind my widely opened Wall Street Journal, that the curly headed and pony-tailed man, was glancing my way. What did he want? Was this a non-digital flirt, or was my silence simply inappropriate in their land? It was actually a little of both, my silence led to a vast conspiracy of curiousity, and the friends were looking to engage with all those willing to play along. The conversation would become a political stand off.

When I finally put the paper away. the bright professionals wanted to know; Why the Wall Street Journal? What was so interesting? Why was I tearing out articles? What did it all mean?

I got up to go, slinging my back pack, with the computer inside that I never did use, let alone open it up, and I adjusted my coat, along with my purse, while gracefully thrusting my decaf. Americano with soy foam sprinkled with cinnamon cup into the nearby recycling portion of the garbage can, all the while shaking my too many bangles key ring with the car key on it.

“What were you reading?” Curly headed and pony tailed middle aged man inquired. “What were you doing?”

My instincts said, “Run! Run as fast as you can! Run for the hills!” I had exactly half an hour for my Trader Joe’s run before the non-Uber sprint to the airport.

My mind had been on Barbies, yes the dolls, for about fifteen minutes because, as the day’s headline screamed, “Barbie Goes to War”, https://www.wsj.com/articles/review-when-barbie-went-to-war-1514233126, an ensuing litigation between Mattel and the designer of the Bratz dolls.

The issue in question was not actually about the lawsuit, but about an article I had posted on Linkedin, “Barbie Gets a Hijab”, https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/barbie-gets-a-hijab. This discussion would become a focal point of political contention on this somewhat cool winter afternoon, at the b&m coffee location.

The professional man and woman wanted to know why a liberal would read the Wall Street Journal. It was the conversation about Barbie’s hijab that led to the sharing of personal information, as I dropped my purses on the floor. put my keys on a table, and sat down in a chair. The professional man and woman wanted to know why it was fine for Barbie to have a hijab at all, correlating this action with the Holocaust in an attempt to equate Muslims and Nazis, as two large groups with history, not always pretty.

I was thinking, during this conversation, about my own history with Barbies, and the professional woman, a former high school teacher, working at a large corporate entity, looking to feed the world, agreed. She and I shared our communal history with Barbie. We played Barbies. I had an extensive Barbie collection, still living in the back of my mother’s crawl space. Barbie worked. Barbie had a house, a camper, a plane, and a car made out of a shoe box, where she made out with Ken, when the cover was on. Would I have minded if Barbie had a hijab? No, the professional woman and I mused, Barbie had all kinds of accesseries, she had clothes, shoes, purses, and a head covering would have been so cool.

Barbie is so mainstream that when I went to Burning Man, many years ago, my compadre and I ran to catch a mini bus across the playa to see the Barbie exhibit. I was not going to miss it! Hundreds of Barbies, however, were marching to their deaths, in the exhibit. Barbie was found hanging. Barbie had her head off. Barbie was marching to the oven. It was macabe, perhaps even terrible, but it was also as funny and absurd as the naked man playing the piano across the space. As a reminder of that experience, I saw a Barbie perched on an outdoor grill for sale, at the local Goodwill, last week, and had to chuckle. Feminism does not have to be serious to be taken seriously.

We did not analyze Barbie as kids, we played with Barbie and her allies, including the Dawn dolls, as if they were close, personal friends. We were not worried about Barbie’s weight, her curves, her race, or even what she thought for the greater good. We were playing, and playing is a thing. Playing is sacred.

Two of my most favorite days during my years in China involved Barbie. One afternoon, I had high tea at a beautiful Shanghai hotel, and then spent a large block of time at the local Barbie store. Another day, within a month of my father’s sudden death, I saw the international Barbie exhibit at a Beijing museum. This exhibit included many facets and time frames for Barbie, as she is a time traveler, an international traveler, and a space traveler. That afternoon at the extensive exhibit provided a grounding time for me before a major life shift and change. Barbie heals.

The conversation at the b&m coffee location escalated after the Barbie should not have a hijab portion to women and the current outing of sexual harrassment in the workplace, and the politics of whether or not it was fine for women in the entertainment industry to complain aloud, or at all.

I am sure that Barbie is absolutely a part of the ritual of becoming a feminist, in its undefined stance. Barbie would have looked in the mirror, at her perfect figure, and stood up for herself. Barbie would have also looked in the mirror and stood up for herself if she were fat, disabled, had one arm, or suffered from a debilitating disease. Barbie was, and is, power. It was Barbie who brought us the Bratz dolls. Barbie and her hijab create a level, playing field, always.

The curly haired and pony tailed man wanted to know whether or not the women who cried foul should have done so. My response was that they wanted to work, and like our imaginary Barbie time, it was their imagination and hard work that brought them to the situation in the first place, for better or for worse.

A woman executive from a neighboring table was listening to this encounter. She had recently been ignored during a key meeting for her contract by the hiring partner, as she was the woman in the room, although she was the one doing the work, and her hiring partner said to the attractive older woman, “Did you get all that honey?” when the conversation was over. There had been no eye contact. She was upset, and her response to the heated exchange was, “You go sister!” before being asked to join our conversation.

It was going to be tough getting out of the b&m coffee location, as my phone was dead, and the professional man felt like he owned the conversation. As I wrangled away, the question was posed, if you are a liberal, why were you reading the Wall Street Journal? Like Barbie, I responded, I like diversity of opinion and thought. The way the Wall Street Journal articles are posed makes me think, they are generally crisp and interesting, and that is a good thing. When I dashed for the airport, keys in hand, the woman executive was having a heart to heart chat with the professional man and woman. I made it to the airport in perfect time.

Barbie is still a mainstay for little girls, of all stripes and colors, and some little boys, too, and that is a good thing. Thanks, Barbie.