You Are Never Too Old to Have a Barbie Doll
It's about giving your inner child permission to play
Yesterday, I bought myself a Barbie doll. I am fifty-six years old today, and it was my birthday.
I had gone the previous day and luckily found a Barbie. There is only one left without a price tag.
Suddenly, I was hesitant.
Then, I heard my friend's voice: look at some dolls and see how you feel.
I knew it had to be for me, but I couldn't buy it.
I couldn't forget about the Barbie when I came home empty-handed.
I couldn't wait until the next day to go back.
I returned to the store, held the doll, removed her sandals, and put them on. I played with her hair, imagining dying it black like my own hair.
And putting black dots on her blue eyes to make them look like mine.
I also returned for a dress I had seen and couldn't get out of my mind. It was a long black dress. It looked like one of those summer dresses Italian actresses like Sophia Loren would wear. It had a V-neck, cinched waist, and three black skinny bows on the front. The skirt part hung nicely, almost to the ankles. It looked romantic, sexy, and innocent at the same time.
They were both there.
I was in luck. I knew Barbie and the dress were for me.
But I went back and forth and felt uncertain. Yet, deep inside, something had brought me here, and here she was. I had ideas percolating in my head. The first dress I was going to make her was a polka-dot dress.
It's been over 40 years since I was denied a beautiful Barbie doll. My best friend's name is Ashley, and her mother has invited me to shop at K-Mart. I was a new immigrant student from South Korea in 3rd grade. I didn't know English, but when the teacher sat me next to Ashley, I understood everything she said.
We became best friends. She shared her bologna sandwich and Kool-Aid with me during lunch and at her house on weekends.
Her mom took us to K-Mart so Ashely could pick a Barbie doll for her birthday. Ashley, being an angel as always, told me I could choose a Barbie doll, too.
When her mom came to see if we had chosen our dolls.
She looked at me and Ashley. She told Ashley to tell me that my doll was too expensive and to choose a cheaper doll-pointing her finger towards the lesser pretty dolls with bald heads underneath a carpet shag of hair.
She couldn't afford both of them. I chose a similar doll, but her body seemed hollow and her eyes vacant. I took her home and never played with her.
I'd often thought of this incident before, never blaming the mother. Buying a Barbie did occur to me, but they would be too expensive. My mindset around money needed to be developed; allowing myself to make 'frivolous' purchases was out of the question. I grew up poor, never had new clothes, and had gotten free lunch tickets to high school.
I think buying this Barbie for myself is more than just having a beautiful toy; it is permission to treat myself like I deserve it.