To Barbie or not to Barbie

There was a recent news story about a mother who purchased a plastic surgery voucher for her 7 year old daughter as a Christmas stocking stuffer. The British mother runs a swinger’s club with her husband and is nicknamed “The Human Barbie” due to her extreme body augmentations that give her the appearance of a life size Barbie doll. The daughter looks up to her mom and wants to be just like her, just the same as most little girls with loving mommies. The mother loves the daughter and wants to give her anything she wants- including liposuction, breast implants, and nose jobs. Is there something wrong with this picture? On one hand it is a loving mother-daughter relationship. On the other it is bizarre. 

I read a study about the effects of Barbie dolls on a young child’s body image. It says that Barbie is the best-selling fashion doll in every major global market, with worldwide annual sales of about 1.5 billion. The average 3-10 year old in the United States owns an average of 8 Barbie dolls, and every half a second a Barbie doll is sold somewhere in the world. It also states that Barbie has unrealistic proportions, and if she were a real human she would be so thin she would not be able to menstruate,(Dittmar, Halliwell&Ive, p. 283).   

Some parents and professionals blame the toy for psychological disorders such as body dysmorphia, anorexia/bulimia, depression and even as the cause of suicide. However, I tend to question if we can blame these things on a small plastic doll with no voice of her own to influence the children who play with her.

This is not to diminish the reality of such difficult personal obstacles. I understand they are very real. It’s just for me there is a disconnect between a child playing with this toy and developing self-esteem related issues. I don’t think there is a direct one-to-one correlation between the two. Instead, there are a whole slew of other cultural messages perpetuated by media, and society at large that maaaaybe Barbie has become a symbol of. Yet, as parents I strongly believe it is our responsibility- not Barbie’s- to teach our children about body image and societal messages. My main concern is that parents who place blame on the doll itself are grossly underestimating the power of their own influence over their children’s thinking.  Eliminating the Barbie doll from your child’s toybox does not resolve the larger problem. Teaching your children to think for themselves does.

I am going to testify that I was a child who owned an extensive Barbie collection. As I have mentioned, I am bi-racial and I am pretty sure that the vast majority of my Barbie dolls were white, blonde and blue eyed even. I played with the 1980’s Barbie. Before Mattel attempted to change Barbie in order to make her more realistic in her proportions or more ethnic in her appearance. I played with the unrealistic white Barbies more than any other toy, and I can honestly say that it never once crossed my mind that I needed to look like her. Did I want a devoted boyfriend like Ken? Yes. Did I want a pink Corvette? Yes! A girlie townhouse? Definitely! The wardrobe? Absolutely! But the plastic body, hair, eyes and permanent smile, I never imagined could be real, or mine.

Conversely, I can certainly say that I received direct messages from teen magazines that lighter, clearer skin was preferable, that long silky hair was better, and that big boobs were hot! MTV, BET (Black Entertainment Television), and most movies, TV shows and advertisements confirmed these messages. Once I started caring what boys thought of me, they had already been programmed to prefer the media standard. However, not once did I have a boy tell me that he was not attracted to me because I did not look like Barbie. My hair was frizzy and shoulder length. I had braces, and less than an A cup breast size all through high school. But just like everyone else, I had some good features too: a pretty eye color and a decent derriere for starters. 

So, with that being said, I guess what I am trying to get at here is why blame the Barbie when the problem is not actually Barbie!? Playing with the doll alone does not entice children to want to be like the doll. It is really the amount of un-filtered media influence parents allow to penetrate their child’s brain. This is the same argument that guns and video games are to blame for the world’s crime rates. Yet to look at it from a historical perspective, kids have been playing with guns and dolls since time immemorial. In Victorian times there were those awful corsets. That was before Barbie, so who decided that was the cool thing to do?Around the world, little girls have been made to alter their bodies in grotesque and often brutal ways (think female circumcision and foot binding). Though no ancient Barbie dolls have been uncovered in any Chinese archeological dig that I know of. The Roman empire gave us the bloody gladiators. And what about Hitler, Napoleon Bonaparte and Genghis Khan? They didn’t play Modern Warfare 3, but they sure did reek some havoc on the world in their times. Clearly society will find a way to influence minds with or without the toys.

So come on, can we really blame it all on Barbie?

I don’t believe in sheltering kids from the world around them. After all, didn’t we decide we wanted to bring these children into this world, as is? Of course we all believed we would change the world, or save it before our children grew up; and we all hoped that they would have a better world to live in than we did. Well, in some ways it is better. In other ways it is worse. The reality is we cannot hide them from reality. But we can educate! As parents we are given carte blanche over our children’s brain development starting from day one. Slowly, we lose influence. However, the seeds you plant when they are small and malleable will grow into beautiful trees of wisdom if you continue to water them with your parental guidance.

As for my daughters, they have Barbie dolls a-plenty. Also, Bratz, Monster High, Liv, Cabbage Patch and whatever… They also take modeling classes, and really love fashion. Maybe they fit the American standard of beauty, maybe they don’t. But you can’t tell them they are not the smartest, most talented and gorgeous little girls on the planet! Ask them if they want to look like Barbie, they will say no! Barbie has a weird smile and fake eyelashes, plus her hair smells funny and always gets messed up. They’d tell you that they would rather look like a real life diva who resembles them more closely such as Beyonce, Rihanna, Willow Smith or even (gasp!) me. They understand that Nicky Minaj has had plastic surgery and that she is an entertainer. They know that most people do not walk around with pink hair or outrageous outfits like Lady Gaga. They also understand that makeup, hair extensions, push-up bras and nose jobs do not make one a better person.They aspire to become successful women who are intelligent and healthy.

It’s all in the power of what YOU teach them as their guardian.

 

Barbie mom articles:

Human Barbie gives liposuction voucher to 7 year old daughter

Human Barbie gives 7 year old breast implant voucher

Work Cited:
Dittmar, H., Halliwell, E. & Ive, S. 2006. Does Barbie make girls want to be thin? The effect of experimental exposure to images of dolls on the body image of 5-8 year old girls. Developmental Psychology. Vol. 42 (2). pp 283-292.

Why I call myself a "Tiger Mom"



Hayride with the kiddos, October 2011

 Even as a young mother at 19, I knew I wanted my son to be great. I also set out to prove to the world that all teenage mothers were not irresponsible, incapable “children raising children.” I was a mother on a mission to shatter a stereotype, and determined not to become a statistic. Shortly after giving birth to my son Miles in 1996, I promptly moved out of my parent’s house, and began my journey into super-motherhood. I was armed with an iron resolve and an arsenal of books spouting philosophies ranging from Dr. Spock, to "Ferberizing," to attachment parenting, to potty training in a day... not to mention "Girlfriend’s Guides", "What to Expect" manuals, yoga for babies, "Baby Einstein," the Merck Manual and the list goes on.  I boasted 10 years of sibling-rearing under my belt, had already experienced my share of sleepless nights, vomit in hair, and poopy diapers. But I didn’t just want to raise my son. I wanted to cultivate him. I wanted to carefully develop his mind into a super-processor, and convince him that he was capable of any and everything he put his mind to. To achieve said goal, I thought it best to subscribe to a variety of techniques and methods until  I started seeing results and then weed out the ones that didn’t work.

As a result, my son ended up with toys bearing only black, white and red colors based upon research saying these colors stimulated infant brain development. He also had gross motor development toys, electronic toys that taught babies about cause and effect, musical instruments, chunky books, toy cars,  imaginative play sets, easel and paint sets, sand art, pots and pans, trikes, wagons, blocks, toys that taught ABC’s, writing, math, flash cards, workbooks, and even a bath time doll to teach him how to be nurturing. Not to mention karate lessons at 3 years old, a personal computer in his bedroom at 4 years old, piano lessons at 5 years old, soccer lessons at 6, and every video game console on the market by the age of 7. By the time he was legally required to enter kindergarten he was reading chapter books on a third grade level, a feat I had accomplished all by myself, and he knew how to run network cables through a building thanks to his father’s IT expertise. All who met him could not believe how articulate, intelligent and well behaved he was, with parents barely 25 years old. 

By 2001, I was pregnant with his baby sister, and in 2003, a second sister joined the family. His two female siblings were born 5 and 7 years his junior, and in 2004, I took the three of them on a 6 month excursion to Israel.  This was followed by a divorce, and needless to say things began to get very complicated, very fast.  All of a sudden I was a single working mother of three, receiving public assistance, arranging long distance visitations with Dad; and then, needing to choose a free public school in the District of Columbia, which was ranked 51^st in the nation for education.  Along with public school came the issue of peer influence. Almost instantly, fashion was a huge concern, and there was a new social competition that was previously a non-issue in our household. In public schools, and on the soccer fields of our nation’s capital, we encountered the sons and daughters of politicians, lawyers, doctors, professors, diplomats and other highly paid professionals. We learned that Washington, DC is what’s considered a “company town” and that there are cliques or “social circles” to be navigated, invited into or ostracized from. The kids’ birthday parties were not celebrations of another year, but opportunities to impress other parents with your entertaining savior faire. Overnight it seemed all of my applauded teenage efforts were looking like feeble attempts to “keep up with the Jones’s” (or the Kardashians for that matter).

Well, I am not one to be outshined, so I kicked it into high gear- enrolling the kids in all sorts of extracurricular activities ranging from chess club, to dance class to art lessons. Just as I was on the brink of being a helicopter/overscheduling/soccer mom, or giving it all up and becoming an austere family of monks, Amy Chua released her notorious memoir, The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and I devoured it like a vulture mom. What I learned most from Chua’s memoir, was that despite all of her antics and seemingly over the top ambition, the driving force behind her actions was an intense love for her children, and an unshakable desire to push them to excellence. Her words reminded me of my 19 year old self, staring down into the eyes of my first born and dreaming of the day I would watch him recite his inaugural oath as the umpty-umpth president of something or other.

Remarkably, Chua’s book helped me rediscover my passion for parenting. I was reminded of the awesome power and responsibility of being charged with creating new people. A parent can turn a child into something great, or destroy a life. Or even worse, through indifference a parent could break a child’s soul. Tiger Mother inspired me to keep pushing for excellence. Not to allow the pretentious, seemingly better off parents discourage me from aspiring to greatness for myself, and those whose lives I have been entrusted with directing. Feeling empowered and encouraged, after putting her book down, I promptly enrolled both daughters in the local youth orchestra program, sought out high achieving public charter schools, and informed my son that “C’s” on his report card were no longer acceptable if he expected to wear clothes bearing designer labels.

But what most inspired me about Amy Chua, was her bottomless well of motivational energy. When I get tired at the end of a long work day, and don’t feel like pushing a daughter a little harder on her cello, or giving another some extra multiplication practice, or demanding my son read two extra chapters of his textbook, I just think of Amy, the real tiger, with enough fire and drive to argue with her girls late into the night over homework, practice or chores. Her vitality and determination has made her daughters confident, brilliant and successful.  Those are traits every parent desires for their children, whether they are homeless, or billionaires. I will never again feel guilty about denying them a passing fad in favor of an excursion to a museum or cultural event; or skimping on birthday party favors, to add extra padding to their college funds. I can see the bigger picture now. The tiger mom never gave up on her cubs, and I refuse to give up on mine.